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Sardou and the Sardou plays.
3 1924 027 325 772
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SARDOU
AND THE SARDOU PLAYS
1 SARDOU I
I And The Sardou Plays I
i 1
I
t «^ %
I JEROME A. HART |
2 AUTHOR OF " A LEVANTINE LOG-BOOK, " TWO ARGONAUTS m SPAIN, ' 2
* "A VIGILANTE GIRL," ETC. S
I I
* t
t PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON »
I J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY %
t 1913 t
COPYRIGHT, I9I3, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PUBLISHED FEBRUARY, IgI3
PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
AT TBB WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESS
PHILADELPHIA, U. 9. A.
TO
A, Ci. H.
PREFATORY NOTE
The term " the Sardou plays " is used in these pages
for various reasons. Many of these plays were written in
collaboration with other dramatists less well known. In this
book the names of Sardou's collaborators are given in each
case in the text. In the chronological table of plays and
elsewhere, to save repetition, only Sardou's name is ap-
pended. Still, a play written in collaboration is not " a
play by Sardou," but it may be called " a Sardou play."
Such plays are usually so termed by those who have had to
do with them, and so they are called in these pages.
Then again, most of the versions made in English from
Sardou's plays have been so freely " adapted " as to de-
part widely from the original. " Dora," for example, was
turned into " Diplomacy " ; the scene was transferred from
France to England; the diplomatic intrigues of the Ger-
man foreigfn office were replaced by Anglo-Russian plots
concerning the Russo-Turkish war; two strangers in the
French play were made blood-brothers in the English ver-
sion ; many other changes were made. So with " Divor9ons,"
and with other of Sardou's plays : the alterations in un-
authorised versions were so numerous that he complained
bitterly. Therefore it is perhaps fair to call such plays
" Sardou plays " rather than " plays by Sardou." All the
plays, therefore, are thus denominated, including those
where authorised versions were made by Sardou's consent,
such as " Robespierre."
The first part of the book is devoted to a biographical
s
4 PREFATORY NOTE
sketch of the playwright Sardou; the second is made up
of analyses of some two score of the Sardou plays — not
critical but narrative analyses. In the biographical half,
the plays are arranged chronologically; in the second half,
they are arranged arbitrarily, in the order of their interest,
their importance, or their success. Thus, " La Haine " is an
important play, but was not specially successful on the
stage ; " Madame Sans-Gene " was a great stage success,
but not specially important from a literary point of view.
It is perhaps needless to say that these analyses were not
made from the English versions: the original plots, names
of characters, etc., have been followed here.
The part devoted to " the Sardou plays in the United
States " is a record, but does not purport to be complete.
Most of the first productions of the Sardou plays in the
United States were made in New York; if successful, they
were played in other cities. It would be useless repetition
to print the details of reproductions all over the United
States.
January, 1913. J. A. H.
CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF THE
SARDOU PLAYS AND LIBRETTI
Date of
Piece Theatre Production
Les Amis Imaginaires Never played.
La Reine Ulfra Never played.
La Taverns des Etudiants.. .Odfen Apr. i, 1854
Bernard Palissy Never played.
Fleur de Liane Never played.
Le Bossu Never played
Candide Never played.
Les Premieres Artnes de
Figaro Th&tre-D^jazet Sept. 27, 1859
Paris i I'Envers Never played.
Les Gens Nerveux Palais-Royal Nov. 4, 1859
Les Paites de Mouche Gymnase May 15, i860
Monsieur Garat , . . Theatre- D6jazet May 31, i860
Les Femntes Fortes Vaudeville Dec. 31, i860
L'RcureuU Vaudeville Feb. 9, 1861
PiccoUno (comedy) Gynmase July 18, 1861
Nos Intimes Vaudeville Nov. 16, 1861
I La Papillonne TWatre-Frangais Apr. 11, 1862
La Perk Noire Gymnase Apr. 12, 1862
Les Pris Saint-Genais
(comedy) Th6atre-D6jazet Apr. 26, 1862
Les Ganaches Gymnase Oct. 29, 1862
Bataille d' Amour (libretto). Op^ra-Comique Apr. 13, 1863
Les Diables Noirs Vaudeville Nov. 28, 1863
Le DSgel Th^atre-D^jazet Apr. 12, 1864
Don Quichotie Gynmase June 25, 1864
Les Pommes du Voisin Palais-Royal Oct. 15, 1864
Le Capitaine Henriot (li-
bretto) Op&a-Comique Dec. 29,1864
Les Vieux Gargons Gymnase Jan. 21, 1865
La FamiUe Benetton Vaudeville Nov. 4, 1865
Nos Bons ViUageois Gymnase Oct. 3, 1866
Maison Neuve Vaudeville Dec. 4, 1866
Siraphine Gymnase Dec. 29, 1868
5
6 SARDOU PLAYS AND LIBRETTI
Date of
Piece Theatre Production
Pairie (drama) Porte Saint-Martin Mar. l8, 1869
Fernande Gymnase Mar. 8, 1870
Le Rot Carotte (libretto). . . . Galt6 Jan. 15, 1872
Rabagas Vaudeville Feb. i, 1872
Andrea Gymnase Mar. 17, 1873
L'OndeSam Vaudeville Nov. 6, 1873
Les Merveilleuses Vari6t6s Dec. 16, 1873
Le Magot Palais-Royal Jan. 14, 1874
Les Pres Saint - Gervais
(op6ra-bouffe libretto). Vari^t^s Nov. 14, 1874
La Haine Gatt6 Dec. 3, 1874
Ferreol Gymnase Nov. 17, 1875
Piccolino (comic opera
libretto) Vari6t6s Apr. 11, 1876
L'Hotel Godelot Gymnase May 13, 1876
Dora Vaudeville Jan. 22, 1877
The Exiles Boston Theatre Dec. 10, 1877
Les Bourgeois de Pont-Arcy . Vaudeville Mar. i, 1878
Les Noces de Fernande (li-
bretto) 1878
AndrS Fortier Boston Theatre Mar. 11, 1879
Daniel Rochat Th^atre-Fransais Feb. 16, 1880
Divorgons Palais-Royal Dec. 6, 1880
OdeUe Vaudeville Nov. 17, 1881
Fedora Vaudeville Dec. 11, 1882
Theodora Porte Saint-Martin Dec. 26, 1884
Georgette Vaudeville Dec. 9, 1885
Patrie (opera libretto) Opera House Dec. 17, 1886
Le Crocodile Porte Saint-Martin Dec. 21, 1886
La Tosca Porte Saint-Martin Nov. 24, 1887
Marquise Vaudeville Feb. 12, 1889
Belle-Maman Gymnase Mar. 15, 1889
Cliopdtre Porte Saint-Martin Oct. 23, 1890
Thermidor Th^atre-Frangais Jan. 24, 1891
Les AmSricaines d
I' Stranger Lyceum Theatre, New York 1892
A Woman's Silence Lyceum Theatre, New York 1892
Both written for Daniel Frohman and produced in English.
Madame Sans-GHe Vaudeville Oct. 27, 1893
Gismonda Renaissance Oct. 31, 1894
Marcelle Gymnase Dec. 21, 1895
BOOKS COMMENTING ON SARDOU 7
Datb of
Piece Theatre Production
Spiritisme Renaissance Feb. 8, 1897
PamSla Vaudeville Feb. 11, 1898
Robespierre London Lyceum Apr. 15, 1899
La Tosca (opera libretto) . .Rome Jan. 1900
La Fillede Tabarin (libretto)Opdra-Comique Feb. 20, 1901
Les Barbares (libretto) Opera House Oct. 23, 1901
Dante Drury Lane, London Apr. 30, 1903
La Sorcihe TMatre Sarah Bernhardt. . . .Dec. 15, 1903
L'Espionne (" Dora " re-
vised and revived) 1905
Fiorella Waldorf Theatre, London . . . June 7, 1905
La Piste Theatre des Vari^tfe Feb. 15, 1906
L' Affaire des Poisons Porte Saint-Martin Dec. 7, 1907
TALES, PAMPHLETS, ETC.
Avant La Gloire.
L'Homme aux Pigeons.
La Perle Noire: roman 1878
Discours d, I'Academie 1878
Onze Jours de SiSge.
Les Vieilles Filles.
L'Heure du Spectacle 1878
Mes Plagiats 1882
La Maison de Robespierre (reponse d M. Hamel) 1895
The Bomb Shell: a short story first published in English. February.igos
Together with a large number of Prefatory Notes and Introductions.
BOOKS COMMENTING ON SARDOU.
The following books have been consulted and at times
drawn on for facts. In the text the author's name alone is
given when quoted; here, the author, the title, and the pub-
lisher are set down in full, as some readers of this volume
might desire to make note of them.
Author Title Publisher
William Archer. . . . Study and Stage Ed. G. Richards.
Adolphe Brisson . . . Portraits Intimes Ed. Colin, 5 vols.
Henry Becque Souvenirs d'un Auteur Ed. Bib. Art. et Lit-
Dramatigue t&aire.
8 BOOKS COMMENTING ON SARDOU
Author Title Publishee
Ferdinand Brune- Les Epoques du Theatre Ed. Hachette et Cie.
TifeRE Franiais
Sir Squire and Lady On and Off the Stage.
Bancroft
Jules Claretie Victor Hugo Ed. Lib. Molifere.
RenA DoumicI Ecrivains d'Aujourd'hui. Ed. Perrin et Cie.
J. Georges Duval. . L' Annie ThSatrale Ed. Tresse.
Emile Paguet Notes Sur le Theatre Con- Ed. LecSne & Oudin.
temporain
J. AND E. GoNCouRT Joumol des Goncourts . . . Ed. Charpentier, 7
vols.
LEOPOLD Lacour. . . . Trois ThSatres Ed. lAvy.
GusTAVE Larroumet Etttdes Dramntiques Ed. Hachette et Cie.
Jules Lemaitre .... Impressions de Theatre . . Ed. Lectoe & Oudin.
10 vols.
Alphonse Leveaux. ThSatre de la Cour i Com- Ed. Tresse.
Brander Matthews French Dramatists of the Scribners.
igth Century
E. Mont6gut Dramaturges et Roman- Ed. Hachette et Cie.
ciers
Hugues Rebell .... Victorien Sardou Ed. Plume.
Prancisque Sarcey. Quarante Ans de Theatre. Ed. Biblioth^ue des
Annales, 8 vols.
Andr£ Sardou Une (Ewvre d'un Demi- In " Le Th&tre," 1904
Steele
George Bernard Dramatic Opinions Brentano's, 2 vols.
Shaw
Albert Soubies. . . . Almanach des Spectacles. Ed. Flammarion.
James H. Stoddart. Recollections of a Player. . Century Co.
Edouard Noel et i , . , , ~ , „ , ^,. , „
Edmond StoulligI Les Annales du Thiatre. . Ed.011endorfi,33vols.
Ed. Tresse Foyers et Coulisses
A. B. Walkley Drama and Life Brentano's.
A. B. Walkley Playhouse Impressions. . . Pisher Unwin.
AuGusTE ViTU Les Mille et Une Nuits de Ed. Ollendorff, 9 vols.
Thiatre
Albert Wolff Sardou et L'Oncle Sam. . Ed.LibrairieNouvelle.
Thiatre de Victorien Calmann-L4vyed.34vols. L'lUustration ed. 9
Sardou vols.
CONTENTS
PART FIRST
SARDOU'S CAREER
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Childhood and Youth 17
II. Early Struggles and Failures 24
III. Treacherous Collaborators, Quarrels, More
Failures 32
IV. His First Success 38
V. Success Brings Charges of Plagiarism 49
VI. Sardou Becomes a Landed Gentleman, and is Called
to Court 61
VII. The Success of " Patrie " and the End of the Empire 66
VIII. Sardou's Plays Attacked by Politicians and the Cen-
sorship Invoked 74
IX. Sardou Scores three Successes, and Becomes an Aca-
demician 82
X. "Theodora" and "La Tosca" Succeed, although
Attacked by the Critics 93
XI. " Thermidor " Prohibited, " Sans-Gene " and " Cl4opa-
TRE " Successful 99
XII. Sardou as a Spiritualist 105
XIII. " Robespierre," " Dante," " La Sorciere " — ^Plays of
THE End Ill
XIV. Ways of Living and Methods of Work 123
XV. The French Critics on Sardou 138
10 CONTENTS
PART SECOND
THE SARDOU PLAYS
PAGE
Dora i49
Les Pattes de Mouche 156
Patrie 175
DiVORCONS 190
La Haine 196
La Famille BenoIton 203
Daniel Rochat 208
Madame Sans-Gene 213
La Tosca 221
Thermidor 226
Fedora 234
Rabagas 240
Les Bourgeois de Pont-Arcy 260
Theodora 265
Les Femmes Fortes 270
L'Oncle Sam 274
Odette 284
Les Vieux Garjons 289
Andrea 299
Nos Intimes 303
Ferreol 316
Sfiritisme 320
Gismonda 323
Les Gens Nerveux 328
Maison Neuve 337
Les Merveilleuses 357
Pernande 359
La Papillonne 361
Les Ganaches 363
La Sorciere 365
CONTENTS 11
PAGE
Robespierre 368
Dante 371
Pamela 373
La Taverne des Etudiants 376
Le Crocodile 378
La Fille de Tabarin 381
Les Barbares 383
PART THIRD
THE SARDOU PLAYS IN THE UNITED STATES
PAGE
A Scrap of Paper 387
Diplomacy 388
Fedora 390
La Tosca 391
CleopAtre 392
GiSMONDA 393
Theodora 393
Bosom FRiE>fDs 394
Agnes 394
DivoRgoNS 395
Fernande 396
Madame Sans-Gbne 397
Daniel Rochat 398
Thermidor 399
Americans Abroad 399
A Woman's Silence 399
Uncle Sam 400
Spiritisme 400
Robespierre 400
La SorciI:re 401
The Love Letter 401
12 CONTENTS
PAGE
Andr]£ Portier 401
The Exn.ES 402
Patrie 402
A Man of Honor 402
A Fast Family 402
PiccoLiNO ^ 403
Odette 403
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Sabdou at His Desk Frontispiece
Sabdou at Two Score 74
Sabdou at Three Score and Ten 118
PART FIRST
SARDOU'S CAREER
SARDOU
AND THE SARDOU PLAYS
*
CHAPTER I
Childhood and Youth
Nearly all our knowledge of Sardou's family and child-
hood we owe to the veteran playwright himself. One day,
seated in an easy chair, wearing his velvet cap and with a
soft silken muffler wrapped round his throat, he confided to
the attentive ear of Adolphe Brisson, then critic of Le
Temps, some of his earliest recollections of his family
history.
" My name," he said, " is only a nickname : my ancestors
were ' Les Sardes,' ' Lei Sardou,' as they are called in the
patois of the South. They left their home and migrated to
Le Cannet, a spot near Cannes, where they grouped them-
selves into a village. Their cottages were arranged on
both sides of a long street, the gates at either end of which
were closed at nightfall. There they lived in a close inti-
macy, only occasionally broken by internecine feuds and
savage vendettas."
Sardou was wont to relate that his grandfather was at
Nice when the young general Bonaparte passed through at
the head of his army. The grandsire was fond of relating
in the family circle that the hastily-recruited regiments were
undisciplined, ill-equipped, without cohesion, and even with-
out proper food. Nothing but a strong guard of veterans
kept them in the ranks.
2 17
18 SARDOU'S CAREER
Sardou's father, Antoine Leandre Sardou, was attending
school at Cannes in 1815 when General Cambronne, of
Waterloo fame, entered the place with his troops. They
were confronted by a coast-guard in the Bourbon uniform,
with powdered wig, cocked hat, lace ruffles, silk waistcoat
embroidered with golden fleur-de-lis, and shoes with silver
buckles. Brandishing his staff of office to stop the Napo-
leonic army, the man called in a trembling voice, " Rascals,
return at once to Elba, or the King, my master, will chastise
you as you deserve." The old grenadiers received this
defiance with roars of laughter. The elder Sardou used
often to relate this story to his son as presenting a striking
picture of the New France confronted by the Old.
When Victorien Sardou came into the world, on Sep-
tember 7, 1831, his father had become a citizen of Paris,
and occupied a modest suite of rooms in the Rue Beau-
treilles, in the Faubourg St. Antoine. There Victorien's
early boyhood was passed, and there, in the neighbourhood
of the Place Bastille, on the scene of events still within the
memory of middle-aged men, he must early have imbibed
that deep interest in the great drama of the French Revolu-
tion which was destined in after-years to find expression in
some of his most powerful plays.
Grandfather Sardou had served as a volunteer in 1792,
and subsequently became a surgeon in the army of Italy.
On the conclusion of the Napoleonic wars he retired to
Le Cannet and took to growing olives for the Marseilles
market. But one night in 1819 a sudden frost destroyed
his trees, and, seeing the financial ruin that had overtaken
his father, Antoine Leandre, then sixteen years of age,
migrated to Paris to seek his fortune. He was an energetic
young fellow, ready to turn his hand to any work that
offered, and became successively a tutor, a bookkeeper in a
house of business, and finally a schoolmaster. He had not
been long at Paris when he married a Mademoiselle Viard,
CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 19
the daughter of a manufacturer at Troyes. Leandre held
various educational appointments at the Ecole de Commerce
et des Arts Industriels at Charonne, and at the Ecole Otto-
mane at Paris, and elsewhere, and was also much occupied
with the editing of school books and other literary work.
But all his industry did not bring him much material reward,
though, being a worthy man, he did not lack the esteem and
affection of numerous friends. His son Victorien was thus
brought up in a scholastic atmosphere, and to this fact no
doubt owed much of his scholarly instincts and his feeling
for history and archaeology. At ten years of age Victorien
had not only read the plays of Moliere, but had learned them
by heart, and recited them with much enthusiasm. During
his boyhood two severe illnesses interrupted his studies.
One of them was a lung inflammation, another a dangerous
attack of scarlatina. When convalescent he was sent to
Cannes to regain his strength. On his return to Paris he
found that his father had removed to the other side of the
river, where he had set up a school in the Rue des Postes,
which prospered until the critical year 1848, when he was
forced to close his doors.
This was the famous " Year of Revolutions," and Vic-
torien, then in his seventeenth year, was still a pupil at the
College Henri IV. Even in those early days he felt impelled
to write, and there is still in existence a curious diary in
which the boy Victorien recorded his impressions of those
agitated times. The entries under the date of June 22 and
June 23, 1848, afford some personal glimpses. Louis
Philippe abdicated on February 24th, and he and his min-
ister Guizot were now safe in England. On February 26th
the Second Republic was proclaimed, and a Provisional
Government set up, controlled by a new " National Assem-
bly." The tone of the nine hundred members composing
this body was moderate — indeed, too moderate for the
revolutionary elements of the faubourgs; and, unfortu-
20 SARDOU'S CAREER
nately, the economic policy they adopted was radically un-
sound. To relieve the prevailing distress and discontent,
they set up great " National Workshops " at Paris. Those
who secured work were to receive two francs, while those
for whom work could not be provided were entitled to one
and a half francs per day. The dictates of economic
prudence were thus thrown to the winds, and disaster fol-
lowed. The needy and desperate were drawn, as by some
great magnet, from every comer of France to Paris. It was
found impossible to furnish work for all, and soon the
mutterings of a storm were heard. Young Sardou thus
had a personal glimpse of revolution. In this diary he tells
us how he and a schoolfellow went, on the evening of
Thursday, June 22, to the Place du Pantheon, after
dinner, and there heard a mob orator addressing the
crowd. The man wound up with the words : " Then, it is
agreed . . . all, to-morrow morning meet here at
eight o'clock, and we will march to the Assembly with
arms !"
The boys went home and to bed in a high state of ex-
citement, wondering what the morrow would bring. Next
morning, at a quarter before eight, Victorien duly sallied
forth for school. On the way he met another schoolfellow,
and the result of the conversation that ensued was a deter-
mination to play truant that day.
The boys rambled about the city, visiting all the radical
quarters, but to their disappointment all was quiet. On
their way back they entered the Church of St. Etienne,
near Sardou's home in the Rue des Postes. Monseigneur
AflFre, the Archbishop of Paris, was holding a confirmation
service in the church. On his return Victorien found the
household in a state of agitation over the news of barricades
and mobs. Sardou Pere donned his uniform as a member
of the National Guard, and, taking his musket, sallied
forth, but returned within three minutes. He had met a
CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 21
comrade returning without his gun. The summons to the
Place du Pantheon which he had hastened to obey was only
a trap to disarm the defenders of the peace. But, though
the boys saw nothing of importance, this 23d of June was
the first of three terrible days of bloodshed. Two days
later the good Archbishop whom they had seen in the church
that morning, was mortally wounded by a musket-ball at
the large barricade in the Place de la Bastille while he
was making a noble effort to still the passions of the mob.
In their home in the Rue des Postes the Sardous heard the
rattle of musketry and an occasional boom of cannon, but
the desperate fighting which ensued in other quarters of the
city came no nearer that day.
On the morning of Saturday, June 24, the Sardou house-
hold awoke to the sound of firing as near as the Pantheon.
Sardou Pere closed the shutters, laid in a stock of pro-
visions, and arranged for a flight to the rear in case of
emergency. There were two barricades in the immediate
vicinity. One at the entrance of the Rue des Fosses-
Saint- Jacques had been stormed, and was now held by the
soldiers of the regular army. Another strong barricade at
the comer where the Rue de la Vieille Estrapade and the
Rue d'Ulm meet was still in the hands of the insurgents.
In fact, the Sardous were in the thick of a regular battle.
From time to time Victorien rushed into his room to write
up his diary, "thinking that it might be valuable to me
some day;" here we may note his foresight even in boy-
hood. The rest of the day was spent on the roof with his
companions. By climbing through to the attic windows
they could even see the insurgents' barricade, and once
Victorien had quite an adventure to record in his notes :
" One of my friends was smoking. A shot was fired ; whence,
I know not. The defenders of the barricade simply looked up,
and, misled, no doubt, by the tobacco smoke, greeted it with a
salvo of shot. Our curious friends had only just time to drop
22 SARDOU'S CAREER
on all fours and scuttle back into the attic, dragging one another
by the legs. My father was furious; he closed the skylights,
forbade any one to enter the attics, and said that if the quarter
remained in the hands of the insurgents it was enough to cause
us all to be murdered."
The fusillade lasted till late in the afternoon. From
their coign of vantage on the roof the Sardous could watch
the insurgent sharpshooters creeping down their street to
fire at the soldiery. At last the revolutionists were repulsed
at all points, though the firing was still kept up. Finally a
cannon was brought up from the Pantheon. The watchers
heard a general officer call upon the mob to surrender. A
refusal was the sole response. Tiie roar of a cannon shot
was heard. No second one was necessary, for the barricade
was immediately stormed and the noise of the conflict
gradually died away in the distance. The inhabitants of the
streets in that neighbourhood then ventured out to count
their broken windows and to search for the bullet-marks
on their walls and the splashes of blood on their pave-
ments. There was one more alarm. All rushed indoors
again, but finally, by nine o'clock in the evening, absolute
tranquillity reigned, with the military in full possession of
that quarter of the city and the Place du Pantheon lit up
by the lurid glow of their watchfires.
One day in 1852 the elder Sardou asked his son Vic-
torien — ^who was now twenty-one, and had just finished his
course at the College Henri IV. — ^what calling in life he
would prefer to adopt. When Victorien replied "litera-
ture," his father cynically remarked : " All idlers say the
same thing." Leandre Sardou, who had intended to make
a schoolmaster of Victorien, was disappointed with his son's
career at college. He had won no honours and carried oflF
no prizes. The father was determined that his son should
follow some useful profession. Victorien was cornered,
CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 23
and, being forced to choose some profession other than
literature, selected medicine.
Young Sardou installed himself in a miserable garret
in the Quai aux Fleurs, and for eighteen months walked the
wards of the Necker Hospital under the famous surgeon
Dr. Lenoir. He paid slight attention, however, to the
clinical lectures and the operations of great surgeons ; while
listening to disquisitions on anatomy his thoughts used to
wander to poetry and the stage. And yet the contemporary
stage was by no means pleasing to his youthful fancy. On
one or two occasions, when he visited the theatre with his
father, he had returned with a marked contempt for what
he had seen. At that time no playwright appealed to him
except Victor Hugo. The young man was ambitious, his
ideas were on a lofty plane. He did not care for the ordi-
nary prose drama, but preferred Shakespearian tragedies in
verse.
Before Victorien had completed his course at the hos-
pital, however, he had the misfortune to lose two sisters,
and, to complete his troubles, his father fell into pecuniary
difficulties, forsook Paris, and returned to his home in the
sunny South, where he began life over again, struggling
valiantly to pay his debts.
CHAPTER II
Early Struggles and Failures
His father's departure from Paris left Victorien alone
in the great city, utterly without means. He was deprived
even of the bed and board which he had always found in
his father's house. He therefore found it necessary to share
with a fellow medical student his poor garret in the Quai
aux Fleurs, near the Pont Notre Dame. In a conspicuous
place in his study, years afterward, he still had a water-
colour to which he often called the attention of visitors :
" This picture represents the old Bridge of Notre Dame
with the taU and narrow houses clinging to its sides. It was
contemporaneous with Louis XVI. When I was living near the
Quai Napoleon, these buildings had nearly all disappeared, but
vestiges of them were still visible from my garret windows. Every
morning I went down into the street and purchased some boiled
potatoes from the peripatetic vendor at the corner, and while
devouring my humble breakfast I used to join the anglers who
were casting their lines along the Quai. One I remember well —
he was a red-haired fellow who had played a leading part in
the massacres of the Reign of Terror. His stories sometimes
made me think of incorporating them in a play for the stage.
In fact, it was at this time that I first turned my thoughts in
the direction of play-writing."
One night, during this time of bitter privation, young
Sardou, pale, thin, and shabby, was wandering in stormy
weather in the vicinity of the Medical School of Paris.
Fortune had not been kind to him, and he was vaguely
meditating suicide. To shelter himself from the rain he
went under the doorway of an unfinished building, leaving
it in a few moments. A water-carrier promptly took the
place of shelter thus vacated, audibly remarking: "Ah,
24
EARLY STRUGGLES AND FAILURES 25
mon ami, you don't know when you are well oif." The
words were scarcely out his mouth, when a block of granite
fell with a crash and killed him. Even then Sardou was
superstitious, and believing from this accident that he had
yet room to hope, went home and again took up his pen.
Sardou set vigorously to work. He composed melo-
dramas, comedies, and tragedies. Two pieces flowed from
his pen in these his salad days. The first was " Les Amis
Imaginaires," a- two-act piece in the style of Picard, a
dramatist of the First Empire ; in this piece we find the first
idea of " Nos Intimes." The second was " Queen Ulfra,"
a Swedish drama in which the princess spoke in alexan-
drines while the ministers and common people were given
shorter verses proportioned to their rank; this dramatic
freak was never repeated. He also planned an ambitious
play of the time of the Reformation; it was to require
three evenings of playing time, to be called respectively
" Luther," " The Peasants' War," and " The Anabaptists."
Naturally, he could find no manager anxious to put on his
three-night drama. Undismayed, and in spite of the finan-
cial straits to which he had been reduced, he devoted his
time to the completion of " Queen Ulfra." When his piece
was finished he dedicated it to Mile. Rachel, at that time the
reigning tragedienne, and took it to Chotel, the director
of the Belleville Theatre in the suburbs of Paris, who had
in his younger days accompanied Rachel in her tours in the
provinces as an actor. Sardou himself had never even seen
Rachel, and had no right to feel disappointment at her not
finding " Queen Ulfra " to her taste. " Let your friend
write me a Greek tragedy, and we shall see," was the
I answer brought back by Chotel.
But once more the hopes of the budding dramatist were
revived by a strange adventure that befell his play. He was
informed by an acquaintance — a dealer in umbrellas who
kept house for M. Romieu, the Director of Fine Arts —
26 SARDOU'S CAREER
that a Mile. Desfosses might possibly be induced to appear
in his play. Romieu, being in debt and hard pressed by his
creditors, lived in a suite of rooms in the Rue Lavalle,
which he had engaged in the name of his umbrella-dealer
housekeeper. Like M'oliere's housekeeper, she shone with
a borrowed lustre reflected from her influential employer,
and people sought to win her ear in order to reach Romieu.
Among others the young actress Desfosses, who was about
to make her debut at the Theatre-Frangais, was naturally
eager to secure the patronage of the Director. It was in
this roundabout way that Sardou had hopes of placing his
first play. In fact the story goes that when Sardou brought
his play to Romieu's apartment the housekeeper said to him
curtly : " Yes, Mile. Desfosses will be here presently. You
may leave your play. We will read it."
The play was read, and Mile. Desfosses produced it.
But this rival of Rachel, of whom readers may now hear
for the first time, made a colossal fiasco. " What can be
the cause of the failure ?" asked the author. " It is simple
enough," replied the vendor of umbrellas, " it is that
nasty Rachel. She got up a cabal against Mile. Desfosses,
and organised all the opera-glass peddlers in Paris into a
clique to hiss her down. But Desfosses got even with the
nasty Jewess after the performance. She said : ' Why, that
was not an audience, it was a synagogue !' "
Such, at any rate, was the story that went the round
of Paris. Some of the details may be apocryphal. But it
is certain that Sardou wrote " Queen Ulfra," that he had
dreams of seeing it acted, and that his hopes were dashed
to the ground. Mile. Desfosses did not stay at the Theatre-
Frangais, but suddenly left Paris, and the theatrical world
knew her no more.
The fiasco of " La Reine Ulfra " was a sore disappoint-
ment, but the young author was not left long without a re-
vival of hope. In the course of the next few days he
received a welcome intimation that a play of his had been
EARLY STRUGGLES AND FAILURES 27
accepted at the Odeon. This was the "Taveme des
Etudiants."
Before we follow the fortunes of this famous piece we
must return to see how the author was faring in the mean-
time. Sardou never doubted of the final success of this
new production, but he was at his wits' end to find the
wherewithal to pay his rent and to purchase clothes, were
it only in order to be sufficiently well-dressed to call on the
manager of the Odeon when that gentleman should deign
to send for him. To supply his necessities he accepted
everything that presented itself in the way of employment.
He became copyist, bookseller's clerk, and professor of
languages. When he succeeded in procuring an appoint-
ment to undertake the educational charge of a young
Turkish gentleman on the understanding that he was to
give three lessons a week at five francs a lesson, he thought
that fortune was knocking at his door. " He was called
Skander Bey," related Sardou. " He was the son of an
ex-officer of the Empire who had gone to Egypt to organise
the cavalry of Ibrahim Bey. He went there a French
colonel, but soon blossomed out into an Egyptian Pasha.
Of all my pupils at that time my recollections of his son
are the most agreeable. When we parted we shed tears
and swore eternal friendship."
Many years later, in 1869, when the Khedive gave his
magnificent fetes to inaugurate the Suez Canal, Sardou
was urged by Edmond About and other friends to visit
Egypt, but was unable to carry out the suggestion. " I can-
not accompany you," he said, " but I will give you letters of
introduction to Skander Bey, a young Pasha, who was a
pupil of mine and who is one of my dearest friends. He
will receive you royally." On their return he inquired of
his friends about their reception, not doubting that they
would grow enthusiastic over Mahometan hospitality. But
he was wrong. " Your friend Skander Bey !" cried About.
" Don't talk to me of your Moslem friends. He drove us
28 SARDOU'S CAREER
out of the door, calling us Christian dogs, and threatening
to have us bastinadoed if we darkened his door again." It
was evident that the western teaching of Sardou had not
sunk very deep into the oriental mind of Skander Bey, who
had become a more bigoted Moslem than his father.
In later years, when talking of his youth, Sardou would
often seize paper and pencil and rapidly sketch out lines
which evolved themselves into a complicated map; streets,
squares, and buildings grew under his deft pencil. It was
a map of that portion of Paris which is called " the City,"
as it existed before the wholesale demolitions of Napoleon
III. Around Notre Dame there was then a maze of narrow
streets with ancient houses overhanging the footway. The
street lamps on which aristocrats had been hanged and the
gutters in which their blood had run were still pointed out
in the quarter near the Temple. When young Sardou was
haunting that part of Paris, this scenery and stage settmg
of the days of the Revolution were still all in place. The
marked taste which he showed in his maturer years for
dramatic archaeology, and his historical plays of those
troublous times, evidently originated in his walks and talks
in that quarter during his youth. He often used to say
with a sigh : " The Old Paris of my youth no longer ex-
ists. Some of it might surely have been saved by its very
picturesqueness. But our sanitarians and architects know
no pity."
One morning Sardou was breakfasting at the Hotel
de Ville with Baron Haussmann. The pla)rwright had
already won fame, and his host was questioning him upon
the hardships of his youth. Sardou led him to the window :
" Look !" said he, " I am going to show you the garret in
which I lived near the Quai Napoleon." But he sought in
vain at the corner by the Pont Notre Dame for the house
where he had been at once so happy and so wretched. It
had been torn down, and the workmen were at that very
EARLY STRUGGLES AND FAILURES 29
moment carting away the debris. Sardou sighed as he
pointed out to the Baron the masses of stone and brick
and the blackened beams heaped up in the ruins. " Look,"
said he, " it is my youth that you are destroying."
To return to the " Students' Tavern," it was in verse,
and the placing of this play by an unknown writer was
said to be due to Camille Doucet, the Director of Stage
Affairs in the Ministry of that time under the Second Em-
pire. The Odeon was then under the management of
Alphonse Royer and Gustave Vaez. Doucet — (so ran the
story which gained credence among the students) — recom-
mended Sardou and his play to these gentlemen, and it was
accepted. In all probability, however, the acceptance of
" La Taverne," was accidental. M. Vaez, on leaving the
theatre with his friend Mile. Berengere, chanced to turn
over the heap of plays submitted for approval. The lady
was struck by Sardou's fine handwriting, and on glancing
at the manuscript noticed some telling points. She had no
difficulty in inducing Vaez to read the piece. It was ap-
proved and finally accepted in compliance with the general
policy favoured by Camille Doucet of encouraging budding
talent.
Sardou himself thus related his meeting with Constant,
the Cerberus of the Odeon Theatre, when he submitted his
manuscript in October, 1853, facing this gruff challenge :
"Whom do you want to see, young man?"
"The Director," replied Sardou.
"What for?"
"To hand him a play."
"I'm sorry for you, young man. Since this morning we
have already received more than two hundred plays. Put your play
on the heap."
" But," objected Sardou, " I do not want to .put my play
on the heap."
"Well, take it away to-day or to-morrow; it's all the same
thing, for you'll have to take it away some time or other."
30 SARDOU'S CAREER
But the cynical Constant was mistaken. Sardou did not
take away "The Students' Tavern." The piece was ac-
cepted and produced. It was also damned, and the terrible
failure of the play is one of the traditions of dramatic
Paris. Altogether apart from the intrinsic qualities of
" The Students' Tavern," there were various reasons for
its failure. These were partly political. It is a curious
element in Sardou's career that the success or failure of his
plays should so often have hinged upon political issues.
At that time the Odeon Theatre was familiarly called the
" Second Theatre-Frangais," for it had been placed upon
the list of subsidised houses. Director Doucet was a mem-
ber of the Emperor's household. Thus a household official
of the Empire was generally believed to be responsible for
the recommendation of this young author to the managers
of a subsidised theatre. The fact alone was enough to
rouse against him the animosity of all the ardent youths of
the Latin Quarter. The studentry are always in opposition.
So high had their feelings risen that before the piece was
actually played it was rumoured in all the cafes of the
quarter that it had been written to order against the students
and paid for with money out of the imperial purse.
The fatal evening came, Saturday, April i, 1854. The
curtain rose on an audience already waiting to hiss, a cir-
cumstance not unknown in the history of the French stage
and which befell Sardou more than once. The exaspera-
tion of the students had been inflamed by a tactless pro-
ceeding on the part of the management. When Sardou
handed in his play its title was simply " La Taveme." " But
to my disgust," related Sardou, "with a view to drawing
the students of the Quartier Latin to the Odeon, the man-
agers added the words ' des Etudiants.' " By this addition
the students were naturally confirmed in their belief that
the play was directed against themselves. The house was
packed with students, and no sooner had the curtain risen
EARLY STRUGGLES AND FAILURES 31
than a storm of yells and hooting burst forth. Two lines
occurring early in the play :
" On n'a plus de jeunesse, on n'a plus de pudeur,
Et Ton se croit savant, et Ton se croit penseur,"
were judged to be specially insulting. The uproar never
ceased until the curtain was lowered. On Monday, the
night of the second performance, the same turmoil. The
students even went so far as to turn the gas oil. After this
the piece was summarily withdrawn. Its failure had been
disastrous.
Sheridan, when receiving the sympathy of some Job's
comforter, was asked : " Can anything be worse than a
damned play?" He replied: "Yes, a d d fool." But
even past-masters in stagecraft like Dumas the Younger
and Sardou, when in their prime, have had to feel the mor-
tification of failure. How much more bitter then must have
been the vexation of young Victorien over the failure of
what was practically his first play! Not only were all his
hopes of that particular play blighted, but for the nonce it
closed all stage doors against him.
CHAPTER III
Treacherous Collaborators, Quarrels, More Failures
For a time the failure of " The Students' Tavern " kept
the stage doors closed to Sardou, but at last one door was
put slightly on the jar again. Oddly enough, it was that
of the Odeon, and it was M. Vaez, one of the managers
who had produced the luckless " Students' Tavern," who
was disposed to give Sardou another chance. The young
playwright set to work on another piece, " Bernard
Palissy." It was composed in verse, for apparently Sardou
still disdained prose. Unfortimately, he knew little of the
practical side of the stage. Like most beginners, he be-
lieved that the literary qualities of a play were the most
important. He did not know that a good acting play may
be by no means a model of good style, but no matter how
well written a bad acting play may be, it will never really
succeed. Sardou had his eyes opened by the plays of
Scribe. At that day it was the fashion among the younger
literary men to sneer at Scribe — ^as it is to-day, by the way,
to sneer at Sardou. Scribe was called a " pot-boiler," a
maker of mechanical plays, a man who wrote scenes to fit
scenery, and a maker of plots rather than of plays. Ap-
palling tales were told of him by unsuccessful playwrights.
It was whispered that he sucked the brains of other men,
purchased ideas, revamped them, and thus acquired the
large fortune which he was then enjo)ring. How they
accounted for the fact that with the ideas of unsuccessful
playwrights he made successful plays, tradition does not
tell. But all were agreed that Scribe was mediocre, that his
success was accidental, and that he was a miser. Albert
Wolff gives these details of the opinions held with regard
to Scribe in the fifties, and adds this anecdote:
32
TREACHEROUS COLLABORATORS 33
" The only influential man I knew in Paris " [said Sar-
dou] " was Dumas the Elder. One day I said to him :
' Won't you give me a letter of introduction to Scribe the
playwright?' 'Scribe?' said the great romancer, 'who is
Scribe? I never heard of him.' I sighed, and determined
to see Scribe without the letter. So I called at his house
that very day, and was at once received. ' Pardon my in-
trusion,' I said, 'but I had expected to bring a letter of
introduction to you from M. Alexandre Dumas, the cele-
brated romancer.' ' Dumas ? ' interrupted Scribe, ' never
heard of him ; who is Dumas ? ' "
As Albert Wolff tells this story seriously, it may be true
that these two famous Frenchmen were working in the
same city at the same time without even hearing of one
another.
Sardou was too sensible a man to be affected by this
cheap depreciation of Scribe. The first and second pieces
of Scribe that he saw had such a profound effect upon him
that he began to study the works of the master. They were
a revelation to him. He began a methodical system of an-
alysis of Scribe's plays. For instance, he would read the
first act of a play and stop there ; write the remainder him-
self, and then compare his work with Scribe's ; or he would
begin in the middle of a play, and endeavour from reading
one act to construct what had gone before and what was to
follow. He thus acquired that stagecraft which so puzzled
the critics of his earlier plays, for it is usually the fruit of
long experience.
While he was thus studying the rudiments of his art he
was waiting impatiently for the production of his play
"Bernard Palissy." It was lying, buried in dust, in the
pigeon-holes of the Odeon, which house was, as we have
seen, managed at that time by Alphonse Royer and Gustave
Vaez. Many years afterwards, when the Odeon was in
other hands, Sardou was able to trace the fate of his luckless
3
S4 SARDOU'S CAREER
" Palissy." The play-register of the theatre was shown to
him by La Rounat, Royer's successor. Against " Palissy "
in Vaez's handwriting stood the word " accepted." Royer
had erased "accepted" and substituted "declined," and
this not once but twice. It is needless to add that " Bernard
Palissy " was never played.
Sardou managed for a time to live by writing articles
for a biographical dictionary whose editor was struck by
his profound knowledge of the sixteenth century. This
knowledge had been acquired by Sardou's five-years' study
of that period while he was working at his proposed tragedy
on the Reformation. Each article for this dictionary re-
quired a month of research in libraries and thirty days of
hard labour, which brought him in exactly one franc a
day. He preserved an unfinished sketch of the life of
Erasmus, which for years he kept as a relic of the struggles
of his youth. After this biographical work he succeeded
in obtaining a couple of pupils, from each of whom he
received two and a half francs a day, walking to the house
of one of them, two miles, in order to save the omnibus
fare. One lesson was given in the morning, an important
consideration to him, for his pupil frequently invited him
to luncheon, which saved the expense of a dinner; for at
that time Sardou looked upon dinner, on the days when he
had taken luncheon, as a wild extravagance.
While the play of " Bernard Palissy " was mouldering
in the pigeon-holes of the Odeon, an old actor named
Boudeville proposed to Sardou to introduce him and his
plays to Paul Feval. After the performance of the famous
five-act drama of "The Hunchback," or "Le Bossu," at
the Porte Saint-Martin on September 8, 1862, a long dis-
pute arose with the collaborators, Anicet-Bourgeois and
Paul Feval, neither of whom denied that Sardou had some-
thing to do with the play in this obscure period of his life.
As a matter of fact, Sardou came to Feval in order to in-
TREACHEROUS COLLABORATORS 35
terest him in his play " Fleur de Liane," the scene of which
was laid in Canada, and to suggest the idea of adapting
Feval's famous novel "Le Bossu," published in 1858, for
the stage. He was careful to take with him a scenario, or
full outline, of his proposed dramatic version.
It so happened that Feval was looking out for some-
thing of the kind, and readily fell in with the plan. The
actor Fechter had come to Feval requiring from him one of
those peculiar plays in which the player has to appear in
various characters, somewhat after the fashion of what is
called in stage slang a " lightning-change artist." Feval
and Fechter began racking their brains for some character
of this type, and finally agreed that the famous humpback
Lagardere afforded a promising subject. Tradition says
that at the time of the John Law speculation fever Lagar-
dere made a fortune by letting his hump as a writing desk
to speculators in the Rue Quincampoix. But instead of
giving Sardou the benefit of his suggestions, Feval pre-
ferred to collaborate with Anicet-Bourgeois, then at the
height of his reputation. It is believed that Feval and
Bourgeois did not hesitate to avail themselves of Sardou's
scenario. Such was the genesis of what eventually proved
to be Feval's only successful play. However that may be,
a fierce quarrel broke out. In a violent article which he
published in the Figaro in 1866, some three years after
the production of his play, Paul Feval depicted Sardou
in the most unflattering colours. With a lamentable lack of
generosity he drew a picture of him at the time when,
humble, shabbily dressed, and shivering with cold, Sardou
came to warm himself at the fireplace of the prosperous
novelist. Sardou did not hesitate to attack Feval with
equal vigour in the same journal, and the quarrel became
a famous one. This polemic became very bitter before it
concluded, and first disclosed the hitherto unknown fact
of Sardou's collaboration. If we accept the story of the
36 SARDOU'S CAREER
original scenario brought by Sardou, there have been three
versions of the story for the stage, the second being that
by Anicet-Bourgeois and Feval performed in 1862. The
third, also based on Feval's novel, was " Le Bossu," a comic
opera in four acts by Henri Bocage and Amaud Liorat-
with music by Charles Grisart, which was produced at the
Gaite on March 19, 1888.
Such is the generally accepted and most probable version
of what occurred. Another account put forth by some of
Sardou's friends is that the scenario brought by him was
actually elaborated into the play of " Le Bossu " by Feval
and Sardou in collaboration. But unforttmately they could
not succeed in placing it at the Porte Saint-Martin Theatre,
the manager of which. Marc Foumier, did not even read
it. Feval became discouraged, and converted the play into
a long novel, which was published in serial form and made
a great hit in 1858, though neither from the play nor from
the novel did his young collaborator draw a penny of
royalty. Feval was prosperous enough to wait for the
play, but Sardou, who was living on a few francs a day by
giving lessons, could not afford delay. At least five Eng-
lish dramatic versions were made of this play. The most
recent (1908) is by Justin Huntly McCarthy under the old
title " The Duke's Motto." To add to its curious history,
out of the play which was made out of a novel Mr.
McCarthy has also written a novel made out of the play.
Five or six months passed, and Sardou still had hopes
of producing his Canadian play. In fact, " Fleur de Liane "
was actually accepted by Charles Desnoyers at the Ambigu.
But, unfortunately for the author, this manager died soon
afterward, and his successor mislaid the manuscript.
Three years had now passed since the failure of " The
Students' Tavern." " Bernard Palissy " was still unplayed,
and Sardou could no longer count on " Le Bossu." At
this moment another avenue of employment was suddenly
TREACHEROUS COLLABORATORS 37
opened for him. The composer A. Gevaert consented to
let Sardou write the libretto for his opera "Le Capitaine
Henriot." But to the young man's disappointment one day
his friend Prilleux said to him : " Sardou, I see you are
continually with Gevaert. You think he is going to col-
laborate with you in ' Le Capitaine Henriot ' ? You don't
know him. He is good-natured, and does not wish to hurt
your feelings by sending you to the right-about at once;
but, depend upon it, he will have nothing to do with a man
who has made so many failures as you. You began with
a failure, and as yet you have scored no success. You are
only losing your time with him." What Prilleux said was
too true. The composer did not care to venture his own
reputation with the unsuccessful Sardou, and the opera of
" Le Capitaine Henriot " was not produced until several
years afterwards, in 1864, when Sardou himself had
achieved success and was far more famous than the com-
poser. There was no hope at the Odeon, " The Hunch-
back " was apparently shelved, the manager of the Ambigu
was dead, and Gevaert was playing him false with "Le
Capitaine Henriot."
CHAPTER IV
His First Success
When things were at their gloomiest, fate suddenly
threw in Sardou's way the chance that was eventually to
lead to success. In 1857 he was living in a garret in deep
distress. He contracted typhoid fever and was at death's
door. By a marvellous stroke of good fortune he found a
devoted nurse in a Mile. Moisson de Brecourt, who lived
with her mother on another floor of the same house. This
lady was a young actress who played under the name of
Laurentine Leon. She no sooner heard that the shabby
young man whom she had so often met on the staircase
was dangerously ill than she installed herself as his nurse,
and succeeded so well that the sick man was restored to
health and vigour. In the following year his gentle little
nurse became Madame Sardou, and proved a devoted wife
till her death, nine years afterward, in 1867. Her married
life was short, but she at least lived to see her husband in
full possession of fame and fortune.
Mile, de Brecourt happened to be acquainted with the
famous actress Pauline Virginie Dejazet, who was then
engaged at the Theatre des Varietes under the manage-
ment of the Cogniards. She therefore came to Sardou in
time to reanimate his courage with the suggestion:
" Why do you not address yourself to Dejazet, who is
always bemoaning the fact that no one will write anything
for her?"
" Because I do not know her."
" But I do. I will give you a letter of introduction to
Dejazet. But have you a role for her?"
" I have better than a role ; I have a play."
Nearly four years had now passed since the failure of
38
HIS FIRST SUCCESS 39
" La Taverne des Etudiants," and Sardou had knocked in
vain at many doors. However, next day — it was a bright
sunny morning in October, 1857 — ^he took his friend's ad-
vice, and set out for Dejazet's residence at Seine-Porte.
As he said in after years, everything seemed to smile upon
him. When he reached the place he found the gate open
as though to invite him in. A smiling maid received him,
and even the garden seemed to smile a welcome. To use
his own words, it seemed to be his " debut on the high-road
to success." It was indeed the lot of Dejazet to give the
young playwright his start. In spite of his previous fail-
ures, she seemed to divine his talents.
Virginie Dejazet received the unknown Sardou in her
drawing-room without ceremony, her hands still white with
the plaster with which she had been repairing her garden
wall. She greeted him with kindness and good nature.
Sardou summoned up courage to plead his case urgently,
and, as the title of the play he had brought with him was
" Candide," he did not forget to hint how piquant it would
be to see Dejazet collaborating with Voltaire. This was an
allusion to the Sage of Femey's incomparable satirical tale
" Candide, ou I'Optimisme," written in 1758, on which in-
deed the play was founded. She read the letter of intro-
duction from Laurentine Leon, who was then playing minor
parts at the Odeon, and at once promised to read his play.
The letter appealed to the sympathy of the great comedienne
on behalf of an unfortunate author and begged her to read
a piece he had composed for her.
" A piece for me," cried Dsjazet, interested, " how many
acts?"
" Five, mademoiselle."
Having read and approved, she went from manager to
manager with the manuscript, but despite her fame and zeal
she could not find one brave enough to make the venture.
Even the Cogniards declined it. The scenes of " Candide "
4-0 SARDOU'S CAREER
were laid in Germany, France, Spain, Turkey, and Venice,
and the cost of staging such a play was altogether prohibi-
tive. " What is the use of mounting a five-act piece with
expensive costumes and scenery, when Dejazet is making
four thousand francs every evening with the ' Chant de
Beranger,' which lasts only forty minutes? " Moreover, the
managers were getting somewhat tired of Dejazet, who
shortly afterward left the Varietes and opened the Theatre-
Dejazet on her own account, on September 17, 1859, with
Sardou's next venture, " Les Premieres Armes de Figaro."
But to return to " Candide." Every manager made the
same reply to the importunities of Dejazet, that he would
not dare to put on a piece by an author who had failed
so disastrously. One of the managers kept " Candide " for
six months, and finally, when pressed by Dejazet and Sar-
dou for his decision, returned the play with the remark
that he did not believe that Sardou had any talent what-
ever, and that a manager would only injure his theatre by
putting on a piece by so unsuccessful an author. Five
years later, when Sardou had become famous, this same
manager came to him and begged him to write a pla3^
For the past seven years Dejazet had been roaming from
theatre to theatre, and her friends were anxious that at
the age of sixty she should settle down in a house of her
own. She had saved 120,000 francs in all, and it was daring
of her to embark her little capital in a theatrical enterprise.
But her confidence in her own powers encouraged her to
face the risk, and when in the summer of 1859 the lease of
the small Folies-Nouvelles in the Boulevard du Temple was
offered for sale she acquired it for the very sum of 120,000
francs. Her original intention had been to open with
" Candide," but the piece was prohibited by the censors,
and as Dejazet was working without any reserve of capital,
and an initial failure meant disaster, she had recourse again
to the man in whom she felt confidence.
HIS FIRST SUCCESS 41
Sardou had not been dismayed by the rejection of " Can-
dide " at all the theatres and its interdiction by the cen-
sors, but taking up at Dejazet's request the outline of a
piece by the old playwright Emile Vanderburch, worked it
up into a comedy; and he so utterly transformed it that
Vanderburch, who was present at the reading of the play,
failed to recognise his own child. Unlike " Candide," this
piece was inexpensive to mount, and when it had been
offered to the Cogniards and declined, Dejazet had no hesi-
tation in adopting it to inaugurate her new house. "Les
Premieres Armes de Figaro " achieved a great success. The
brilliancy of the comedy was, however, entirely due to the
sparkling dialogue furnished by Sardou, for the scheme of
the play as outlined by Vanderburch was singularly
defective.
The next piece prepared by Sardou was taken by Lau-
rentine Leon, the future Madame Sardou, to Montigny, the
manager of the Gymnase. It was called " Paris a I'Envers."
Montigny was much struck by the talent shown in this
piece, and sent for the author.
" I cannot put your piece upon my stage because it is not
suited to the Gymnase. But allow me to submit it to
Scribe. Let us see what he has to say about it."
Scribe read the play, and returned it to Montigny with
a most cruel letter. There was in the fourth act a love
scene which shocked the old playwright. He who had
brought so many couples together upon the stage could not
understand that any playwright could present the grand
passion under any other aspect. He regarded the scene as
scandalous ["immonde"], believed that audiences would
not stand it, and wound up his letter by saying that this
particular scene was the worst kind of literature, and what
was worse, that it was not dramatic literature. Yet five
or six years afterward this very scene was played, and
made the phenomenal success of " .Nos Intimes."
42 SARDOU'S CAREER
Some months afterward, Sardou brought another play,
" Les Gens Nerveux," in four acts, to the manager of the
Gymnase. Montigny read it and said : " I will give you a
piece of advice. Go and see Theodore Barriere. This play
is very much after his style of bright comedy. I think that
you and he together will make a great success of it."
The author of " Les Faux Bonshommes " received Sar-
dou kindly, read the piece, and reported : " It is not suited
to the Gymnase. You must give it to the Palais-Royal."
It so happened that Barriere had promised, but not yet
finished, a piece for this house. He jumped at the " Gens
Nerveux." In two days he cut out all the passages specially
written for the Gymnase. It was the first and last time
that the two men collaborated, for they contrived to quarrel
over the work. " Les Gens Nerveux " was produced on
November 4, 1859, and achieved only a partial success.
Montigny, too, was disappointed at the transfer of " Les
Gens Nerveux " to a rival house, and told Sardou that when
he sent him to Barriere he had no intention of presenting
the play to the Palais-Royal, but merely wanted to improve
it for the Gymnase.
Sardou's reply was consolatory. " Do not trouble about
that. Here are three acts of another play which I had
handed over to Fargueil for Lurine, the manager of the
Vaudeville. When I went to recover my manuscript,
Boieldieu, the secretary, found it mislaid in a comer. Here
it is."
"This time," said Montigny, when he had read the
play, " you have no need of a collaborator."
The new play, which was produced at the Gymnase on
May IS, i860, was the famous "Les Pattes de Mouche"
(known in English as "A Scrap of Paper"), the first ac-
knowledged masterpiece of Victorien Sardou. His earlier
pieces were to Sardou what "L'Etourdi" and "Le Depit
Amoureux " were to Moliere, a promise of better things to
HIS FIRST SUCCESS 43
come and not in themselves an achievement. It revealed
both the strong and the weak points of the author, his aston-
ishing skill in construction due in all probability to his
patient analysis of Scribe's work, his lack of emotional
depth, the witty dialogue in which he excels, and his skill
in hitting off the shortcomings of his contemporaries. The
great success achieved by " Les Pattes de Mouche " proved
a turning point in his career. " If I fail," said the author
when he heard that his play had been accepted, " I shall
start to-morrow for the United States and try my luck at
journalism." The intrinsic merits of the play and the
splendid interpretation which it received from Ml Lafon-
taine and Mme. Rose Cheri insured a triumph. In view of
this success Sardou abandoned all thoughts of seeking
fortune in any other country than his own.
Apropos of its revival, years afterward Sardou told how
he came to conceive one of the chief features of " Les Pattes
de Mouche." The story is typical of the playwright, who
always had a keen eye for the dramatic possibilities of ap-
parently trivial incidents which he treasured up in his
dossiers for future use. One day, when calling at his
tobacconist's near the Theatre-Beaumarchais, he picked up
a scrap of paper to light his cigar. The paper turned out to
be a letter from the actress Marie Laurent to her son, then
a scholar at the Lycee Versailles. This loving letter, which
Sardou preserved as one of his most treasured possessions,
also suggested a type of devoted mother which is not infre-
quently to be found in his plays. The subsequent develop-
ment of the idea was influenced by the tales of Edgar
Allan Poe, which always had a special attraction for him
by reason of their imaginative power, their sensational in-
cidents, and the skill displayed in their construction. It is
certain that " The Purloined Letter " suggested the in-
genious idea of the obvious hiding-place, and in all prob-
ability "The Gold Bug" (in England known as "The
U SARDOU'S CAREER
Golden Beetle ") had some unconscious connection with
Thirion's scarab in the third act. It may be remarked that
letters play an important part in several of Sardou's plays,
and certain of his critics never tired of reproaching him
with the employment of stale devices whenever, as in
"Seraphine," " Dora," and " Fernande," he makes the action
hinge on the adventures of a letter. In fact, Mr. A. B.
Walkley, critic of the London Times, once rather flippantly
said that this was Sardou's only claim to be called a man
of letters.
" Les Pattes de Mouche " was composed before Sardou
had emerged from the garret stage of his existence. " I
recall with pleasure," he wrote to a friend, "the hours I
spent in scribbling and erasing during the scorching
summer weather in my quarters under the roof. The ceil-
ing was so low that to breathe fresh air in comfort and to
have a good light for my work I had to push my table under
the skylight which lit up this den, and thrusting my head
under the glazed window sash, write with my hand inside
the attic and my forehead resting outside on the tiles. All
these things make me smile to-day, but they did not make
me weep even then."
Having finished the work to his satisfaction, he wrote
it out in his best handwriting and handed his manuscript to
Anna Fargueil, for whom he had written the part of
Suzanne. The reader may remember how the author's
handwriting stood him in good stead in the case of " La
Taverne des Etudiants " with Gustave Vaez and Mile.
Berengere. It had been arranged that Mile. Fargueil was
to give it to Lurine, then manager of the Vaudeville, with
warm recommendations.
Sardou waited in vain for a decision. Months passed,
until at last, exasperated by delay, he called on Boieldieu,
the secretary of the theatre. This gentleman was cold and
phlegmatic, but polite.
HIS FIRST SUCCESS 46
"What do you want?"
" My manuscript."
"What manuscript?"
"That of a play which Mile. Fargueil handed to M.
Lurine some months ago."
" What is your name ?"
" Sardou. Don't trouble to hunt up my record. I have
been hissed at the Odeon and somewhat roughly used at
the Palais-Royal together with my collaborator Barriere,
but, thanks to Dejazet, I had a success with ' Les Premieres
Armes de Figaro.' "
"Ah, yes. I know. What is the title of your play?"
" ' Les Pattes de Mouche.' "
Boieldieu then lapsed into silence, broke into a smile
of vague pity, and at last said:
"Ah! I have some recollection of it. Yes, it is true
that the manuscript was handed to me, but M. Lurine has
not yet had time to read it."
" Well, if he has not found time in three months, he never
will. Be good enough to give me back my manuscript."
Sardou thus continues the narrative: "All this time
Boieldieu was fumbling among his papers, opening drawers,
and rummaging in pigeon-holes. At last under a heap of
manuscripts he found mine. Then hesitating for a moment
to give it back to me, said :
" ' Look here, leave it with me. I promise that M.
Lurine shall have read it before forty-eight hours are
passed.'
" I declined, and taking my roll of paper, jumped into
a cab and drove to Passy, where Montigny lived. He knew
ime well. He had already declined two pieces of mine,
and he was right. But at least he had taken the trouble
to read them."
Manager Montigny was a man of somewhat grufif ex-
terior, but at bottom good-hearted enough. He had proved
46 SARDOU'S CAREER
a failure as comedian and playwright, but was an excellent
theatrical manager, a keen judge of a play, and a first-rate
man of business. On his arrival at Passy, Sardou found
that Montigny was at rehearsal, but sent in his card to
Mme. Montigny (Rose Cheri). This lady received him
graciously, and promised that Montigny should read the
manuscript. The very next day Sardou was invited to go
to the theatre, and welcomed with good news by Montigny.
His play had been accepted, and it was settled that Madame
Montigny was to play the part of Suzanne, written for
another.
" Les Pattes de Mouche " was first performed on the
15th of May, i860. It was splendidly interpreted and
proved a great success. After the fall of the curtain Mon-
tigny and Lemoine met Scribe, and Lemoine remarked:
" Well! This is the author of ' Paris a I'Envers.' Do
you believe in his future now?"
J Scribe simply replied : " I was mistaken." Scribe died
on February 20, 1861, and did not live to see the greatest
t triumphs of his successor.
A two-act comedy entitled " The Adventures of a Billet-
Doux," adapted from " Les Pattes de Mouche," by Charles
Matthews, was produced at Drury Lane, London, on No-
vember 19, i860.
Another version of the same play, " A Scrap of Paper,"
by J. Palgrave Simpson, was produced at the St. James's
Theatre, London, on April 22, 1861.
About a fortnight after the production of " Les Pattes
de Mouche" at the Gymnase, "Monsieur Garat" was
brought out at the Theatre-Dejazet on May 31, i860. It
proved one of the longest and most brilliant successes that
ever fell to the fortune of that small house. It ran for
three months and did much to build up the theatrical repu-
tation of Sardou.
For some days the two plays were in simultaneous re-
HIS FIRST SUCCESS 47
hearsal, and Sardou was in a great state of anxiety — curi-
ously enough, not at all for the fate of " Monsieur Garat,"
but about the piece that was to face the footlights at the
Gymnase. This was not the first time Sardou had been
under fire. In 1854 he was present in the coulisses at the
Odeon during the disastrous failure of " La Taverne des
Etudiants." In his second piece, " Les Premieres Armes de
Figaro," in 1859, Dejazet remarked that she had no
confidence in her old prompter, and distrusted her own
memory, so Sardou squatted in the man's place and did the
prompting himself. He had no leisure for anxiety and
was not in a position to realise the details of that evening's
success. His third piece, " Les Gens Nerveux," did not
escape without " jolts and jars," but " I felt myself sheltered
by the celebrity of my collaborator Theodore Barriere,"
said Sardou, " who took on his own broad shoulders the
main responsibility of failure or success."
May 15th, which was to decide the fate of " Les Pattes
de Mouche," was one of the most anxious evenings ever
experienced by Sardou. He himself described his state of
nervous tension, fright, and discouragement. The same
emotions were experienced on subsequent occasions, but
never with equal intensity.
" I never step on the broad pavement by the Gymnase,"
he said, " without glancing at a certain bench, where, after
innumerable turns on the Boulevard, I went to sit at the
end of each act to await the news brought me from time
to time by my friends. In spite of the success of the
second act I had so little idea of the effect produced that,
towards the end of the performance, seeing somebody rush-
ing out in a hurry, I thought : ' The piece must have been a
dead failure, the people are leaving before the end.' The
spectator passed near me, recognised me — it was Berton
Pere — and shouted : ' Great success, sir, my congratula-
tions.' Reassured, I rushed into the coulisses, where I
48 SARDOU'S CAREER
arrived just in the nick of time to be present at the triumph
of my interpreters."
The difficult problem that confronts all young play-
wrights was now solved. Sardou had fought down the
odium of failure. The struggle had lasted six years, but
he was now in a position to work out his dramatic ideas
untrammelled by constant anxiety as to the placing of his
work.
CHAPTER V
Success Brings Charges of Plagiarism
At this period Sardou seems to have shared Moliere's
opinion that the function of the stage is amusement ; he felt
that plays should be written not to harrow up the soul of
the spectator, but to hearten him up after the cares of the
day. The result of his dramatic activity for the next six
years was a series of diverting comedies, among them
" Nos Intimes," produced at the Vaudeville on November
i6, 1861 ; " Les Gahaches," at the Gymnase on October 29,
1862; "Les Pomimes du Voisin," at the Palais-Royal on
October 25, 1864, and " Nos Bons Villageois " on October
3, 1866, at the Gymnase. He also brought out a group
of three comedies satirising certain features of life under
the Second Empire. In the four comedies named above are
found humour with no aftertaste of bitterness; healthy
laughter at the foibles of others; at the vulgar envy of
the dear friends of M. Caussade in " Nos Intimes " ; at the
blind and stubborn conservatism of the Marquis de la
Rochepeans and his friends in " Les Ganaches," which
has been aptly compared with the invincible objection of the
city of Beauvais to the advent of the railway ; and the free
thought and ultra-democratic ideas represented by Dr.
Leonidas Vauclin. It is against these two opponents of
Bonapartism', the Legitimists and the Democrats, that the
satire is directed. " Les Pommes du Voisin " is a comedy
the subject of which is the escapades of a hitherto staid
young man who resolves to have his fling before mar-
riage. " Nos Bon Villageois " is a skit on the country folk
who are not so unsophisticated as they appear, in which
some critics found signs of opposition to the imperial
regime, because it laughs at the ways of the peasantry, who
4 49
60 SARDOU'S CAREER
were believed to be the mainstay of the empire of
Napoleon III.
The best known English version of " Nos Intimes " is
by H, W. Wigan, and is called "Friends or Foes." It
was produced in New York in October, 1862, only the title
being changed to " Bosom Friends."
An adaptation of " Nos Intimes " entitled " Our
Friends " was produced by George March, at the Olympic
Theatre, London, May 6, 1872.
An adaptation of " Nos Intimes " entitled " Peril," by
" Saville Rowe " and " Bolton Rowe " (Scott and Stephen-
son), was produced at the Prince of Wales, London, Sep-
tember 30, 1876.
The appearance of " Les Pommes du Voisin " at the
Palais-Royal on October 15, 1864, was a noteworthy event
in the career of the playwright, as aflfording the first occa-
sion on which some of his critics preferred those constantly
recurring charges of plagiarism which were a signal of
success. For Sardou's success could now be regarded as
firmly established. Nearly four years had elapsed since
" Les Pattes de Mouche " had revealed his powers to the
Parisian public. As success invariably breeds envy and
hostility, especially when the man who achieves it does not
readily turn his cheek to the smiter, one need not go
further for an explanation. On this occasion Sardou wrote
an interesting reply to his critics, in which he stated his
belief that the possession of true dramatic talent was dis-
played not by skill in the invention of a story but in the
delineation of character, in the working out of the details
of the plot, and in the dialogue. He then quoted the
example of the great Moliere, producing a formidable list
of the authors laid under contribution in the creation of
the miser, Harpagon. Yet Moliere by the fire of his genius
had produced a masterpiece for all time, and in fact, as he
stated in his curious defence, "took what was good wher-
CHARGES OP PLAGIARISM 51
ever he found it," in actual life or in books. After all,
even his most bitter enemies have never accused Sardou of
thefts equalling in daring those of Alexandre Dumas
Senior. We are told of this great man that " he borrowred
audaciously from such well-read authors as Schiller, Sir
Walter Scott, Victor Hugo, Augustin Thierry, and Barante.
He pleaded that a man of his rank was entitled to avail
himself of what was good wherever he found it. Even
this plea of defence was borrowed from Moliere."
In his amusing pamphlet " My Plagiarisms," published
in 1882, in reply to certain charges made on the appear-
ance of " Odette " in November of the preceding year,
Sardou tells how he triumphantly rebutted various accusa-
tions of literary larceny:
" One day I called on the publisher Michel Levy, and asked for
the address of Mme. Charles de Bernard. I explained that I had
promised a play for the Palais-Royal, and had come across a
promising subject in Bernard's novel 'Une Aventure de Magistrat,'
and that I desired to come to terms with the widow, to whom
I supposed the copyright to belong. Levy expressed his pleasure
at this example of literary probity, and mentioned several instances
of famous novels that had been dramatised without one centime
of indemnity being paid. During our conversation Levy continued
to search among his papers, and at last said : ' The address you
want is of no use, for I am Madame Charles de Bernard.' Then,
producing an agreement under which he had acquired all the
rights of the novel, he ended by asking me for one-third of his
royalties for permission to dramatise the tale.
"If ever man thought himself safe from further claims it
was myself. But you will see. ' Les Pommes du Voisin ' was
performed. Two days afterwards the Authors' Society wrote
to protest against the use I had made of Charles de Bernard's
work, and the same day ' M. de Bragelonne ' [Dumas] published
in his Journal, he Voleur, a virulent article in which I was
denounced as a thief whose throat ought to be cut by the Committee
of the Authors' Society.
" My reply was only too easy to make. I wrote immediately
to the Figaro to establish the facts, and to prove, agreement in
52 SARDOU'S CAREER
hand, that I had loyally acquired the Tights 1 was accused of
having stolen. After that I awaited the compliments of the
Committee.
" None came. They had said their say, and shammed dead."
An adaptation of "Les Pommes du Voisin" entitled
" Themis," by H. P. Stephens, was produced at the Royalty
Theatre, London, March 29, 1880.
A version of " Les Pommes du Voisin " entitled
" Queen's Counsel," by James Mortimer, was produced at
the Comedy Theatre, London, May 24, 1890.
All this time Sardou was busily experimenting with
various other subjects and types of comedy. " Les Femmes
Fortes," just performed at the Vaudeville on December
31, i860, was the first play in which he dealt with the
" new woman." This study of emancipated and " Ameri-
canised " womanhood (as Sardou believed) was originally
written for the Gymnase, and the leading role was in-
tended by the author for Rose-Cheri. Montigny, however,
vetoed this proposal, and Sardou took his play to the
Vaudeville, where it was at once accepted. It speaks much
for the two men that this incident was not allowed to
interrupt the friendship existing between Sardou and
Montigny.
Another play of no great importance, " L'Ecureuil,"
was produced by Sardou at the Vaudeville on February
9, 1861, under the pseudonym of " Carle."
The three act comedy in prose, " Piccolino," first played
at the Gymnase on July 18, 1861, was written to compensate
Montigny for the loss of " Les Femmes Fortes." It proved
a brilliant success, and drew full houses all through the
dog-days. Some years afterward, in 1876, this comedy
was rewritten and converted into a comic opera, for which
M. Ernest Guiraud composed the music. In this form
" Piccolino " was successfully produced at the Theatre des
Varietes on April 11, 1876, and enjoyed a good run. It
CHARGES OF PLAGIARISM 63
was even put on the same stage again on September 30th,
after the summer holidays, with a new denouement and
a few fresh touches from the authors.
An English version of " Piccolino," by Sydney Samuel,
was produced at Her Majesty's Theatre, London, January
29, 1879, ^y the Carl Rosa Opera Company. Another ver-
sion, by Barton Hill, was produced in New York, September
28, 1886.
" La Papillonne," first played at the Theatre-Fran^ais
on April 11, 1862, has only three characters of importance,
the foremost of whom is an unfaithful husband, whose
escapades may be said to form the staple of the play. Re-
stricted pieces of this kind do not afford sufficient scope
for Sardou's talents. He needs the stimulus of a wider
stage, a greater crowd of characters, more life, and a
more intricate plot to develop his resources. " La Papil-
lonne " met with a somewhat cold reception. The habitues
of the house of Moliere found the broadness of the piece
distasteful, and the characters exaggerated and improbable.
It is so unusual for Sardou to misjudge his public that it
may not be out of place to explain that " La Papillonne "
was really written for the Vaudeville, but that the manage-
ment of the Comedie-Frangaise, prompted by Count
AVlalewski, was so anxious to secure the piece that the
author agreed to the transfer. But the cast at its new
quarters was too staid and the audience was too fastidious.
It fell flat, though later on, with more suitable exponents, it
was completely successful at the Gymnase.
An adaptation of " La Papillonne " entitled " A Gay
Deceiver," by James Mortimer, was produced at the Roy-
alty Theatre, London, February 3, 1879; the scene is laid
at Scarborough.
A " readaptation " of "La Papillonne," entitled "But-
terfly Fever," by James Mortimer, was produced at the
Criterion Theatre, London, May 17, 1881.
64. SARDOU'S CAREER
Another comparatively unimportant play of this period
is the three-act comedy "La Perle Noire," which was
performed at the Gymnase on April 12, 1862. It was
founded on a story of the same name, written by Sardou
in his salad days. This tale is a mere trifling sketch of
some fifty pages, which the author himself calls a "juve-
nile effort." "La Perle Noire" has been several times
revived — for example, it was played for three nights at the
Gymnase as recently as November 30, 1899.
The two-act comedy of " Les Pres Saint-Gervais," pro-
duced at the Theatre-Dejazet on April 24, 1862, contained
a part expressly written for Virginie Dejazet. Her im-
personation of the Prince de Conti, who is represented as
being shown life round the guinguettes of Paris by his
tutor Harpin, was a masterly piece of work. At the fall
of the curtain, the whole house called for the brilliant
actress. " She appeared, holding Sardou by the hand, and
tenderly kissed him, amid thunders of applause." This
little comedy was subsequently, in collaboration with
Philippe Gille, converted into an opera-bouffe with music
by Charles Lecocq, in which form it was played at the
Paris Theatre des Varietes in 1874.
An adaptation of " Les Pres St. Gervais," by Robert
Reese, was produced at the Criterion, London, November
28, 1874.
On April 13, 1863, "Bataille d' Amour," written in
collaboration with Karl Daclin, was performed at the
Opera-Comique. It is an unimportant piece in three acts,
in fact a mere libretto, for which Vaucorbeil composed the
music. At this period of his life Sardou was apparently
experimenting in various types to test his powers.
His next play, " Les Diables Noirs," is a somewhat
sombre drama in four acts. The " black devils " are the
vices of gambling and profligacy. The piece was pro-
hibited by Napoleon's Minister, Count Walewski, only
CHARGES OF PLAGIARISM 55
three nights before the date of the first performance. No
reason was assigned for this action of the government, and
the play was suspended for several months. Then came a
sudden change of ministry. Marshal Vaillant replaced
Walewski, the interdict was removed, and "Les Diables
Noirs " was performed at the Vaudeville on November
28, 1863. It was severely handled by the critics and met
with no success. The prohibition had whetted the curiosity
of the public, and there was a general expectation that the
piece would prove to be an attack on the clergy or to
possess some other spice of scandal. When it was found
that the plot was founded on an ordinary love story, the
public interest suddenly subsided and the reaction was
fatal to the play. The Empress Eugenie, however, wit-
nessed a performance incognita, attended by a single lady
in waiting. The piece so touched her majesty, we are told,
that it moved her to tears. Shortly afterward Sardou was
decorated with the Cross of the Legion of Honour, and in
August of the following year was promoted to be an
officer of the Order. It is not easy to say whether this
distinction is to be regarded as a personal token of the
Empress's approval. The decoration has been, with more
plausibility, attributed to the support accorded to the
Bonapartist government in October of the previous year by
"Les Ganaches."
" Le Degel," produced at the Theatre-Dejazet on April
12, 1864, was the last piece by Sardou in which his old
friend and helper Virginie Dejazet played. The veteran
actress, now in her sixty-seventh year, played the part of
Hector de Bassompierre, but though she managed to avert
a failure she was not able to convert the piece into a suc-
cess. The plot is too thin ; the piece is open to the charges
of being meagre and monotonous. It disappointed even
the ardent friends of the author. It struggled along for a
56 SARDOU'S CAREER
time with small and dwindling receipts, and then vanished
from the bills, not to reappear.
On May 31, 1870, the Theatre-Dejazet closed its doors:
" The success of the artist did not mean financial success."
A special farewell performance of " Les Pres Saint-Ger-
vais " was given by Dejazet on June 3, 1870. The de-
parture of their old favourite under these sad circumstances
brought tears to the eyes of many among the audience.
The theatre had been sold at a loss of 40,000 francs, and
Dejazet was heavily encumbered with debt, only fifty per
cent, being available for creditors. Not long after the war,
the Gaulois organised a benefit performamce ; the arrange-
ments were placed in the hands of a committee on which
Sardou sat as the representative of the dramatic authors.
The performance took place at the Theatre National de
rOpera on September 27, 1874. The first item on the
programme was Act I of " Monsieur Garat," in which
Dejazet herself appeared. This performance and a tom-
bola held on October 4th realised nearly 80,000 francs,
which sum was carefully invested by the committee to save
it from the clutches of her creditors.
Towards the close of her life [1798-1875], soured by
poverty and disappointment, Dejazet in a letter to her son
in 1873 wrote rather bitterly of the supposed indifference
of Sardou to her plight, though the benefit performance to
which reference has been made, and of which Sardou was
an active promoter, shows no reluctance to lend a helping
hand. She mentioned how she had befriended "the timid
and anxious little man whom- 1 then saw for the first time,"
how she had striven to induce managers to take up
" Candide," and how she had brought about the collabora-
tion with Vanderburch. " Finally it was I who, happy and
triumphant, brought the bear into Sardou's den, a servants'
attic which Laurentine's [later, Sardou's wife] mother had
given himi, for he knew not where to lay his head then.
CHARGES OF PLAGIARISM 57
I can see that attic still. A kind of camp bed, two chairs,
and a table covered with papers on which the great man, so
little then, had planted his two elbows with his head in his
hands. He did not even hear me enter. I threw the manu-
script to him saying : ' Wake up ; here is some work to do.' "
On June 25, 1864, the three-act comedy of " Don
Quichotte " was performed at the Gymnase, and did not
cease running till the middle of October, about the time
of the first performance of " Les Pommes du Voisin."
Another minor piece by Sardou was " Le Capitaine
Henriot," a comic opera dealing with the reign of Henry
of Navarre in the year 1594, for which Sardou and Gus-
tave Vaez wrote the libretto and F. Auguste Gevaert com-
posed the music. It was produced at the Opera-Comique
on December 29, 1864.
Three important plays produced at this period of Sar-
dou's life, to which reference has been already made, form
a group by themselves. They are " Les Vieux Garqons,"
performed at the Gymnase on January 21, 1865; "La
Famille Benoiton," which made its appearance at the
Vaudeville on November 4, 1865 ; and " Maison Neuve,"
brought out at the Vaudeville on December 4, 1866. All
three plays are pungent satires on some phase of society as
it existed at Paris toward the end of the Second Empire.
It was a time of inflated luxury and extravagance. At the
hands of Baron Haussmann Paris was then undergoing that
process of rebuilding and adormnent which culminated in
1867, the year of the Great Exhibition. Whole quarters
of tortuous streets were demolished, and splendid new
boulevards lined with palaces took their place. One result
of this transformation was the sudden building up of im-
mense fortunes by a few lucky contractors. A mania for
money-m'aking and speculation set in, and there is no doubt
that the tendency of the prevalent display and extravagance
was inimical to a healthy home life. M. Didier in " La
58 SARDOU'S CAREER
Famille Benoiton " slaving away to keq) pace with his
wife's extravagance; the slang and vulgarities of the par-
venu Benoitons; the lax ethical code of the three old
reprobates in " Les Vieux Gargons " — these are true pict-
ures of the time. The last-named five-act comedy takes
its name from the three old bachelors, de Veaucourtois,
Clavieres, and de Mortemer, all men of different character,
thereby affording the dramatist an excellent opportunity of
displaying his skill in characterisation, but alike in the fact
that apparently one of their chief occupations in life is
to win the love of married ladies. It proved a brilliant
success at the Gymnase.
An adaptation of "Les Vieux Garqons" entitled "Re-
claimed," by James Mortimer, was produced at the Hay-
market Theatre, London, September 14, 1881.
Other types of the time are Claire and Rene in
" Maison Neuve," who are not content to enjoy a prosper-
ous business and a competence. The life is too himidrum
— ^they must launch out and cut a dash. The result seems
inevitable disaster. But one peculiarity of Sardou's plays
is that his denouements are almost invariably happy. A
deus ex machwia is found, and the ruin which impended
over foolish Claire and Rene is ultimately averted.
All three satires achieved great success : " Les Vieux
Garqons " was directed against the false morality of the
times, perhaps not to the same extent as " La Famille
Benoiton," because the ways of upstarts lend themselves
better to comic treatment. In fact " La Famille Benoiton "
was one of the most brilliant successes in the history of the
Paris stage. It reminded many of Beaumarchais's " Le
Mariage de Figaro," and earned for the author the title
of " Petit-Neveu of Beaumarchais." By way of more
material reward, it brought him royalties to the amount
of 25,000 francs, thereby contributing towards the pur-
chase-money of his country place at Marly. It has been re-
CHARGES OF PLAGIARISM 59
vived more than once, as for instance in 1890 at the Odeon,
a quarter-century after its original production.
An English version of " Maison Neuve " was made for
Mr. and Mrs. Kendal and produced by them in London in
1885 ; this version, entitled " Mayfair," was the work of
A. W. (now Sir Arthur) Pinero.
A version of " Maison Neuve " entitled " Vanity," by
Justin Huntly M'Carthy, M. P., was produced at the
Theatre Royal, Plymouth, August 11, 1886.
All through the winter of 1865 the name " Benoiton "
was on everybody's lips, and the popularity of the play is
attested by the fact that all kinds of articles in the shops
were christened " Benoiton."
A curious little story is told apropos of the rehearsal
of this play, which shows how keenly Sardou observed every
indication, however trifling, bearing on the prospects of his
piece. Anxious to find an actress to fit some minor part,
Sardou called on a certain professor of elocution. The
latter said to him : " I must ask you to hear little Camille,
this amusing little creature of eight." The dramatist was
so struck with the drollery and self-possession of the little
maid that he inserted the role of Fanfan in the play, a
role which previously had no existence in the scheme. The
actors looked askance at the new part, and deputed Anna
Fargueil to deliver a protest. The addition would, it was
thought, comproinise the success of the play. Sardou
simply replied : " We shall soon see," and kept his eyes and
ears open.
The rehearsal was proceeding, when suddenly roars of
laughter were heard coming from the fireman stationed on
the stage, who had been tickled by the acting of little Miss
Camille.
"That is all I want," said Sardou to the assembled
company. " The fireman is right. He is the audience."
60 SARDOU'S CAREER
And Fanfan, in truth, contributed not a little to the success
of the piece.
In these satires Sardou handles the whip lightly. There
is no savage invective, but gentle ridicule: customs are
scourged laughingly. Rouxeau, a well-known critic of the
day, said of " Les Vieux Gargons " : " Never has social
sore been laid bare with a defter touch." Sardou himself
told us what type of bachelor he most desired to hold up
to execration in this play. " It is those wilful men who
have never asked themselves whether life did not bring them
any other obligation than to lead the most agreeable exist-
ence possible, who are the slaves of their own indolence, and
out of sheer selfishness will not be either husbands or
fathers, but live on society like parasites."
Not that Sardou was a writer of thesis-plays, like
Alexandre Dumas the Younger, or Bmile Augier. It is
true that every one of his pieces is found upon examination
to contain a moral. But Sardou never consciously sub-
ordinated the development of his plot to the maintenance
of any theory. In fact, his purpose in writing plays was
to please, and not to preach, and the Ic^cal nexus between
the different scenes is only used by him to maintain the
necessary dramatic illusion, and not to develop the stages
of an argument.
Sardou was always an adept in selecting the current
idea which promised the best dramatic material and had
the best chance of pleasing the public taste when worked
up into a play. Given the idea, the existence of a moral is
merely evidence of the general excellence of the workman-
ship, not of conscious design.
CHAPTER VI
Sardou Becomes a Landed Gentleman and is Called
TO Court
Sardou had now reached a point in his career where
Napoleon and Eugenie became aware of his existence. On
four separate occasions his plays were performed before
the Court at Compiegne. Every autumn Napoleon III.
and the Empress used to repair to the pleasant palace on the
Oise. This country seat was originally constructed by
St. Louis, and then rebuilt and enlarged by Louis XIV.,
Louis XV., and Napoleon I. It contained a handsome
Salle du Spectacle, capable of seating eight hundred spec-
tators. It was the custom, when the Court was in residence,
to " command " companies from Paris to give perform-
ances in this theatre. The four plays of Sardou performed
at Compiegne were : " Les Pres Saint-Gervais," " Les
Ganaches," " Nos Intimes," and " La Famille Benoiton."
Of these pieces the only one that seemed to satisfy the
select audience was "Les Pres Saint-Gervais," thanks to
the sprightly acting of Dejazet, then in her sixty-fourth
year. The other three plays failed to please. " Les
Ganaches " and " Nos Intimes " were but coldly received.
Some of the scenes from the third act of the latter were
too pungent for the members of the Court — z. curious
affectation of delicacy of feeling to be paraded in such
notorious times. During the performance of " La Fataille
Benoiton " the temperature of the audience is described as
" glacial." The very weaknesses at which the satire
was aimed were to a great extent directly traceable to the
vast improvements of Paris carried on by Baron Hauss-
mann at the Emperor's direction. The guests at
Compiegne were scarcely likely to be in sympathy with
61
62 SARDOU'S CAREER
the satirist, and did not at any time afford a very congenial
audience for a company of players. The Emperor's guests
were too intent on schemes to advance their own interests
at court, or too fatigued with hunting parties and the
other strenuous amusements of court life, to appreciate a
good play. Sometimes, we read, dinner was late, or imduly
prolonged, in which case it was customary to curtail cr
otherwise mutilate the piece. Under such circumstances
no players can feel at their best. In the case of " La
Famille Benoiton " we are told that something in the play
had given umbrage to important personages at court. It
is, therefore, not easy to see why Count Bacciochi, the
Emperor's chamberlain, was permitted to select this par-
ticular play. Though the author fully expected a cold
audience, he obeyed the summons, but when, according to
custom, he was invited by Marshal Vaillant, the Minister
of the Household, to present himself in the Emperor's box,
Sardou excused himself, saying that his actors were de-
pressed by the manner of their reception, and that he must
remain with them to comfort them. " You, Marshal, are
not the man to feel surprise at an officer wishing to re-
main with his men."
Sardou had now arrived at a stage in his career, when,
so far from being the "petit garqon" whom his friend
Montigny had known, he had already worked his way to
the forefront of contemporary dramatists. Thanks to the
excellence of his business habits, the successful playwright
was also a prosperous man, and had already been for two
or three years in possession of his beautiful villa at Marly-
le-Roi, not far from Versailles.
Though the majority of Sardou's plays have been
pictures of contemporary life and manners in various
aspects, he was always a diligent student of the past, and
it was in a spot rich in historical associations that he chose
to reside. The story goes that when Louis XIV. was jour-
CALLED TO COURT 63
neying one day from Versailles, he passed through Marly.
The King was struck with the peaceful beauty of the spot,
summoned his architect, and bade him erect a modest villa
there. But Madame de Maintenon did not approve, and
by her influence a magnificent chateau was erected.
It was there that she induced the King to revoke the
Edict of Nantes in 1685, and there that Marie Antoinette
first saw the Diamond Necklace. The revolutionary mob
in 1793 practically destroyed the chateau, only a ruin being
left. To a student of history and a man of Sardou's tem-
perament Marly presented irresistible attractions.
"Le Verduron," as he called his residence, was once
the site of a feudal castle occupied by a younger branch of
the Montmorency family. Louis XIV. bought the property,
pulled down the fortress, filled up the moats, and built a
handsome house there for the governor of Marly. After
the Revolution the house remained untenanted for several
years, and there is a story that when out hunting one day
General Bonaparte passed on horseback through the dining-
room.
This house, somewhat remodeled, at last became the
home of Sardou. Hfe occupied it immediately after his
early successes as a playwright. He first saw it when he
was spending the summer season at Louveciennes, near
Marly. One afternoon in the summer of 1863, while jog-
ging along on a donkey, wrapped in deep thought over
the plot of a new play, his beast suddenly stopped at the
gateway of the dilapidated country-house. Aroused from
his reverie, Sardou looked up, and was so charmed by the
venerable ruin that he yearned to possess it. He asked a
passing peasant to whom it belonged. "To Madame de
Bethune-Sully." " Is she visible ? " " No." " Why not ? "
" Because she died yesterday."
Soon after this the property was advertised for sale, the
price fixed at 110,000 francs. Sardou offelred 105,000
64 SARDOU'S CAREER
francs, one-half cash, the remainder in a year. Note the
terms. At that time his entire fortune did not exceed
50,000 francs. But the play he was constructing when the
donkey interrupted his thoughts brought him the other
50,000, and when the year was over Sardou owned his
villa in fee simple.
As is usually the case with country-houses, the purchase-
price of Marly was the least item in the total cost. Sardou
spent more than one fortune in improving and beautifying
his property. It came to be one of a number of beautiful
villas. It was in Marly too that Alexandre Dumas the
Elder built his famous " Villa Monte Cristo," and later on
Alexandre Dumas the Son also occupied a handsome
country-house near that of Sardou. This, by the way,
Dumas did not purchase: it was bequeathed to him by an
admirer.
The Sardou villa at Marly is approached by a fine
avenue lined by Sphinxes in rose granite. These are the
same gorgeous sphinxes which excited so much admiration
at the Paris exhibition of 1867. There is a magnificent
wrought-iron gateway at the entrance of the avenue. The
country-houses of France are famous for their beautiful'
gateways, many of which consist of lace-like iron-work
wrought sometimes by the craftsmen of the middle ages,
often of good modern imitations. The house itself is a
large mansion in the Louis XIV. style, the central block
of which is but one story in height, while the wings or
pavilions contain two. It is situated in the centre of
grounds combining the charms of gardens, groves, and
artificial woods, partly arranged in the style of French
landscape gardening, and partly in imitation of the more
unconventional parks of English country houses.
Sardou filled the interior of his villa with beautiful and
unique objects. Even the antechambers and vestibules were
crowded with curiosities. Among them visitors noticed a
CALLED TO COURT 65
sleigh of the time of Louis XV., ancient sedan-chairs,
arquebuses, matchlocks and all kinds of mediaeval
weapons, the dock which stood in Louis XVI.'s room, an
ivory statue of Voltaire which came from' his home in
Femey, and many bibelots.
The main drawing-room he furnished in eighteenth
century style, and hung it with rare tapestries from
Beauvais; paintings, prints, and drawings of great value
he suspended on its walls. These were not only of artistic
but also of antiquarian value, for Sardou purchased all
manner of " dociunents " to aid him in his study of the
epoch when he was writing those plays based on the times
of the French Revolution. He thus accumulated a vast
store of wood, _steel, and copper engravings, of lithographs,
and of coloured xylographic prints illustrative of this per-
iod. Many of these he hung upon the walls of the living
rooms, but most of them were to be seen in the library.
There, too, were to be found many priceless autographs.
One of these was the famous report of Camille Desmoulins
on Danton, with comments in Robespierre's handwriting.
The library at Marly consisted of twelve rooms, in
which was accommodation for 20,000 volumes. This num-
ber did not by any means represent all of Sardou's books,
for he had another though a smaller collection at Paris,
while at Nice he had still more books concerning the
eighteenth century, with a vast store of accompanying
pictures, prints, and manuscripts. He had, by the way,
two estates at Nice — Guardamidio, a picturesque farm-
house, and a more pretentious country-villa on a rock over-
looking the Mediterranean which he dubbed " Villa Theo-
dora." Nice is but a few miles distant from Le Cannet,
a small village near Cannes, from which, as we have seen,
the family of Sardou originally came.
CHAPTER VII
The Success of Patrie and the End of
THE Empire
The important group of three plays, " Les Vieux Car-
bons," "La Famille Benoiton," and " Maison Neuve,"
satirising! various features af life under the Second Em-
pire toward its close, was followed by another type of
piece, in which various ethical questions were touched
upon rather than discussed, for Sardou consistently
eschewed the thesis-play; his conception of the true func-
tion of the stage was not the solution of psychological
problems, but the presentation of life and action and the
delineation of character.
The landmarks of the transitional period are " Sera-
phine," "Patrie," "Fernande," "Rabagas," " L'Oncle
Sam," "La Haine," "Daniel Rochat," and "Divorgons."
In these plays the author was no longer content to play
round the surface of things and set forth the ridiculous
side of externals; he probed somewhat more deeply, and
attempted to exhibit the underlying moral
" Seraphine," the first of this group, was produced at
the Gymnase on December 21, 1868. The heroine, Sera-
phine, Baroness de Rosanges, had been guilty of follies in
her youth, and now with years came remorse and ill-reg-
ulated devotion. In her spiritual pride this female Tartuife
proceeds to wreck the happiness of her daughters. No
play of Sardou involved him in greater difficulties with
the censors than " Seraphine." In 1868, the government
grew aware that, in spite of the external glitter of apparent
prosperity, the influence of Napoleon III. was waning, and
that the Empire seemed but a whited sepulchre.
His ministers were inclined to be unduly sensitive to
66
THE SUCCESS OF PATRIE 67
attacks, especially if directed against the Empress. Three
of Sardou's plays had satirized certain features of the
times, and already his name was not in good odour with
the authorities. Hence the ministers were predisposed to
find in the new play oifensive allusions to the Empress.
In deference to their wishes, the title was altered from
" La Devote " to " Seraphine," the name of the chief
character in the play, and one scene was suppressed. They
made other objections, but the piece was finally passed;
though the earlier performances were interrupted 1^ dis-
turbances, it finally proved a success.
" Patrie," one of Sardou's finest plays and the first of
his dramas, was performed for the first time at the Porte
Saint-Martin on March i8, 1869. It is not a thesis-play,
though it depicts a moral conflict. " I do not know,"
wrote Sardou, " hbw the dramatic idea is revealed to my
confreres. My procedure is invariably the same. It
always appears to me in the form of a kind of phil-
osophical equation, the problem being to discover the
unknown quantity. Directly the problem is set, it pervades
all my thoughts, lays siege to me, and leaves me no rest
till I have found the formula required. In ' Patrie,' for
example, the problem took this form : * What is the greatest
sacrifice a man can make for love of country ? ' "
The dramatist had promised a play to Raphael Felix,
the manager of the Porte Saint-Martin, who had a piece
by George Sand running at the time. This play proved a
failure, and Sardou received an urgent appeal to com-
plete his promised piece. Working in his retreat at Marly,
he finished the drama in the short space of five weeks.
Sardou appropriately dedicated " Patrie " to John
Lothrop Motley, the historian of the " Rise of the Dutch
Republic." When once it had reached the stage of re-
hearsal the author's only difficulty was with Anna Fargueil,
whose exceptional talents were accompanied by a most
68 SARDOU'S CAREER
intractable disposition. Finding it uncongenial, she re-
fused point-blank the role of Dolores, and was encouraged
in her refusal by Raphael Felix, who was ambitious of
seeing the part played by his sister Lia. But Sardou was
equal to the occasion; he induced Mme. Fargueil to re-
consider her decision, and in the end she contributed not
a little to the success of the piece.
The psychological interest in " Patrie " centres in the
conflict of love and duty in the same breast, while Sardou's
subsequent dramas are, as a rule, constructed on a ground-
work of violent passions and emotions which only come into
conflict through the interaction of contrasted characters
in the play. " Patrie " marked the revival of the historical
drama from the decadence into which it had fallen at the
end of the Second Empire. P. B. Gheusi, one of Sardou's
collaborators, gives us some idea of the great position sud-
denly taken by the dramatist and the ovations with which
he was everywhere greeted. Five days after the first
performance of " Patrie," during the last entr'acte of
" La Diva " at another theatre, Sardou was recognized by
the spectators. Cries of " Vive Sardou " rose from all
parts of the house. " He blushed like a young girl, but did
not stir from his place." Raphael Felix returned the saluta-
tions on his behalf. When the curtain fell, many of the
audience formed a group in the vestibule and waited for
Sardou. There they greeted him with fresh acclamations,
and attempted to carry him home in triumph, when he fled
in a cab.
Seventeen years later " Patrie " was recast by Sardou,
with the help of Louis Gallet, and performed as a l)rrical
drama in four acts at the Paris Opera House on December
17, 1886, M. Paladilhe furnishing the music. The opera
of " Patrie " was a distinct success, and was revived for
four nights on January 7, 1891, when it reached its 60th
THE SUCCESS OF PATRIE 69
performance, and again on April 9, 1900, when it ran for
thirteen nights at the Opera House.
The operatic version of " Patrie " was performed in
German under the title of "Vaterland" at Hamburg in
1889 and at La Scala at Milan in 1895, as " Patria."
Apropos of this event, Sardou narrated how, on July
13, 1870, he was present at the first performance of the
drama at the Theatre de la Monnaie at Brussels. Fresh
from his long experience of Paris theatres, he was struck
by the phlegmatic temperament of the Brussels burghers.
Two notable Frenchmen happened to be present at this
performance, the Due d'Aumale and Henri Rochefort, the
former in the Burgomaster's box, the latter in the circle.
The two exiles led the most vigorous applause that even-
ing. During one of the intervals Sardou was invited into
the Burgomaster's box to be introduced to the Due
d'Aumale and to receive his congratulations. The author
expressed to the Burgomaster the wish that his compatriots
would not treat his work so coldly. " Coldly, yoimg man,"
said M. Anspach in his most paternal tone, "why this is
the ne plus ultra of Flemish warmth, and yet you com-
plain." Then the Due d'Aumale, turning to Sardou, said
with a melancholy smile : " These folk are not our Paris-
ians, monsieur: they rise to the occasion better than the
good people of Brussels."
Next morning Sardou and a friend took breakfast with
Rochefort at the Cafe Riche. The man of the Lanterne
did not weary of praising " Patrie." " His concluding
words kept ringing in my ear : ' What a superb drama !
What a marvellous opera it would make ! ' " It is to this
suggestion that the operatic version of " Patrie " was due.
The conversion took two months, and various alterations
were found necessary. In the second act the scene in the
Salle des Fetes in the Duke's Palace was inserted merely
for the sake of the ballet, which was judged to be indis-
70 SARDOU'S CAREER
pensable in an opera. In this form "Patrie" was very
successful, and a performance which was given for a char-
itable purpose realized no less than 94,000 francs.
A revival of the drama was in course of preparation
at the Comedie-Frangaise at the very time when the build-
ing erected in 1803 was burned to the ground in the dis-
astrous fire of March 8, 1900. The performance was thus
postponed for more than a year, when the new building,
erected on the same site, was opened with great ceremony
on December 29, 1900, in the presence of the President of
the Republic and the Ministers.
The scene being laid in Brussels, it may well be
imagined that the drama of " Patrie " evoked the deepest
interest in Belgium. The gossips of the day went so far
as to suggest that the piece was written at the inspiration
of Napoleon III., who thus sought to curry favour with
the Belgians with a view to paving the way to the absorp-
tion of the little kingdom into his own empire. The union
of Rysoor and La Tremouille was adduced in support of
this theory! But it was too ridiculous to gain serious
credence. In discussing the matter the Independcmce Beige
said : " It is the cause of Flanders that the author has
pleaded, and God knows if it would be possible to win it
more triumphantly. Sardou ought to be proclaimed a
Belgian citizen by the Chamber of Representatives."
At the time when the originial drama of " Patrie " was
in rehearsal, early in 1869, " La Famille des Gueux," by
Jules Claretie and Petrucelli della Gatina, the scene of
which is also laid in Flanders, was being played at Paris.
Though this identity of scene was the only point of
resemblance in the two pieces, a dispute arose between
Sardou and Claretie with regard to priority of treatment,
and the affair nearly came to a duel. One of Sardou's
seconds was his friend de Najac, who afterward collabo-
rated in " Divorgons." At the last moment the dispute was
THE SUCCESS OF PATRIE 71
amicably settled. The quarrel did not last long, for the
two men met in the following year while the Franco-
Prussian war was at its height. Claretie frankly came for-
ward, grasped Sardou by both hands, and with the remark
that such a crisis was no fitting time for quarrels, expressed
his desire for a reconciliation. From that time they were
the best of friends, and in 1901 Jules Claretie, as administra-
tor of the Comedie-Fran^aise, had the pleasure of re-
viving " Patrie."
When " Patrie " was performed at Brussels some
Flemish savants questioned the historical propriety of
introducing the Porte de Louvain in the days of the Duke
of Alva : " It was not then in existence, it has only been
built twenty years." But Sardou produced an old print
showing the Porte as it existed at the date in question.
An adaptation of " Patrie," entitled " Dolores," by Mrs.
S. Lane, was produced at the Britannia Theatre, Hoxton,
April 6, 1874. Another adaptation, entitled " Fatherland,"
by Henry Labouchere, was produced at the Queen's
Theatre, London, January 3, 1878. " A Sorceress of Love,"
an adaptation of " Patrie," by Louis N. Parker, was pro-
duced at the Shakespeare Theatre, Liverpool, on October
I, 1894. There is also a version entitled " Betrayed,"
by H. G. Wills.
In " Fernande," produced at the Gymnase on March
8, 1870, the author reverted to the ethical play. It fol-
lowed " Froufrou " at the Gymnase, where it was still
enjoying a successful run when the Franco-German war
broke out on July 19, 1870. The times were not propitious
for theatrical enterprise, and the performances were sus-
pended. They were resumed, however, during the Com-
mune of 1871, at the request of the Communist leader
Raoul Rigault, and the play-bills were still standing on
the walls when the conflagrations which destroyed about
a fourth of the city broke out on May 22-27 of that fateful
72 SARDOU'S CAREER
year. Rigault was shot by a firing squad on May 24th.
The subject of this play is borrowed from Diderot's lively
tale " Jacques le Fataliste." The scene is laid in a gamb-
ling hell kept by the widowed Madame Senechal. Though
her daughter Fernande is brought up amid such depraved
surroundings, the young girl herself remains at heart
uncontaminated, and it is in order to save her permanently
from her environment that M. Pomerol, the advocate, re-
turns to the spot where he had sown his wild oats. As
the moralist Raoul Rigault pleaded, there is nothing
offensive in the play except the envirormient. The two
plays of " Seraphine " and " Fernande " afford excellent
examples of Sardou's capacity for analysing the female
character.
An adaptation of " Fernande " by Sutherland Edwards
was played at the Royal Court Theatre, London, September
20, 1879.
We now come to one of the most dramatic episodes in
the history of France. On receipt of the news of the dis-
asters of Worth and Forbach, on Augfust 7, 1870, the
Empress Eugenie moved from St. Cloud to the Tuileries,
where she lived in increasing terror of the mob, holding
her last reception on August 14th. On the afternoon of
September 3d came the fatal telegram from Napoleon
III. : " The army is defeated and captured, I myself am a
prisoner." The next day saw that bloodless revolution
by which the Second Empire fell and the Third Republic
was established. As the clock of the Tuileries rang out
half-past three the imperial flag was lowered. This was a
signal — the Tuileries were stormed. The soldiers on guard
interposed little resistance. Before the mob broke in,
Signor Nigra, the Italian ambassador, warned the Empress
that she must fly. Escorted by Prince Mettemich and Dr.
Evans, the American dentist, she left Paris in disguise
the same night for Belgium', and later sailed from Deau-
ville for England on Sir John Burgoyne's yacht.
THE SUCCESS OF PATRIE 73
Among the crowd assembled outside the gates of the
Tuileries on that fateful day were Sardou and a friend
of his, a certain Armand Gouzien. The Empress was still
in the palace and the imperial flag still flying. The build-
ing was protected by a detachment of the Imperial Guard.
Sardou and his friend stood watching a man engaged in
knocking the golden eagles off the gates. The crowd be-
came dangerously excited, the gates were stormed, and
several hundred persons, including Sardou and his friend,
were swept into the gardens. Foreseeing a collision with
the troops, the two friends came to the front. Gouzien
harangued the mob, saying that the Tuileries belonged to
the people, and that the Empire no longer existed. The
Imperial Guard, he said, must not remain, and he pro-
posed that he and citizen Sardou go and demand the with-
drawal of these troops. But he urged them to keep quiet,
in order to avoid a bloody conflict. The crowd broke out
into applause and patiently waited while Sardou, tying a
handkerchief to the end of a walking-stick, hastened with
his companion toward the soldiers and asked for the com-
mander. Two men came forward; they were General
Mellinet and M. de Lesseps. In the meantime the Empress
Eugenie had left the palace, and the two ambassadors per-
suaded the general to lower the imperial flag and to re-
place the Imperial Guard by the National Guard and the
Gardes Mobiles. Mellinet then mounted a chair and tried
to address the crowd, but they were too excited to give him
a hearing. With the arrival of the Mobiles the danger
was averted, and when the crowd at length forced its way
through the archway it found all safely guarded and
surged harmlessly through the palace into the Place du
Carrousel. This tactful handling of a somewhat critical
moment averted a conflict, and in all probability saved the
Tuileries for the time. It was, however, destroyed on
May 22 and 23 of the following year.
CHAPTER VIII
Sardou's Plays Attacked by Politicians and the
Censorship Invoked
The comic opera of " Le Roi Carotte," for which
Jacques Offenbach comjposed the music, was originajlly
written before 1870, though, owing to the outbreak of the
Franco-Prussian war, it was not produced at the Gaite till
January 15, 1872. It was intended as a political satire, and
the original scheme (sent to Offenbach at Baden) ridiculed
a certain "prince who declared war against his neighbour
on the assurance of his ministers that all was ready." The
coincidence of this fancy with what actually happened
is more than striking. Three days after the dispatch of the
manuscript, war was declared. We are informed by Andre
Sardou, the dramatist's son, that, after the siege of Paris,
author and composer met at Bordeaux and agreed that the
course of events had been only too truly foreshadowed and
that the piece must be entirely recast. The critics were
very severe with " Le Roi Carotte," and reproached the
collaborators with an attack on the fallen emperor; the
virulence of the Figaro nearly caused a duel between Sar-
dou and M. de Lafevriere. But in spite of the critics the
piece had a successful run of one hundred and fifty nights.
Curiously enough, a three-act extravaganza of kindred
subject and title, " La Reine Carotte " by Messrs. Clairville,
Victor Bernard, and Victor Koning, was performed at the
Theatre des Menus-Plaisirs on January 13, 1872. It seems
to have been one of the cant sayings of the day.
An English version of " Le Roi Carotte," by Henry S.
Leigh, was produced at the Alhambra, London, June 3,
1872.
A fortnight after the first performance of " Le Roi
74
SARDOU AT TWO SCORE
THE CENSORSHIP INVOKED 75
Carotte " Sardou produced another political piece, of which
he predicted that the critics would exactly reverse the
opinions expressed on " King Carrot." " Le Roi Carotte,"
as we have seen, was a belated satire on a state of things
which had been swept away by the war. " Rabagas,"
which was first performed at the Vaudeville on February
I, 1872, found its subject in the political features of the
day. France had once more thrown her constitution into
the melting-pot. Republicanism was now in the ascendant,
and the words " demagogue " and " democracy " were on
everybody's lips. " Rabagas " is simply a satire on the
unprincipled politicians of the day, who, having no real
convictions of their own, merely followed the dictates of
their own interest. But this was not the view commonly
accepted. Even so able a man as Jules Simon surmised an
intention in " Rabagas " to ridicule Leon Gambetta, while
others found allusions to Napoleon's fire-eating minister
Ollivier and to Napoleon himself. To attempt so close an
identification is to narrow the author's meaning. The
dramatist did not intend to write a lampoon, but to draw a
typical noisy and unprincipled demagogue. But the critic
with preconceived theories to uphold finds no difficulty
in tracing misleading resemblances in the words of promi-
nent politicians of a similar type. In fact, " Rabagas " is
only one more instance of the skill with which Sardou
seized and turned to account whatever ideas happened
to be uppermost in the public mind at the time. Hugues
Rebell very plausibly identifies the prototype of a certain
striking episode in the play. On October 31, 1870, the
news of the surrender of Metz led to Communistic riots
at Paris, and the members of the Defence Government were
imprisoned in the Hotel de Ville by bands acting under
the direction of Ledru-RoUin, Victor Hugo, Gustave
Flourens, and other red republicans. That same day the
National Guard released the Defence Government and
76 SARDOU'S CAREER
turned the tables on their captors. This curious series of
incidents is probably the original of the amusing scene in
which the revolutionary " green " government of Camerlin
is, after a brief period of power, expelled by a " yellow "
government under Vuillard, which is in its turn soon over-
set by a " red " one under ChafEou. This satire might apply
to several other episodes in history, French and other.
" The truth is," says M. Rebell, " that Rabagas is no more
Emile OUivier or CJambetta, than the Prince of Monaco
is meant for Napoleon III." Curiously enough, a French
journalist quoted by the same writer mentions instances —
eight and nine years afterward in 1880 and 1881 — ^in which
Gambetta used the very words of Rabagas, possibly by
way of a humorous allusion to the identification of Sar-
dou's hero with himself.
The first performance of " Rabagas " nearly led to a
riot. The political satire in the piece was too keen not to
evoke disturbance. The critics raved, and we are told that
Edmond About even went so far as to advise taking
revolvers to the theatre. No wonder so timorous a politi-
cian as President Thiers ordered the governor of Paris to
forbid a second performance. Fortunately General
Ladmirault was a man of resolution, and was determined
that the right of free speech should not be abrogated in
deference to mob violence. The President's written order
was left lying on the general's table unopened. Like Nel-
son, he turned a blind eye to the letter of his order, though
he did not neglect to take ample precautions against dis-
order. Next morning Thiers heard to his horror that
" Rabagas " had been played a second time. The general
apologised for his forgetfulness, and sent word that the
performance had passed off quietly. Would-be disturbers
of the peace were simply ejected from the house, but the
excitement gave a tremendous advertisement to the play,
which in consequence enjoyed a splendid run.
THE CENSORSHIP INVOKED 77
An adaptation of "Rabagas," entitled "Robert
Rabagas," by Stephen Fiske, was produced at the St.
James's Theatre, London, February 25, 1873.
On June 25, 1872, Sardou, who had now been a
widower for five years, married Mile. Anna Soulie,
daughter of Eudore Soulie, curator of the Museum at
Versailles. Edmond de Goncourt tells in his " Journal "
how the match came about. One day an engraver who
was engaged in copying a picture in the gallery at Ver-
sailles consulted M. Soulie and was invited to stay to
luncheon. He excused himself on the ground that Sardou
was waiting for him below. The answer was a request to
return and extend the same hospitable invitation to the
author of " La Famille Benoiton." Sardou thus made the
acquaintance of the curator's daughter, and fell in love with
the young lady.
It has been suggested that the change to wedded life
turned the current of Sardou's thoughts toward those
domestic studies of manners and morals which for a time
form quite a feature of his dramatic work. Sardou was
always, like a good barometer, very susceptible to his
environment, as a study of the chronology of his plays will
serve to show.
The first play produced by Sardou after his marriage
was the domestic drama " Andrea," played for the first
time in Paris at the Gymnase on March 17, 1873. It
contains some dramatic situations which might easily have
developed to a tragic ending, for instance, the scene in
the box of the danseuse at the opera, and the scene where
Stephan escapes from the maison de santS and erroneously
fancies that he sees a rival in his house. But, as so often
happens in Sardou's plays, the threatened storm disappears
as suddenly as it arose, and reconciliation comes to the
temporarily disunited pair. The appearance of " Andrea "
involved Sardou in charges of literary larceny, of which
78 SARDOU'S CAREER
he has given an amusing account in his pamphlet on " My
Plagiarisms." The complainant on this occasion was J. M.
Coumier, who had sent the manuscript of a play, " Le
Medecin de son Honneur," to Montigny. The latter, it
was alleged, had consulted his friend Sardou, who had
abused his confidence by stealing the ideas of the piece
to compose his " Andrea." Cournier's play was then re-
turned to the author, marked " declined." These allega-
tions were repeated in the newspapers, and finally formed
the subject of a suit before the Tribunal of Commerce.
Cournier formulated his accusation in court, and the judge,
turning to Sardou, asked what answer he had to make.
" One word only : I beg that M. Coumier will be good
enough to say on what precise day the manuscript of his
piece was handed in at the Gymnase."
" Oh," said Cournier, " there is not the least doubt on
that point. Here is the receipt : December i6, 1872."
" Well," replied Sardou, " here are some advertisements,
programmes, and notices from America, establishing
the fact that 'Andrea,' which was originally written for
America, was performed at New York under the title of
'Agnes,' on September 17, 1872, that is to say, three
months before the date of the deposition of M. Cournier's
manuscript at the Gymnase."
Poor Coumier completely collapsed, and attributed his
accusations to a failure of memory. The fortunes of
Coumier were at a low ebb at the time, but the prosperous
Sardou and Montigny did not press their advantage in an
ungenerous spirit; they merely contented themselves with
rebutting the charge of plagiarism and compelling Cournier
to sign a declaration to the effect that the whole accusation
had fallen to the ground.
An adaptation of "Andrea," entitled "The Countess
and the Dancer," by Charles Reade, was produced at the
Olympic Theatre, London, February 27, 1886.
THE CENSORSHIP INVOKED 79
In " L'Oncle Sam," which was played at the Vaude-
ville on November 6, 1873, Sardou reverted to the vagaries
of the new woman, which he had already handled in " Les
Femmes Fortes " and in " La Famille Benoiton." The
latter play, however, differed from its predecessors in being
a direct skit on American manners. We have seen how
the timidity of Thiers had nearly proved fatal to " Rabagas."
This time the official excuse was that the piece " satirized
people who benefited our country greatly by their pres-
ence among us." The dramatist consulted some members
of the American colony at Paris, among them young Mr.
Washburn, son of the American minister. Their verdict
was that there was nothing in the piece calculated to
wound the susceptibilities of their compatriots. Indeed
" L'Oncle Sam " had even been played at New York (with-
out any great success, it is true, but without giving umbrage
to Americans) some eight months before the interdiction
was removed at Paris. The plot of " L'Oncle Sam " is
of the slightest; in fact, the chief interest of the play cen-
tres in the bright and telling dialogue and the amusing
though exaggerated characterisation.
" Les Merveilleuses," written in collaboration with
Philippe Gille, and first performed at the Varietes on
December 16, 1873, had a very short run, though it pre-
sented a charming reconstruction of manners under the
Directory, a period which always had special attrac-
tions for Sardou. " Monsieur Garat," written for Vir-
ginie Dejazet as early as i860, gave a picture of those
times to which the dramatist was destined to revert in
1898 with his " Pamela." Possibly the comparative failure
of the play was due to the fact that the radical element
owed Sardou a grudge for " Rabagas," played some months
previously, and it was, of course, inevitable that so soon
after the fall of the Second Empire political passions should
be more intense than was usual even in France.
80 SARDOU'S CAREER
"Le Magot," written to order for the Palais-Royal
and produced at that theatre on January 14, 1874, proved
a failure.
By universal consent "La Haine" divides with
" Patrie " the honour of being Sardou's masterpiece. Offen-
bach, at that time director of the Gaite, where the play was
produced on December 3, 1874, composed the incidental
music. The inspiring moral of the piece is that love should
triumph over revenge, and the author found a suitable
environment in the strife of the Guelphs and Ghibellines in
Mediaeval Italy. In spite of its power, "La Haine" was
an utter failure. The subject was too terrible, too sombre
for the public taste at the time. The Parisians needed
cheering up, not saddening, and the disastrous fighting and
burning in Siena reminded them too poignantly of the
horrors of the Commune. Finding that he had not hit the
public taste, Sardou withdrew the piece after twenty-seven
nights, with seeming unconcern, though there is no doubt
that the failure of this play, on which he had based great
expectations, was a sore disappointment.
In spite of the excellence of the interpretation which
it received, Sardou's . next piece, " Ferreol," produced at
the Gymnase on November 17, 1875, was not a success.
The conflict between love and duty, between Ferreol's love
for his mistress and his desire not to allow the innocent
d'Aigremont to be condemned, did not appeal to the pub-
lic. Similarly conflicting passions in Rysoor form a weak
spot even in " Patrie." The interest of such situations is
too essentially subjective to lend itself to stage purposes
with effect, and they are more suitably treated in a
psychological novel. " Ferreol " did not do well in New
York either, although the actor J. H. Stoddart in his
memoirs expresses surprise at its non-success.
An adaptation of " Ferreol," entitled " Ferreol de
THE CENSORSHIP INVOKED 81
Meyrac," by Herbert Dausey, was produced at the Royalty
Theatre, London, on February 26, 1904.
At this time a certain slackening of Sardou's literary
activity becomes apparent. It was almost as though the
ill success of " La Haine " and " Ferreol," especially of the
former, had caused a temporary discouragement. Pro-
duction did not, indeed, entirely cease, but " L'Hotel
Godelot," written in collaboration with M. CrisafuUi and
produced at the Gymnase on May 13, 1876, was a work of
minor importance, and Sardou did not even witness its
performance.
CHAPTER IX
Sardou Scores Three Successes, and Becomes an
Academician
The shadow which seemed for a time to have obscured
Sardou's success was at last lifted when the striking play
called " Dora " was produced at the Vaudeville on Jan-
uary 22, 1877. It dealt with one of the burning questions
of the day, the spy mania. Sardou skilfully turned the
prevalent feeling to account by laying the plot in the year
1871. The public interest in " Dora " was still further
enhanced by a curious coincidence. Shortly after the
first performance there was a public scandal, concerning
the Austrian baroness Kaulla, who was said to be a Prus-
sian spy, and who was a friend of de Cissey, the French
minister of war. The two spies in the play are Van der
Kraft and the Countess Zicka, and the plot turns on the
theft of some important papers from an embassy by one
of them. Probably the love story and marriage of Dora
and Andre de Maurillac, the suspicion thrown on Dora, its
triumphant rebuttal, and the reconciliation between hus-
band and wife were the chief features that won the favour
of the public.
Sardou always maintained that the garbled translations
and mutilated adaptations of his work in English-speaking
countries did him gross injustice. This can not be gain-
said, as is shown by the circumstances concerning the
play " Dora." It drew such large houses at the Vaudeville
in Paris that it attracted the attention of Squire Bancroft
in London. Clement Scott and B. C. Stephenson had
already adapted for manager Bancroft a very free version
of Sardou's " Nos Intimes," which they entitled "Peril."
Another Bowdlerized version was played throughout the
82
BECOMES AN ACADEMICIAN 83
United States, by Mrs. Langtry, under the title " A Wife's
Peril." Bancroft engaged the two adapters to accompany
him to Paris, where at the Vaudeville they carefully
studied " Dora " — ^its action, its business, and its eifect on
French audiences. Returning to England, they jointly
evolved the play known there and in the United States as
" Diplomacy." They recast the plot ; they cut it from! five
acts to four; they changed French army officers into Eng-
lish army officers; the Franco-German misunderstandings
they changed into the Anglo-Russian differences; the
attempt of the German chancellery to set Europe's foreign
offices swarming with spies was transmogrified into the
eternal Eastern Question; the theft of an official dispatch
was made to hinge on Anglo-Turkish spheres of interest.
In Sardou's play the man who discovers Dora's criminality
is the friend of her husband ; in " Diplomacy " he is made
the husband's brother. The scene in Sardou's play in
which Dora resents the dishonorable proposals from
Stramir is cut out. The adapters introduced the " clock-
scene at Berne" which was devised and written by Mrs.
(now Lady) Bancroft. In the last scenes of " Diplomacy "
sympathy is worked up for the female spy, the Countess
Zicka ; in " Dora " she is painted in the blackest colors
to the very end. Last of all, the title was changed — for
a time the adapters wavered between " The Mousetrap "
and "Diplomacy," finally selecting the latter. The pro-
gram stated that the play was "adapted" from Sardou
"by the brothers Rowe":— Mr. "Saville Rowe" (Scott)
and Mr. "Bolton Rowe" (Stephenson). Mrs. Kendal
played Dora; Mr. Kendal, Captain Julian Beauclerc.
Bancroft was the Count Orloff and Mrs. Bancroft the
Countess Zicka. With such a cast the play ran for months
to crowded houses. This Bancroft-Scott-Stephenson ver-
sion has since held the stage in English-speaking countries.
Hundreds of writers, in these countries, have criticised
84 SARDOU'S CAREER
this play as if it were Sardou's. But in the light of the
preceding facts it scarcely seems fair to hold 'Sardou
responsible for such a mutilated version of his work. This
adaptation was first produced at the Prince of Wales's
Theatre, London, January 12, 1878.
On October 26, 1893, "Diplomacy" was played at
Balmoral before Queen Victoria, the ex-Empress Eugenie,
Princess Beatrice, Princess Louise, the Duchess of Fife,
Prince Aribert of Anhalt, Prince Henry of Battenberg, and
the Duke of Fife.
In June, 1877, Sardou was honoured by his election as
one of the forty members of the Academie-Franqaise in
succession to the distinguished poet and author, Joseph
Autran. It is said that " Dora " nearly caused the failure
of Sardou's candidature to the vacant seat. Tiightly or
wrongly, ex-President Thiers had identified the Countess
Zicka with a certain influential foreign princess with whom
he was on intimate terms, and endeavoured to frustrate
the candidate's election. Sardou had now been before
the playgoing public for upwards of twenty years, and as
the author of such works as " Nos Intimes," " Les Pattes
de Mouche," "La Famille Benoiton," " Maison Neuve,"
" Patrie," " La Haine," and " Dora " might be deemed to
have worthily earned his Academy fauteuil. On May 23d
of the following year he was formally received, and on that
occasion, in conformity with the usual custom, he delivered
his " Discours a I'Academie," which was afterward pub-
lished in the form of a pamphlet. The task of formally
welcoming the new academician fell to Charles Blanc, the
distinguished critic. The speaker's general tone was
frankly eulogistic, though he did not hesitate roundly to
express disapproval of plays like " L'Oncle Sam " and
" Rabagas," as these sentences which M. Blanc delivered
will show : " Permit me then to tell you that your occa-
sional incursions into the domain of politics have not
BECOMES AN ACADEMICIAN 85
always been happy, and that they have added nothing
either to your talents or to your reputation. And more than
once your wit, ordinarily so keen, has lost its edge; your
pencil, elsewhere so delicate and so firm, has lost its fine-
ness when you venture on drawing figures in a world
which is not your own, as in the United States or in
Monaco."
Sardou's next play, " Les Bourgeois de Pontarcy," also
performed at the Vaudeville, on March i, 1878, was by no
means so successful as " Dora." Possibly some of the
situations were too far-fetched and too unsavoury to please
the public. An adaptation of "Les Bourgeois de Pont-
arcy," entitled " Duty," by James Albery, was produced
at the Prince of Wales's Theatre, London, September 27,
1879.
One day, about this period, in showing an English
visitor over his library at Marly, where most of his plays
were written, Sardou explained that he worked five hours
every day, and at that rate of working it took him
five months to construct and write a play. " The dramatist
must not be afraid of the labour of the file," he added.
" The rehearsals of a five-act piece take at least five
months. Look — ^that paper is a pen-and-ink map of Pont-
arcy, the scene of my latest play. Pontarcy exists only in
my imagination, and to avoid any mistakes or confusion
as to the movements of the personages, I have drawn up
this map. Here is the ' Lower City.' The staple industry
of the town is leather-dressing, and along the banks of the
river are many tan-yards and water-mills. In this quarter
lives a bourgeois family whicji presents a decided contrast
to the inmates of the house on the opposite side of the,
square. Both these groups play an important part in my
piece. The railway having been extended to Pontarcy, a
row of handsome houses, with theatre, hotel, and grand
cafe, has been built in the neighbourhood of the railway
86 SARDOU'S CAREER
station. Let us now pass to the ' Upper City.' First of
all, there is a Chateau partly in ruins, and what remains of
it is used as a station for the gendarmerie. The old church
on the outskirts of this place was formerly a cloister. The
' Upper City ' as you see, is a network of narrow streets,
now comparatively deserted. In the centre there is a
rather fine old Gothic fountain. I believe that this map
has been of great service to me. In imagination I have
gone through the streets, lodged at the Grand Hotel, in-
spected the Qoister, and stood in reverential frame of
mind before the Gothic fountain." This anecdote is curi-
ous as showing how thoroughly the playwright entered
into the life of his mimic world.
" Daniel Rochat," performed on February i6, 1880, was
the second play by Sardou produced at the Comedie-
Frangaise. It dealt with some of the religious questions
then agitating men's minds in France, and formed 'a
counterpart to " Seraphine," which had appeared twelve
years before. While the earlier play exhibited the excess
of religious zeal and the attendant vices of hypocrisy and
intolerance, " Daniel Rochat " presents the other side of
the picture, the bigotry of Rochat the atheist, his intolerant
refusal to accede to the desire of his wife for a religious
marriage ceremony, and the resulting separation which
followed so closely on the heels of the civil marriage. The
whole piece was virtually a sermon on tolerance. But feel-
ing ran too high at the time, and in spite of some excellent
points it was not a success. It succeeded much better in
the United States with Sara Jewett and Charles Thorne
as Lea and Daniel. It was the first play brought out by
Sardou after his reception at the Academy, and its com-
parative failure gave an added force to M. Blanc's warning.
Besides being a professed free-thinker, Rochat was an
ardent radical politician and leader of the extreme left
in the French Chamber. In fact, the whole play was too
BECOMES AN ACADEMICIAN 87
political in character. There were also some striking
improbabilities in the plot. The marriage of Daniel and
Lea was itself improbable, under the circumstances; the
divorce was improbable, and the intolerance of Rochat was
carried to an improbable extreme.
An adaptation of "Daniel Rochat" entitled "Roma"
was produced at the Adelphi Theatre, London, November
28, 1885.
" Daniel Rochat " involved Sardou in an accusation of
plagiarism. Theodore Vibert, the poet, had published on
August 8, 1879, his " Martura : ou un Mariage Civil." The
central idea of this poem was identical with that of " Daniel
Rochat." In both works difficulties arise between husband
and wife after the ceremony of civil marriage; both hus-
bands are free-thinkers and anti-clerical; both wives insist
on the union being sanctioned by the church. In fact,
though the details are different, and one work a prose
play, while the other is a serious poem, the general situation
is identical. Moreover, it was the practice of M. Vibert
to send complimentary copies of his works to all the mem-
bers of the Academy, and it was shown that " Martura "
was sent to Sardou between July 10 and 15, 1879, a month
or so before " Daniel Rochat " was written. The inference
is that the perusal of the poem and the general interest
in religious questions at the time induced the playwright
to select this subject for his next piece. But the method
of handling it was his own. The defence set up by
Sardou's friends was that the choice of this subject for
" Daniel Rochat " was pure coincidence.
This was the last occasion on which Sardou handled
current politics on the stage. He had found that his forte
did not lie in that direction, and that neither the public
nor the censors approved of the stage encroaching upon
functions which were more appropriately fulfilled by the
press.
88 SARDOU'S CAREER
In his next play, Sardou returned to the d omes tic
comedy, choosing as his subject one of the burning ques-
tions of the day. " Divorqons," written in collaboration
with Emile de Najac, was performed at the Palais-Royal
on December 6, 1880. It is a farcical comedy, treating
of the same matters as " Andrea," which appeared in
1873, but without the dramatic situations of the earlier
play. The plot turns on a false telegram to Cyprienne, who
will only give her hand to her lover Adhemar in the event
of the divorce bill, then before the chamber, becoming a
law. Just at that time the question of reforming the mar-
riage laws was causing somewhat of a stir in France. As
early as May, 1878, M. Naquet had begun a regular cam-
paign throughout all France in favor of reform. But the
project hung fire; the proposals were bandied to and fro
between the Chamber and the Senate, and nothing practical
was done. Sardou, however, quick to see what interested
the public, made this subject the theme of his play, and
scored another triumph. The play ran for three hundred
nights, and brought 1,500,000 francs to the coffers of the
Palais-Royal. Divorce plays were quite the fashion at the
time, but it was noticed that " Divorqons," was the only
piece on this subject in which the more honored position
was assigned to the aggrieved husband. Most of the petty
playwrights of the Parisian stage bespoke the S3rmpathies
of the audience for the lover.
" Divorgons " was probably the first play the real action
of which begins when husband and wife are living in
virtual or actual divorce, and has for its theme the means
by which relations are resumed. This situation has formed
the subject of many plays since then, the best known being
" The Freedom of Suzanne."
Many versions of " Divorgons " have been produced
in England and America. An adaptation entitled " To-
Day," by Charles H. C. Brookfield, was produced at the
BECOMES AN ACADEMICIAN 89
Comedy Theatre, London, on December 5, 1892. An
adaptation entitled "The Queen's Proctor," or "Decree
Nisi," by Herman Merivale, was produced at the Royalty
Theatre, London, on June 2, 1896. An adaptation entitled
" Mixed Relations," by Miss Kate Santly, was produced
at the Royalty Theatre, London, on February 4, 1902.
" Divor^ons " was first played in New York at Abbey's
Park Theatre on March 14, 1882, when Alice Dunning
Lingard appeared as Cyprienne. In May of the same year
Grau's French Opera Company presented it with Paola
Marie as Cyprienne. Since then it has been played by
Madame Judic at Wallack's in 1885 ; by Modjeska at Wal-
lack's in 1886; by Frau Hedwig Niemann-Raabe at Wal-
lack's in 1888; by Rejane at Abbey's in 1895; by Duse at
the Fifth Avenue in 1893; by Mrs. Fiske at the Fifth
Avenue in May, 1897; by Emily Baucker under the title
of " A Divorce Cure " at the Murra,y Hill in March, 1897 ;
by Mrs. Fiske again in 1899 at the Fifth Avenue and
later at the Manhattan. A new version by Margaret Mayo
was produced by Grace George at Wallack's in April, 1907.
The play has also been produced in the United States by
many less known actresses in English, French, and German.
Sardou's next success, " Odette," performed at the
Vaudeville on November 17, 1881, like " Andrea " and
" L'Oncle Sam," brought upon the dramatist charges of
plagiarism. Mario Uchard accused Sardou of having
stolen ideas from his play " La Fiammina." An acrimon-
ious wrangle followed, chiefly notable in that it provoked
Sardou to write his amusing pamphlet " My Plagiarisms,"
published in 1882, by way of rejoinder to his detractors.
Sardou denied the alleged plagiarism, and proceeded to
carry the war into the enemy's country. The mere fact
that the elemental passions of mankind form the staple
ingredients out of which the dramatist is bound to con-
struct his play, said Sardou, must lead sometimes to a
90 SARDOU'S CAREER
seeming similarity in externals. It is when we come to
examine the details of the plot, the flow of the dialogue,
and the minuter shades of the characterisation that it is
possible to distinguish between the independent worker and
the plagiarist. Tried biy this touchstone Sardou must
stand acquitted. He had abundance of wit and invention
to work out his own details, and could not avoid accidental
resemblances.
An English version of " Odette " by Clement Scott was
produced at the Haymarket Theatre, London, April 22,
1882. In this version there is no suicide, but " Odette "
retires to a nunnery to the sound of slow music !
"Odette" was revived as recently as April 8, 1905,
when it was played in Italian by Eleonora Duse before a
crowded house at the Nouveau Theatre. Sardou himself
was present at the performance, and warmly appreciated
the interpretation of the title-role by the great Italian
actress. Seated near him was Mme. Blanche Pierson of the
Comedie-Frangaise, who created the part in 1881.
The four-act drama of " Fedora," which has for its
theme nihilism and other phases of Russian life, and was
performed for the first time on December 11, 1882, prac-
tically owes its inspiration to Sarah Bernhardt. The great
actress herself relates that at this period she was much in
need of money. She still owed 100,000 francs to the
Comedie-Frangaise, forfeit for her secession in 1880.
On April 17 of that year she played Clorinde in the
revival of Augier's " L'Aventuriere." She was savagely
attacked by the critics Sarcey, Paul de Saint- Victor, and
Auguste Vitu. The very next day, the i8th, Sarah wrote
to M. Perrin, director of the Comedie-Frangaise, to say
that they had not allowed her adequate time for rehearsal,
and she forthwith left Paris for Havre, resolved to
quit the stage altogether. The Comedie-Frangaise brought
an action before the first Chamber of the Civil Tribunal
BECOMES AN ACADEMICIAN 91
on June i8th for breach of contract, and Madame Bern-
hardt was ordered to pay the Comedie-Fran^aise one hun-
dred thousand francs damages and to forfeit her share
(forty- four thousand francs) in the reserve fund as a
Societaire. This debt still hung over her. To add to her
financial troubles she had lately married the actor Damala,
and her seventeen-year-old son Maurice, to whom she
could refuse nothing, had asked her assistance to acquire
the Ambigu Theatre. For Damala, she leased the Theatre
des Nations. Both of these theatres cost money. Her
debts grew so large that in a short time placards posted
on the walls of Paris announced that " Madame Sarah
Bernhardt-Damala's diamonds and jewelry will be sold
by auction at the Hotel des Ventes." , The sale produced
178,000 francs.
In this desperate financial stait, she grew anxious for
some lucrative engagement which would provide the sinews
of war, and signed an agreement with Bertrand and
Deslandes, directors of the Vaudeville, on the express con-
dition that " the piece to be played by me shall be written
for me by Victorien Sardou, the only man who can under-
stand me and do what I want." She wanted a role and
not a piece, something that would give scope to her talents,
something easy and not too expensive to mount, so that
she could travel with it, and not have too many players
with whom to share the proceeds. Bertrand called upon
Sardou, and asked whether he had a part for Mme. Bern-
hardt. The dramatist promised to think the matter over,
and next day informed Bertrand that he had found a
promising subject. He had lately been reading the
Memoires of Antonio Perez, the secretary of Philip II.
of Spain. There he found the suggestions required. All
through the summer of 1882 Sardou worked at his play.
When completed, it entirely satisfied the requirements of
Mme. Bernhardt, for it was " a role in four acts," though
92 SARDOU'S CAREER
she humorously added that the part allotted to Pierre
Berton, her leading man, was "altogether too extensive."
The announcement of a new play by " Sardou for
Sarah" — the two S's, as they were called — caused quite
a flutter in play-going circles in Paris, and there was a
great rush for places at the first performance. Sarah
determined to make her part a triumph. She practiced
eight hours a day at " Fedora," and then for a change
wound up the day by playing in " Les Meres Ennemies "
at the Ambigu. Madame Bernhardt gives an amusing
account of " Fedora " from her point of view : " Knowing
that I am a tragedienne, Sardou has brought out all my
strong points. If I had had any weak points, he would
have made use of them, too. But I have none. Ah! if
I were not Sarah, I would like to be Sardou."
Madame Bernhardt and Pierre Berton were inimitable
in their parts, and the piece was brilliantly successful.
Thenceforth " Fedora " formed part of her permanent
repertoire. In December, 1904, in the course of a long
and successful tour through Europe, Mme. Bernhardt
visited Constantinople, taking with her six plays, three of
which, including " Fedora," were by Sardou. It is amus-
ing to add that all three were prohibited by the Turkish
authorities, " La Tosca " because a prefect of police is
killed in the play; "Fedora" because the subject is
nihilism ; and " La Sorciere " because the Koran is men-
tioned in the text. Of the other three plays, Racine's
" Phedre " was not allowed to be performed because it was
a Greek drama, and Rostand's " L'Aiglon " on the ground
that it was calculated to give the Sultan's subjects a false
idea of European politics. The only piece that passed the
censors was Dumas's " La Dame aux Camelias " !
An adaptation of " Fedora " by Herman Merivale was
produced at the Haymarket Theatre, London, May 5, 1883.
CHAPTER X
Theodora and La Tosca Succeed, Although
Attacked by the Critics
The drama of " Theodora," for which Jules Massenet
composed the incidental music, was produced at the Porte
Saint-Martin, under the management of Felix Duquesnel,
on December 26, 1884. M. Duquesnel had been manager
of the Odeon, but left for the Chatelet, where he made a
fortune with the production of " Michael Strogofif." He
retired with two millions of francs to a villa at Croissy,
where he and his wife devoted themselves to growing roses.
Sardou urged him to return to produce his piece "Theo-
dora." Duquesnel wavered, but finally agreed to come if
his wife were willing. She read the play, was delighted
with it, and consented.
In 1884, few but professional scholars knew much about
Byzantium. When Duquesnel read the names of the per-
sonages of the play he was quite taken back. "What a
singular epoch!" he exclaimed with a not unnatural dis-
trust. " Justinian ! Byzantium !" It made one think rather
of the institutes than of an historical drama. Sardou was
at that time almost the only author in Paris who had
studied the period in detail. " That evening by lamplight,"
continued the first reader of " Theodora," " I opened the
manuscript-book bound in greyish paper. At one o'clock
in the morning I was still reading — ^held, as they say,
feverishly gripped by the dramatic interest of the situations,
and reading over several times the most effective scenes
and playing them over in my mind's eye." Duquesnel con-
ceived the happy idea of asking Massenet to write the inci-
dental music. Sardou doubted whether the composer would
accept. However, the three dined together at the Cafe
93
94 SARDOU'S CAREER
Anglais, and excerpts were read from the manuscript.
Massenet, full of enthusiasm, hastened to the battered cafe
piano, and began the chords of the striking funeral hymn
in the fourth act. The selection of such a subject as Jus-
tinian, Theodora, and the Byzantine Court aiforded an
unique opportunity for spectacular effects, and also enabled
Sardou to indulge his taste for historical and archseological
research. But he did not escape severe criticism on this
very score; indeed, his display of erudition appeared to
provoke it. M. Darcel, the director of the Gobelins factory,
and an archaeologist of repute, wrote a learned critique in
La Gazette des Arts et de la Curiosite. Sardou was bound
to accept the challenge, and controverted in a very amusing
manner, one by one, the points raised by M. Darcel. These
latter were essentially questions for a committee of experts
to decide, and were of such a character that, even supposing
the dramatist wrong on every point, the merits of the play
would not be thereby affected. No illusion would be de-
stroyed if the manganon and the sphendone were not quite
of the orthodox shape, and the enjoyment of the spectators
would not be impaired by any suspicion of architectural
anachronism involved by the application of ornaments which
may or may not be minarets. Among other things, M.
Darcel objected that the use of a table-fork by Theodora
was a glaring anachronism. Sardou's answer was that the
first fork known to history came from Byzantium itself, and
was used by the Empress Helena some two centuries before
the time of Theodora; this fork is now preserved in the
Museum at Treves. Another critic, M. Fouquier, objected
to the use of blue glass in Justinian's cabinet. Sardou
showed that there is at the British Museum a blue glass
vase bearing the name of Thutmes III., and that at Pompeii
window-frames were found with fragments of glass still
adhering. It would be tedious to pursue the matter at
greater length. To the confusion of the experts who dif-
THEODORA AND LA TOSCA SUCCEED 96
fered from him, Sardou proved that he was right, and also
made it clear that he had not, by his interest in the history
and archaeology of an unfamiliar period, been led into the
error of over-elaborating and glorifying the mise-en-sdne
at the expense of the dramatic interest of the piece.
When Sarah Bernhardt revived " Theodora " in 1902
the old polemics again began. There was a tendency among
scholars at that time to whitewash Theodora, and to see in
her a great Empress whose private character had been much
maligned. These renewed attacks drew a letter from Sar-
dou in the Figaro, in which he claimed that he had not
exceeded his rights in the dramatic use he had made of her.
Only three facts, he maintained, were really known about
Theodora: First, her marriage to Justinian and the part
she took in his government; this was a strong feature in
the play. Second, her energy, and the courage with which
she saved the Emperor in the mutiny ; " this formed the
subject of three-quarters of my piece." Third, her death
by cancer in the year 548 a.d. This last detail was varied
by the author. " It would evidently be absurd to make
Mary Stuart die of consumption, Marie Antoinette of
poison, or Jeanne d'Arc in her bed. But an end so obscure
as that of Theodora authorizes me, I suppose, in imagining
for her a death more Byzantine than the real one."
The interest of the play centres in the Empress herself,
her coarse passion for the young Greek Andreas, and her
fiery, energetic character, as displayed in the ruthlessness
with which she crushes mutiny and riot.
" Theodora " proved a brilliant success and ran for 257
nights, the receipts amounting to no less than 1,654,000
francs. It has been described as the " greatest effort of
mise-en-scene of the century," only surpassed on its revival
by Sarah Bernhardt in 1902, some seventeen years after its
original production. Sardou always spoke of this piece
with special affection.
96 SARDOU'S CAREER
On the revival in 1902 the critics again raised objections
to Sardou's history, which bladders he pierced with a few
strokes of the pen. Then the experts at the museums tried
their hand, and concocted all sorts of pedantic controversies
relating to the mise-en-scene. But these polemics merely
contributed to the marvellous success of the play.
An adaptation of " Theodora " by Robert Buchanan
was produced at the Theatre Royal, Brighton, November
18, 1889.
The love drama of " Georgette," performed at the Vau-
deville on December 9, 1885, failed to command success,
apparently because the piece did not end with marriage and
" they lived happily ever afterward."
Sardou's next venture, " Le Crocodile," a comedy in
five acts with incidental music by Jules Massenet, was
coldly received at the Porte Saint-Martin, where it was
performed on December 21, 1886. Various reasons have
been assigned for this lack of success. The real cause of
this want of appreciation was doubtless the fact that the
audience expected an entirely different kind of play from
the author of " Les Pattes de Mouche," " Patrie," and " La
Haine." Instead of the work which they went to see, they
were treated to a kind of extravaganza, a mere " panto-
mime," "milk for babes" {bouillie de bebe), as the critics
stigmatized it. The author did not take such remarks too
deeply to heart, though he vindicated his position by de-
scribing his motives in venturing on such an unusual genre
of play. " This time," Sardou wrote, " I worked for my
daughter and her friends, and the laughter of these little
ones prevented me from hearing the sneers of some of the
grown-ups. It was my daughter who dictated my pro-
gramme. ' Since I cannot see any of your grown-up pieces,'
she said to me one morning, ' make one for me for once in
your life.' How could I resist such an entreaty? I did
not resist. ' Well, what do you want?' ' First of all, pretty
THEODORA AND LA TOSCA SUCCEED 97
scenery.' 'Well?' 'Then I should like the scene to be
laid in some dreadful, savage, unknown country.' ' Good.
Then you want Swiss Family Robinson.' ' Yes, something
like that, with very unhappy heroes at the commencement,
and very happy ones at the end.' " Such is Sardou's ac-
count of the inspiration of " Le Crocodile." The young
lady was so delighted that she begged her father to let her
see " my piece " again. " That is the best approbation.
This time I have worked for the children. Let them enjoy
themselves, that is all I ask. So much the worse if the
others are bored."
The most emotional of all the dramas of Sardou, " La
Tosca," first played at the Porte Saint-Martin on November
24, 1887, affords a striking instance of the diversity of
opinion not seldom found between the critics and the public.
The chorus of critics smote the piece hip and thigh, and
Francisque Sarcey went so far as to dub it " a pantomime."
The dramatist was not a little nettled by this treatment, and
retorted : "I knew that Sarcey was blind ; but I did not
think that he was deaf too. He really did not need this
new infirmity."
In Paris, as elsewhere, journalists are often admitted to
witness the final rehearsals of a new play. One paper —
Gil Bias — abused this privilege by printing an analysis of
" La Tosca " on the very morning of the first performance.
In assertion of his rights, Sardou brought an action against
the oifender and won it. The general public was delighted
by Sarah Bernhardt, who threw into the title-role a mar-
vellous force, and secured a regular triumph for interpre-
ters and author. The drama ran for two hundred nights
at the Porte Saint-Martin, and has since been frequently
revived and taken all round the world by Sarah Bernhardt.
How enduring is the popularity of the drama is shown by
the fact that when it was revived on January 21, 1899, it
ran for fifty-seven nights at the Theatre Sarah Bernhardt.
7
98 SARDOU'S CAREER
In January, 1900, an operatic version of "La Tosca,"
in three acts, with music by Giacomo Puccini, was pro-
duced at Rome. Both at Rome and at Covent Garden The-
atre, London, on July 12 of the same year, it was received
with favour. Fraulein Ternina appeared in the title-role.
An English version of " La Tosca " by F. C. Grove and
Henry Hamilton was produced at the Garrick Theatre,
London, November 28, 1889.
The brilliantly successful " La Tosca " was followed by
one of Sardou's failures, " Marquise," played at the Vaude-
ville on February 12, 1889. Even Madame Rejane in the
title-role failed to save the piece, which had some points of
resemblance with " Georgette." The subject of the play
was a scarlet woman grown sedate with years, and the situ-
ation brought about by the refusal of the neighbors among
whom she had settled to recognize her. The piece proved
altogether unsuited for the taste of the time.
A month later, however, Sardou had his revenge. His
three-act comedy " Belle-Maman," written in collaboration
with Raymond Deslandes, was performed at the Gymnase
on March 15, 1889, and enjoyed a good rim. The humor
of this farcical piece turns on the ridiculous spectacle of a
mother-in-law who, excited by the marriage of her daughter,
takes to giddy ways and flirtations late in life. Ten years
later, on October 19, 1899, " Belle-Maman " was revived
at the Vaudeville, and ran for fifty-two nights, reaching on
November 14 of that year its three-hundredth performance.
CHAPTER XI
Thermidor Prohibited, Sans-Gene and Cleopatre
Successful
It was at the instance of Sarah Bernhardt that Sardou
wrote " Qeopatre," as in the case of " Fedora." With inci-
dental music by Xavier Leroux, it was performed at the
Porte Saint-Martin on October 23, 1890. The great trage-
dienne had several times expressed the desire to interpret
the character of the Egyptian Queen. Sardou hesitated for
a long time, possibly because he shrunk from directly chal-
lenging comparison with Shakespeare. In fact, it has been
noticed that only the messenger scene reminds one to any
extent of " Antony and Qeopatra." At length he yielded,
and began to write the play in collaboration with Emile
Moreau, the same dramatist who some years later helped
him to produce " Madame Sans-Gene " and " Dante." An
attack of influenza prevented the completion of the play,
as was intended, in time for the great exhibition held at
Paris in 1889 in commemoration of the Centenary of the
French Revolution. Thanks to Madame Bernhardt, " Cleo-
patre " drew good houses for 80 nights, the performance on
November i realizing as much as 11,500 francs.
Sardou was often accused of sneering at Shakespeare.
As the accusation was rarely made in a tangible form, it
was difficult for him to refute it. At last, however, it was
formally made in a leading article in the London Daily
Telegraph of August 27, 1890, apropos of the forthcoming
production by Madame Bernhardt of his play of " Cleo-
patre" in Paris. Sardou wrote to the Telegraph under
date of September 24, 1890:
99
100 SARDOU'S CAREER
" The writer of your article should have verified his assertions.
He is wrong when he stated that my play of ' Cleopatre ' is an
adaptation of that of Shakespeare. He would have done better
had he waited to see the piece before making that assertion. He
did not neglect also to repeat to the world the famous saying which
has been put into my mouth concerning Shakespeare, to wit:
' that he had not the least talent' But your writer forgot to prove
that I really uttered these words. It is not sufficient to attribute
imbecile sayings to me, it must be proved that I uttered them. It
is true that I am not one of those idolatrous persons who admire
Shakespeare without reserve, and I venture to believe that his
statue in Paris usurps the place which better belongs to our own
Corneille. But it is a far cry from this belief to the opinion
falsely attributed to me, and I defy your contributor to cite a
saying of mine in which this monstrosity could be found. He
has not even the excuse of making his charges in good faith,
for I have frequently protested publicly against this fiction. If
he should pretend that my protests were unknown to him, I would
reply that no self-respecting writer has any right to claim knowl-
edge of the accusation and ignorance of the defence."
Independently of its literary or dramatic merit, "Ther-
midor," performed at the Comedie-Frangaise on January
24, 1891, is one of Sardou's most famous plays, owing. to
the stormy reception it met, and its final prohibition by the
government. The author never concealed the fact that in
politics he was a monarchist, although a liberal-minded one,
and as "Rabagas " had excited the apprehensions of M.
Thiers, so now " Thermidor " alarmed President Carnot's
cabinet. Its anti-radical bias, through the machinations of
M. Clemenceau, caused such an uproar at the second per-
formance on January 26, that two of the Ministers, Con-
stans and Bourgeois, were frightened into prohibiting its
further performance at the Comedie-Frangaise or any other
theatre subventioned by the government. On the 27th,
accordingly, " Depit Amoureux " and " Tartuffe " were
substituted. But the public refused to give them a hearing,
and the performance was suspended by 9 o'clock and the
FAILURE AND SUCCESS 101
money refunded. Even on the 29th the house was still in
an agitated state.
Sardou had originally intended the piece for the Porte
Saint-Martin, where Coquelin was playing at the time.
But Jules Claretie, director of the Comedie-Franqaise, be-
ing anxious to induce the great actor to rejoin his establish-
ment, opened negotiations which resulted in the return of
Coquelin, and Marais also, to the Theatre-Franqais, and
the transfer of " Thermidor " to the Government theatre.
" Thermidor " had been planned twenty years before in
the time of the Commune, the suggested title being " La
Demiere Charette" or "The Last Tumbril." Like "La
Sorciere " and several other plays, it was withdrawn years
afterward from its retirement, and completed with a view
to its performance on the stage of the Porte Saint-Martin.
The prohibition, of course, only affected houses receiv-
ing a subvention from the state, and there was nothing to
prevent the performance of " Thermidor " on some other
stage ; but it was not revived till March 3, 1896, when it
was played in the theatre for which it had been originally
written. Coquelin had in the meantime returned to the
Porte Saint-Martin, and helped to make the fortune of the
piece. To Marais, however, who had played the part of
Martial Hugon so brilliantly, the stoppage of " Thermidor "
was a disaster. He had thrown up an excellent position at
the Gymnase, and the crisis at the Comedie-Franqaise seems
to have disheartened him altogether. Deeply involved in
debt, he fell seriously ill, and in an attack of delirium threw
himself out of a window, his death resulting in September,
1891.
Reference has already been made to the keen interest
taken by Sardou in history and archaeology, but no period
had such fascination for him as that of the French Revolu-
tion. No less than six of his plays deal with this period:
"Monsieur Garat," "Les Merveilleuses," "Thermidor,"
102 SARDOU'S CAREER
" Madame Sans-Gene," " Pamela," " Robespierre." In all
these pieces the movement and human interest form the
life-blood of the play ; these claimed his first care, the arch-
aeology and history taking only a subordinate though still
important place. He studied no period with greater thor-
oughness, and from his youth up had been familiar with
spots made memorable by its most striking episodes. When
"Thermidor" was transferred to the Comedie-Frangaise
various modifications were made in the piece, but on its
revival it was restored to its original and superior form.
The famous " Convention " scene, for instance, of the 9th
Thermidor, Year II [July 27, 1794] was reinstated, and
several alterations made in the denouement. For example.
Martial Hugon was not killed at the Porte Saint-M'artin,
and Fabienne Lecoulteux with her companions in misfor-
tune was rescued from the last tumbril by a kind of popular
rising provoked by Martial and Labussiere just at the very
moment when the Convention was staying the course of
the frightful summary executions. Objections have been
raised to the rescue on historical grounds. It is a fact that
the last tumbril was attacked, but it is alleged that Com-
mandant Henriot's gendarmes recovered possession of the
last " batch " of victims. Such criticism, however, is merely
captious. In obscure points of this kind, on which certainty
is unattainable, some latitude must be allowed to the dram-
atist. Provided that the main outline of the picture be
correctly drawn, no illusion is destroyed by an arbitrary
decision on petty points of history or archaeology over
which experts may be left to wrangle. Felix Duquesnel,
who as Director of the Porte Saint-Martin was keenly in-
terested in the play, thought that it made a more artistic
ending to rescue Fabienne than to allow her to perish merely
because she could not bring herself to save her life by falsely
declaring herself about to become a mother.
" Theodora," " Thermidor " and the four-act comedy
FAILURE AND SUCCESS 103
of " Madame Sans-Gene " are the best examples of Sardou's
method of constructing historical plays, and of the scrupu-
lous care he devoted to the general accuracy of his details,
both in the story itself and in the staging of the piece.
In writing " Madame Sans-Gene," as subsequently in
"Dante," Sardou had the collaboration of Emile Moreau.
The history of this collaboration is not without interest.
The real Madame Sans-Gene was an orphan girl, Therese
Figueuer. When she was eighteen years old, in 1793, she
doffed her petticoats, put on the breeks, and enlisted in the
army. She followed the Emperor in his great campaigns,
was wounded several times, and died peacefully in 1861 in
an asylum at the age of eighty-six. She was one of a
number of young women who as vivandieres followed the
eagles in the Napoleonic wars. With her as heroine, Emile
Moreau had made a play which he was reading to his old
friend Sardou. During the reading Sardou suddenly cried :
" What a play it would make if, instead of this obscure
vivandiere, you took Catherine Hubscher, who was a regi-
mental laundress, and became the wife of Sergeant Le-
febvre ; he won the baton of a marshal of France and made
her a Duchess." Moreau was struck by the interruption.
" Indeed it would," he cried. " Let us write it together, and
I will throw this away." So said, so done, and they col-
laborated in writing " Mme. Sans-Gene."
The piece was originally intended for Le Grand Theatre.
But that house had proved a financial failure, and the play
— together with Madame Rejane, for whom the title-role
had been written — was transferred to the Vaudeville, where
it was performed on October 27, 1893, with great success.
The piece was revived at the Vaudeville on May 22,
1900, and was played no fewer than 209 times during the
exposition of that year. On July 31, it reached its 500th
performance, and the occasion was celebrated by a grand
supper at the Restaurant Paillard in the Champs-Elysees, at
104 SARDOU'S CAREER
which Madame Rejane presided, having Sardou on her
right hand and Emile Moreau on her left. On October 31
of that same year, it was played for the 600th time in Paris.
" Madame Sans-Gene " is one of Sardou's most diverting
comedies, and the scene between the Emperor and Marshal
Lefebvre is a marvel of stage-craft.
Adapted from " Madame Sans-Gene " was the light
romantic opera of "The Duchess of Danzig," with book
and lyrics by Henry Hamilton and music by Ivan Caryll,
which was produced at the Lyric Theatre, London, on
October 17, 1903, and enjoyed long and successful runs
in London and the Provinces. It was also produced in the
United States.
An adaptation of " Madame Sans-Gene " by J. Comyns
Carr was produced at the Lyceum Theatre, London, on
April 10, 1897, with Henry Irving and Ellen Terry in the
leading roles.
In his next venture, " Gismonda," Sardou temporarily
abandoned modern or recent times, and went back to
mediaeval Athens for his historical setting. The selection
of an obscure though interesting corner of history enabled
- him to give his characters a picturesque environment. The
critics were surprised to find how slightly mediaeval Greece
had figured in history; on the stage it was entirely novel.
" Gismonda " was specially written for Sarah Bernhardt,
who had just taken the Renaissance Theatre, where it was
performed on October 31, 1894.
The production of " Marcelle," brought out at the Gym-
nase on December 21, 1895, was the last occasion on which
Madame Pasca — who had created the part of Seraphine
nearly thirty years before — splayed on a Paris stage. It is
one of Sardou's less important pieces, and contains some
far-fetched situations, the scene, for instance, in which
Marcelle proclaims that she has a lover, in order to shield
her brother, who had in a drunken quarrel killed a man
before his sister's very door.
CHAPTER XII
Sardou as a Spiritualist
Sardou's next play, produced early in 1897, was called
" Spiritisme."
There are various references in the writings of his con-
temporaries to the fact that he was a believer in spiritualism.
We have seen him in his younger days dissecting the heart
of man anatomically. Later on, toward 1861, we find him
seeking the soul through spiritualism, and that is not one
of the least curious means his intellect employed in its
quest of the new and the unknown. " In the early sixties,"
writes Jules de Marthold, " there existed a society of Spir-
itualists presided over by a certain Rivail, ex-manager of
one of the boulevard theatres, christened Allan-Kardoc, by
a spirit, that of suicide probably, for in these seances they
chiefly invoked those who had of their own will passed
unbidden into eternity, such as Gerard de Nerval, for in-
stance. Sardou held a distinguished position among these
adepts, and published in his capacity of medium a ' voyage
fait dans la planete de Jupiter.' I know not how much of
the mysterious the ghosts of the Champs-Elysees may have
been able to impart to our dramatic author, but he is most
certainly somewhat of a sorcerer, and he, as certainly, has
the power of magic."
Adolphe Brisson, in one of his " Portraits Intimes,"
tells of a seance given by an Italian medium famous in
Paris some years ago, who exhibited in New York City in
1909, one Signora Eusapia Paladino. From Brisson's dis-
closure it is apparent that Sardou was not the only one
among the celebrities of Paris who believed in spiritualism.
Among them he mentions Camille Flammarion, astronomer,
mathematician, physicist, and geologist, who was instru-
105
106 SARDOU'S CAREER
mental in importing this Signora Paladino from Naples.
Students of these sciences are often of a rather skeptical
turn of mind, and it is all the more remarkable that Flam-
marion should so implicitly believe in the spiritualistic mani-
festations of Signora Paladino. Yet these skeptical Pari-
sians all testified that they had felt tables moving under
Signora Paladino's fingers, had seen inanimate objects
flying through the air, and that at her seances they had
felt the pressure of spirit hands.
Ml Brisson informs us that the party which assembled
in M. Flammarion's study included some half-dozen distin-
guished Parisians, among whom was Sardou. The medium
herself, according to M. Brisson, could not be considered
of a dangerous beauty, as " her face was a network of
wrinkles, and covered with the scars of smallpox." But
he was impressed by her piercing eyes.
"At the beginning of the sitting," says M. Brisson,
" Sardou displayed his usual marvellous talent for con-
versation. Yet on this particular evening he did not at-
tempt to dazzle us with his customary anecdotic brilliancy.
On the contrary, he was most solemn, and not, as is so often
the case, mocking and satirical. There is no more sincere
believer in spiritualism than Sardou, and his conviction has
the essential character of implicit faith. It is not feverish,
it is not changeable, but solid and immutable. Sardou does
not show any signs of irritation when he hears attacks upon
or remarks against spiritualism. He makes no attempt to
refute, but merely laughs at them."
" There are people " (says Sardou, through the pen
of M. Brisson,) " with whom it is useless to argue. Their
incredulity is proof against attack. They refuse to accept
any evidence which is contrary to their theories. If you
prove a fact to them, they admit it, but the next day deny
their admission. The fear of ridicule with them destroys
the love of truth."
SARDOU AS A SPIRITUALIST 107
Sardou thus told the history of his conversion. He was
living as a poor student in a garret in the Latin quarter.
A bed, a writing-table, and a spinet made up the furniture
of this poor apartment. This piano was dear to Sardou, for
it came to him from a sister whom he had lost. Yet he
treated it with little outward show of affection, for he had
converted it into a receptacle for rubbish. Articles of
clothing, books, pamphlets, and packages of newspapers
were heaped upon it, and no friendly hand ever woke to
life the slumbering tones of its corroded strings.
One evening the young playwright was hard at work
scourging vice and rewarding virtue in the fifth act of a
melodrama, when he suddenly heard faint sounds of music
behind him. He whirled round in his chair. No one was
in the room except himself. Nevertheless, the piano was
sounding as if fingers were flying over the keys. He looked
attentively at the key-boar^, for the instrument was open,
and he saw that the ivory keys were moving as if impelled
by unseen fingers. He watched them closely. Though the
keys were covered with dust, the spirit fingers that were
moving them left no trace behind them. When the melody,
an old air by Haydn, was ended, the piano again became
mute. Sardou pinched himself to make sure that he was
not dreaming, but he was wide awake. He went to bed,
but slept little that night, and the next morning he hastened
to visit a friend who was acquainted with all the mysteries
of modern spiritualism.
" It is very simple," said the friend when he had lis-
tened attentively to Sardou's account. " You are a medium,
but you have been unaware of your powers. There are
many people like yourself."
This revelation surprised Sardou, but he soon found,
he tells us, that it was the truth. He found himself capable
of bringing about all sorts of remarkable phenomena. He
could produce raps from tables, and could materialize spirits.
108 SARDOU'S CAREER
He received mysterious communications written by beings
from the other world. Sometimes the spirits would seize
his hands, and with inconceivable rapidity would draw
wonderful designs of scenes and buildings which he had
never seen.
Here M. Brisson's narrative may be left for a moment
to glance at some corroborative matter in a recent work by
Jules Claretie on Victor Hugo: corroborative not of the
objective truth of the spiritualistic phenomena, but of the
truth of the allegations as to Sardou's belief in them. M.
Claretie says that while Hugo was in exile in Guernsey he
whiled away the weary days by " conversations with the
other world," by means of table-tipping. He adds that
Madame de Girardin had brought the fad into fashion. It
had been imported from America into Paris. Victor Hugo
used to preside at these meetings, and there are in existence
hundreds of pages of written matter giving the words
rapped out by spirits in the form of dialogues between
them and the members of Hugo's family.
M. Paul Meurice was in possession of these manu-
scripts, and once consulted Sardou as to the advisability of
publishing them. " Why not ?" replied the dramatist, " the
manifestations of the invisible world are indisputable facts."
In short, Sardou advised M. Meurice to publish all these
manuscripts written by the unknown. It seems that spirits
converse in both prose and verse. " But," adds M: Claretie,
" I suspect that this unknown who wrote such clever verse
and prose was no other than Victor Hugo himself, although
he himself may not have known it. But it would not have
been possible to offer so simple an explanation to Victor
Hugo; it would have made him seriously angry. Let me
repeat : he firmly believed in the reality of these manifesta-
tions and of the voices of the other world. He was as firm
a believer in them as was Sardou. He would admit of no
discussion about the matter, but merely said that facts
SARDOU AS A SPIRITUALIST 109
could not be debated, and he accepted the phenomena as
genuine." M. Claretie closes with some moralising on the
curiosities of genius, on the strange fact that the men who
dwell on intellectual peaks should accept without question
the mysteries of the abysses below.
To return to the narrative of M. Brisson. Sardou, he
tells us, informed the company assembled at M. Flam-
marion's house that he was in the habit of consulting the
spirits for advice concerning his course in life. He even
asserted that when he was puzzled in the construction of a
tangled plot his spirit friends helped him out of his diffi-
culty. But the most remarkable story told by Sardou to
his friends was to the effect that one day while he was
seated at his desk, writing, a. bunch of roses suddenly ap-
peai-ed at the side of his ink-stand. They were evidently
freshly plucked, and the dew still lay upon their pe'tals.
At first he imagined that they had been tossed in through
the window, but the window was closed. Furthermore,
they had obviously descended vertically down from the
ceiling. " This seems incredible," continued Sardou, " but
we all know that the passage of flowers through opaque
bodies is one of the most frequent manifestations of the
skill of the jugglers in India."
It is utmecessary here to follow Brisson in his continua-
tion of the account of Signora Paladino's spiritualistic
seance's. The so-called mysteries of these gatherings are
about the same in all countries : darkness, a medium behind
a curtain, spirit hands, spirit voices, and guitars and tam-
bourines sounding from the medium's cabinet. There is
nothing remarkable in all these things. But what is, per-
haps, remarkable is that the distinguished assembly seemed
impressed with such phenomena, that M. Flammarion
seemed "pale and agitated," that Sardou, on the other
hand, seemed extremely animated, that as they parted he
said to M. Brisson : " I hope that you have been impressed.
110 SARDOU'S CAREER
for I think we have had what may be called an excellent
seance."
This pronounced interest in occult phenomena naturally
left its mark on Sardou's plays. " Spiritisme," played at
the Renaissance on February 8, 1897, turns on these mys-
teries. It was not a success. The general public probably
regards the subject of spiritualism with indifference. It
has been suggested, too, that the disaster of the burning of
the Charity Bazaar in the Rue Jean Goujon on May 4th of
that year militated against the piece. The nerves of the
public were said to be too severely shaken for the time to
relish a play which included a fire and a railway accident
in the plot. It is very problematical, however, whether we
have here the real reasons for the comparative failure of
" Spiritisme." The truth is that the subject itself is utterly
undramatic. In a scene such as the discussion between
Davidson and Parisot we have a mere pamphlet masquer-
ading as a play. Sardou's interest in the subject led him
astray.
" Spiritisme " was produced in the United States with
Miss Virginia Harned and Nelson Wheatcroft in the lead-
ing roles ; it was fairly successful.
CHAPTER XIII
Robespierre, Dante, La Sorciere —
Plays of the End
In 1898 and 1899, Saxdou returned to the period of the
French Revolution. The play " Pamela " he set in the
Directory time.
This picturesque epoch had provided a framework for
one of his earliest successes, " Monsieur Garat," nearly
forty years previously, and also for a delightful but not
altogether successful comedy, "Les Merveilleuses," twenty
years before. The new play was well received on its first
performance at the Vaudeville, on February 11, 1898, and
favorably reviewed in the press; but it had only a short
run, in spite of the attraction of Madame Re jane in the
title-role. The play turns on the fate of the child Louis
XVII., who, by the aid of Pamela, supported by faithful
royalists, manages to escape from the prison at the Temple,
where he was confined under the care of Pamela's husband,
Bergerin. The plot -lis simple, but the picture of the suf-
ferings of the Dauphin and of his loyal friends succeeded
in stirring the emotions of the audience. The actual fate
of the poor* boy is, like the identity of the Man in the Iron
Mask, one of the standing riddles of history which in all
probability never will find a generally accepted solution.
Some assert that he escaped to America, and under the
name of Eleazar Williams died there. Others believe that
under the name of Naundorff he lived at Berlin for many
years by his trade as a clockmaker, and died at Delft in
1845. Many specious arguments are put forward by those
who hold this belief, but the weight of probability inclines
to the official view that he died in prison at the Temple in
the year 1795 as the result of harsh usage and privation.
Ill
112 SARDOU'S CAREER
According to those who uphold the escape theory, the boy
who died in the prison in 1795 was a substitute, who was
smuggled in to save the Dauphin. In a case where cer-
tainty is unattainable the dramatist is surely at liberty to
select whichever version lends itself best to his art. Years
afterward (in 1909) Pierre Decourcelles selected the boy
Louis XVII. as the hero of a play called " Le Roy sans
Royaiune."
In his next play, " Robespierre," written for Sir Henry
Irving, translated by Sir Henry's son, Laurence Irving, and
performed by Sir Henry at the London Lyceum on April
15, 1899, Sardou again went to the French Revolution for
his theme. He had maintained a strong interest in Robes-
pierre almost from his boyhood, as an incident related by
himself serves to show. In the year 1845 or 1846 young
Sardou attended a children's party at the house of a family
friend, Madame de Boismont, in the Rue d'Enfer. He
there met and danced with an old lady who interested him
greatly. "After the dance, during which she questioned
me on my studies, my masters, my school, I asked Madame
de Boismont who the good lady was." He was told that
she was Madame Le Bas, the mother of Philippe Le Bas,
and the widow of the member of the convention. " I was
reading at the time Thiers's ' Revolution,' and cried out
' the man who killed himself ?' "
[It may be interpolated here that Le Bas, at the famous
session of the Ninth Thermidor, demanded to share Robes-
pierre's fate, and then shot himself.]
" Madame de Boismont mentioned my exclamation to
Madame Le Bas, who made a sign for me to sit by her side,
and I went, quite charmed at the idea of having taught the
Lady's Chain to that widow of Thermidor. Naturally
Madame Le Bas spoke to me of Thiers, of the Revolution,
of Robespierre, and as she observed that I was somewhat
lukewarm for her hero, she did not fail to say that he had
PLAYS OF THE END 113
been ' much calumniated by his enemies,' and that I would
certainly have liked him, ' he was so kind and affectionate
toward young people.' "
A few years later young Sardou was again brought into
personal connection with the Robespierre traditions. He
had made the acquaintance of M. Deschamps, Robespierre's
godson. This gentleman had a son who, like Sardou, was a
medical student, and walked with him every morning to the
Necker Hospital. The two young men used to talk of
the Revolution on the way, and no doubt Sardou gathered
many ideas of the character and ambitions of Robespierre
on these occasions.
" Robespierre " proved a great success in London, and
when Sir Henry Irving and Miss Ellen Terry, at the close
of the London season, sailed on October 15, 1899, for a
five months' tour in America, it created such a furore that
the distinguished interpreters were unable to return to
England till June, 1900.
In 1891 Sardou had given in "Thermidor" a picture
of the last day of the Reign of Terror. With the Terror
fell, on that Ninth Thermidor, Maximilien Robespierre, the
monster. In " Robespierre " Sardou draws another Maxi-
milien, of a more heroic mould. He is here the sincere
patriot, who is firmly convinced that the freedom of the
people, won at such tremendous cost, could only be pre-
served by severe measures. M; Rebell suggests that Sardou
intended to depict him as the incarnation of the Revolution,
and has with that end in view magnified and ennobled the
bloodthirsty tyrant. It is Carlyle's view : " Stricter man,
according to his formula, to his credo, and his cant of
probities, benevolences, pleasures of virtue, and such like,
lived not in that age." The colossal conceit of the man,
too, is revealed in utterances such as his reply to Vaughan:
" Mr. Fox is mistaken ; France can do nothing with a child
like the Dauphin. She wants a man, and that man is my-
8
114 SARDOU'S CAREER
self " ; a saying which is all of a piece with Robespierre's
recorded last words : " all is lost ! the brigands triumph,"
for they made the realisation of his dream impossible.
We have seen how Sardou, unlike Alexandre Dumas,
was not content to write a play merely, but religiously at-
tended the rehearsals and supervised the minutest details,
to ensure that his ideas of action and scenery should be
carried out. " Robespierre," however, had not the advan-
tage of the author's personal supervision. Though invited
to do so, he declined to make the journey to London, even
to witness the first-night performance at the Lyceum. He
dreaded the prospect of the dinners and speeches to which
he would be compelled to submit. " That no longer agrees
with my time of life. Besides, I have never had much taste
for such things."
The lyrical comedy of " La Fille de Tabarin," in which
Sardou and Paul Ferrier furnished the libretto in verse,
while Gabriel Pierne was responsible for the music, was
performed at the Opera-Comique on February 20, 1901.
This piece is officially described as a " lyrical comedy," on
the ground that the parts allotted to the sister arts of
poetry and music are of equal importance, instead of the
libretto being merely a peg whereon to hang the melody,
as is very often the case in a comic opera. Though not
devoid of interest, the piece could scarcely be called a suc-
cess. The story was slight, and the music scholarly, yet
undrEunatic. Of Pierne 's music one of the critics wrote:
" He seems to be saying all the time : ' see how strong I am
in fugue, counterpoint, and instrumentation.' "
Tabarin, the hero of the piece, is an historical character,
who retired from the stage with a fortune about 1630, in
the reign of Louis XIII., and set up as a country gentleman
in Poitou. The manner of his death is uncertain. Some
authorities, among them Paul de Saint-Victor, maintain
that the ex-actor was murdered by some of the neighbour-
PLAYS OF THE END 115
ing gentry, who resented the intrusion of an outsider into
their order. Sardou makes Tabarin shoot himself. But as
the ordinary imlettered man has never even heard of
Tabarin, the playwright was justified in killing him in the
most dramatic way. This strolling player of the seventeenth
century, whom Boileau castigated as " unclassical," La Fon-
taine immortalized in " Le Cochon, La Chevre et Le Mou-
ton ;" and Moliere even took one whole scene in " Les Four-
beries de Scapin " from the buffoon of the Pont Neuf .
The farces of Tabarin were first published in 1632 ; four
editions appeared within the year, and they have been fre-
quently reprinted. Mondor was not his master (as in Sar-
dou's play), but his apothecary. Tabarin played in the
Place Dauphine at the end of the Pont Neuf, and crowds
came to see him.
The death of Tabarin on the stage gave rise to a dis-
cussion on stage conventions in the " Intermediaire des
Chercheurs et Curieux," to which Sardou made a contribu-
tion. This journal is the French equivalent of the London
" Notes and Queries." After enumerating various con-
ventions, such as the sloping of the stage itself, the fact
that doors open from the inside outward, and that a meal
on the stage lasts at the most six minutes instead of three-
quarters of an hour, Sardou went on to remark that realism
in such matters would be condemned by the public as false
art. Similarly, a death on the stage must not be a pro-
longed agony : " it must be rapid and seemly. No doubt it
must conform as far as possible to the nature of the sup-
posed malady. But it is a question of degree: it must not
be too prolonged, revolting, or disgusting."
Sardou was not the first to treat Tabarin dramatically.
There was also a comic opera in two acts, with libretto by
Alboize and Andre and music by Georges Bousquet, played
at the Theatre-Lyrique in December, 1852, which represented
poor Tabarin as being exploited by a greedy impresario
116 SARDOU'S CAREER
named Mondor. And again on June 13, 1874, a two-act
play in verse by Paul Ferrier, " Tabarin," was played at the
Theatre-Frangais. Thanks to the splendid interpretation
given by Coquelin the Elder, the piece was very successful,
but it does not depict the historical, Tabarin. The hero
of this piece is rather represented as a comedian who, while
himself a prey to personal sorrow, has to assume a joyous
countenance to amuse the public. Though he secured the
collaboration of M. Ferrier for the new lyrical comedy,
Sardou did not present the same version of the old come-
dian's life and character, but based his book on a prefatory
note by Georges d'Harmonville, printed in his edition of
the works of Tabarin.
" Les Barbares," produced at the Paris Opera House on
October 23, 1901, is a lyrical tragedy in three short acts
written by Sardou and C. B. Gheusi in collaboration. The
music is by that master of melody, Camille Saint-Saens.
But in spite of the distinguished names of both librettist
and composer, the work is not one of those masterpieces
which assume a permanent place in the popular affections.
Saint-Saens's music was too ecclesiastical for the stage —
too reminiscent, as one of the critics remarked, of the organ
of the Madeleine. In libretto, too, Sardou was not at his
best. Possibly the task was not quite congenial to a
dramatist of his type. The critics have noticed in the book
of " Les Barbares " a freedom of treatment which is quite
unusual in so punctilious a stickler for historical accuracy.
The leader of the Germanic invaders at Orange in 105 B.C.
was Boiorix, not Marcomir. The names of the Roman
consuls are changed, and there were certainly no vestal
virgins and no theatre at Arausio till three hundred years
afterward. But, after all, such discrepancies between fact
and romance do not really affect the artistic merit of the
work, for they destroy no illusions. The majority of play-
goers have long since forgotten the Roman history they
PLAYS OF THE END 117
learned at school. Had he been writing a play, Sardou
would no doubt have developed the contrast between the
ferocity of Marcomir's warriors and the disciplined valour
of the Roman legionaries. An opera in which a bare forty
pages of text in verse is divided into three short acts
scarcely affords room for character drawing and develop-
ment of situations. The suddenness of the change from the
Vestal Floria — one moment resisting the advances of Mar-
comir, and the next falling in love with him and throwing
herself into his arms — is all of a piece with the narrowness
of the stage. As we have seen in the case of " La Papil-
lonne," Sardou is by no means at his best in small pieces
with few characters and simple plot.
A second play written expressly for the English stage
by Sardou — ^this time in collaboration with Emile Moreau —
was "Dante," performed at Drury Lane Theatre on April
30, 1903. As in the case of " Robespierre," the English
version was prepared by Laurence Irving. The piece had
a run for seven weeks, the chief interpreters being Sir
Henry Irving in the title-role, and Miss Lena Ashwell in
the double part of Pia dei Tolomei and Gemma, the poet's
daughter. " Dante " is not intended to give a view of the
Dante of history; that is to say, it is not concerned with
the external vicissitudes of the poet's life. To quote Sar-
dou's own words : " There is more of the soul than of the
body of Dante in our drama. We have personified in him
a lover of liberty, a fierce hater of persecution, of oppres-
sion, and of clerical domination. Our Dante is not the his-
torical Dante; it is the moral Dante. We have taken him
in his full grandeur as a symbol of liberty. It was this
conception of the hero that we offered to Henry Irving."
The poet was born in the year 1265, and with the more
famous period of his love for Beatrice, which ended with
her death in 1290, the drama has no concern.
" Dante " achieved success at Drury Lane, but it was
118 SARDOU'S CAREER
rather a triumph of the popular favourites, Sir Henry Irving
and Miss Lena Asbwell, than of the playwright. The mise-
en-scene by the two French scenic artists, Rousin and
Bertin, was superb, but the play itself is rather intricate
and confusing to follow. The personages are historical,
but the situations in which they are thrown are imaginary.
For example, Dante and Pia dei Tolomei were never on
terms of speaking intimacy, and Dante enthusiasts will be
inclined to resent the dramatist's making Gemma a natural
daughter of the poet and Pia. In fact, this amour is pure
invention, unless Sardou and Moreau were willing to base
their justification on the identity of a certain mysterious
" donna gentile " in the poem whom many Dante scholars
suppose to be the Gemma Donati whom he subsequently
married. It is difficult to draw the line between liberty
and license in such matters, but the critic was probably a
sound judge who expressed his regret that instead of
adhering closely to Dante, or writing a brand-new drama
and labelling it Dante, Sardou had blended the two methods.
"La Sorciere," produced at the Theatre Sarah-Bem-
hardt on December 15, 1903, again exemplifies the author's
interest in the occult sciences which formed the ground-
work of " Spiritisme." This time the element of mystery
is the hypnotic power possessed by the heroine Zorasra, The
play was written for Sarah Bernhardt, who surpassed her-
self in the role of the heroine, as even those critics ac-
knowledged who condemned the work as a whole. Some of
the critics professed to find in the play evidence that Sardou
was worn out and past work. A curious comment on this
judgment is afforded by the fact that the piece had actually
been prepared about twelve years earlier. According to
his custom, the dramatist had worked out the play in the
rough, and shown it to Madame Bernhardt, who pronounced
it " superb." But she had just taken the Renaissance The-
atre, the stage of which was not large enough to do justice
to the piece, and in its place Sardou wrote for her " Gis-
SARDOU AT THREE SCORE AND TEN
PLAYS OF THE END 119
monda," which was played late in 1894. " La Sorciere "
added one more to the long list of successes of Sardou and
his chief interpreter, and Madame Bernhardt found the
role of Zoraya so congenial that she adopted it as part of
her permanent repertoire. We have seen what stress Sar-
dou laid upon rehearsals, and how assiduously he attended
them, and how rarely he could be induced to witness the
first public performance of any of his plays. But on this
occasion he yielded to the pressing invitation of his friend
Sarah, as he habitually called her. No sooner had the cur-
tain fallen on this triumph of his old age than the scene
where was to have taken place the death by fire of the
Sorceress was hastily cleared away, and Mme. Bernhardt
entertained the author and his friends at a supper on the
stage. Standing beside Mme. Re jane, her great rival and
interpreter of Madame Sans-Gene, she raised her glass and
gave a toast : " Sardou at his best, my dear master."
Mrs. Patrick Campbell played an English version of the
piece during a successful tour in America, which was un-
fortunately cut short early in 1905 by a carriage accident.
" La Piste," Sardou's fifty-fifth piece, was produced at
the Theatre des Varietes on February 16, 1906. Like one of
his earlier successes, the plot revolves around a stolen
letter. It is nearly as clever in composition as " Les Pattes
de Mouche," but inferior in character drawing. In " La
Piste " an incriminating love-letter, hidden in a lady's
writing-desk, is found by her husband. In her despair she
declares that it was written when she was married to
another man ; but for proof of this she is forced to rely on
the testimony of her former husband. An English version
under the title " The Love Letter," adapted by Ferdinand
Gottschalk, was played at the Lyric Theatre, New York, in
October, 1906. In Paris, the leading roles were taken by
Mtae. Rejane and M. Brasseur; in New York by William
Courtenay and Miss Virginia Hamed. In Paris the play
was much more successful than in New York.
120 SARDOU'S CAREER
"L'Affaire des Poisons," vSardou's last play, was pro-
duced December 7, 1907, at the Porte Saint-Martin. It is an
historical drama in a prologue and five acts. Its action
takes place at the court of Louis XIV., and the heroine is
Mme. de Montespan. The principal role, the Abbe Grif-
fard, was played by M'. Coquelin, for whom the role was
written. The reign of the Roi Soleil was a period of
poisoning — ^the school of Brinvilliers still existed, and Mme.
Voisin and her acolytes openly vended " succession pow-
ders." The ignorant physicians of the day ascribed all
their unsuccessful cases to poisoning. This period fas-
cinated Sardou as long ago as 1869, when he began accu-
mulating material in his voluminous dossiers for a play
of this curious time — a mimic scene wherein poisons should
be dealt in freely by great ladies, courtiers, fortune-tellers,
and unfrocked priests. Among the notable pictures of the
play was the salon of the philter-vendor, Mme. Voisin, to
which comes Mme. de Montespan, masked; as is very
natural — on the stage — she is followed thither by all the
other characters.
Another striking picture was the Grotto of Thetis at
Versailles, said to be the most elaborate scene ever placed
on the Paris stage ; this single setting cost over 35,000
francs. The stage grotto was a reconstitution of the
actual grotto, and was a marvellous imitation of its shell-
work, its coral, its nacre, its mother-of-pearl, its fountains,
its pillars of pink sea-shells, and its statuettes of tritons and
naiads. Another effective picture was a reproduction of
the salon of Louis XIV. The most novel eflfect in the play
was the " Black Mass." This perverted ceremonial is for
the purpose of invoking evil to a specified person, and is
performed with black candles instead of white, and with
reversed vestments. The devil in person, as all devout
people know, frequently attends a successful " black mass,"
and will with his ardent thumb imprint a black brand on
the white shoulder of some lady who pleases him.
PLAYS OF THE END 121
Even if this play had not been successful, it would have
been extraordinary that a septuagenarian should have
written so ingenious a piece of work. For it was a marvel
of technique, and its curtains fell on pictures which invari-
ably piqued or startled the large audiences. But it was
successful, not only as a piece of stage work, but financially
as well, for it drew large houses during the entire season at
the Porte Saint-Martin.
A curious fact about the production was that Sardou
repeated his course concerning " La Tosca." In 1887, when
that play was first produced, he sued the journal Gil Bias
for printing a four-column summary of the plot on the
day before the production. Just twenty years later he sued
Le Matin for a similar action with " L' Affaire des Poisons."
In both suits he recoved damages.
It was not long after the striking success of his last
play that the end of his long life came. In August, 1908,
Sardou was spending the summer as usual on his estate at
Marly. Mme. Sardou was with him, and his youngest son
Andre. His two other sons, Pierre and Jean, were absent,
as was his only daughter, Mme. Robert de Flers.
Sardou had gone to Paris on some business, returning
thence suffering from a fever which resolved itself into a
pulmonary congestion. The doctors grew alarmed, and
his children were summoned at once. But in a few days
he grew better, and actually had his books and papers
brought from his work-room into his bedroom. The habit
of work was upon him. He improved steadily, and for a
time it seemed as if he were again in his accustomed health.
But as October approached he was again forced to take
to his bed. He failed steadily, but persisted in reading
the current journals, until, growing weaker, he had them
read to him. As he continued to decline he was seized with
a strong desire to return to Paris. His family tried to
dissuade him, but he would not listen, and they were forced
12a SARDOU'S CAREER
to humor him. In a motor-car he was carefully taken back
to his native city, and his joy was touching as he passed
through the Bois de Boulogne. He seemed to feel as if
he were again at home.
When he reached his Paris house he found that his bed
had been placed in his workroom, and again he was de-
lighted. On his writing table lay the books and papers on
which he had been last engaged when he left Paris. He
grew animated, and began to lay plans for new plays. The
news of the great success of his latest piece, " L' Affaire des
Poisons," filled him with pleasure. He even began to read
the daily journals.
But the improvement was only the flicker of an expiring
lamp. Soon he grew weak again, became unconscious, and
passed away without pain on November 8, 1908, in his
seventy-eighth year.
At the request of his widow a sketch was taken of him
on his death-bed, wearing the velvet cap so well known to
his friends. The artist was Levy-Dhurmer, and he did his
work in pastels. Oddly enough, this is the only painting
of Sardou in existence. There are many daguerreotypes
and photographs, but he was of too restless a temperament
to sit for a painter.
His funeral took place November nth, at the Paris
Church of St. Franqois-de-Sales. As in igo6 Sardou was
promoted from the rank of Chevalier to that of Grand
Cordon of the Legion of Honor, his remains were accorded
a military burial, with a general officer in command of the
troops. The French government was represented by the
Minister of Public Instruction; the French Academy by
Albert Vandal, and the society of Dramatic Authors (of
which Sardou was president) by Paul Hervieu. All three
of these officials pronounced funeral discourses at the house
after the religious ceremony, and the body was then trans-
ported to Marly to rest in the family tomb.
CHAPTER XIV
Ways of Living and Methods of Work
The long career, the remarkable versatility, and the
large amount of work done by Sardou naturally arouse
curiosity as to his habits of living and methods of work.
He was most methodical. When in Paris he rose early, and
between half-past seven and eight was at his desk, where
he remained at work for a couple of hours. Like many
French men of letters, he wore easy garments when at
work: Dumas the Younger wore pajamas while at his desk;
Sardou attired himself in a loose woollen suit, slippers,
and a velvet cap. After his two hours of work he shaved
and dressed, receiving visitors from 9 to 11. These callers
included theatrical managers, actors in quest of plays,
potential collaborators, and venders of bric-a-brac. The
latter visitors were numerous, for Sardou was an ardent
collector of old prints, old books, tapestries, carvings, coins,
jewels, weapons, and bibelots of all kinds. At mid-day he
took luncheon with his family, sometimes a few intimate
friends being invited. At two o'clock he went forth to his
multifarious engagements, such as attendance at rehearsals,
sittings at the French Academy, meetings of the Society
of Dramatic Authors, and the like. At iive o'clock he re-
turned, and carefully noted down the impressions that had
occurred to him during the day. He was in the habit of
dining early with his family. He rarely attended the the-
atre in the evening, and he was usually in bed by ten
o'clock.
His day's work at Paris did not include writing. He
preferred while there to do only preliminary work, as he
did not find the environment of Paris favourable to composi-
tion. Making and classifying notes was his principal desk-
123
124 SARDOU'S CAREER
work at Paris, while the actual writing he did at his country
place at Marly. The winter at Paris was largely devoted
to rehearsals, and the many details which precede the first
presentation of a play. At Paris, Sardou was more a
business man than a writer; at Marly he plunged himself
into his literary work. At Paris, he was always to be
found by friends in his study at five or six o'clock. His
Paris work-room was a modest one; his* fine library, his
prints and autographs, and his large collection of curios
were at Marly. At Paris, he had only a working library.
When at Marly Sardou rose at seven, took a cup of
chocolate, and worked from eight to ten; this was prelimi-
nary work, arranging notes and laying out his scenes. At
ten o'clock his letters were opened and answered. At eleven
he went out, strolled through the gardens, examined his
flowers and plants, and chatted with his gardener. Be-
tween eleven and twelve he would take a substantial meal,
accompanied with wine and finishing with black coffee.
Immediately after taking his coffee he began to write, and
worked until two or half-past two o'clock, when he laid
aside his pen. He devoted the rest of the day to the busy
idleness of the country gentleman. At one time he was
Mayor of M'arly, and gave up a certain portion of his
afternoons to the cares of municipal government. He
rarely went to Paris during the summer, and seldom left
Marly except to attend the rehearsals of one of his new
plays. Rehearsals he considered almost as important as
composition. It is related by M. De Najac, one of Sar-
dou's collaborators, that he spent a fortnight with Sardou
at Marly in 1880, while they were concocting " Divorqons."
As is usually the case in dramatic collaborations, most of
the time was spent in discussion. The plot was evolved as
they strolled through the grounds, hung over poultry-
yards, or sat on fences. De Najac used afterward to relate
METHODS OP WORK 125
how Sardou would assume by turns all the characters in
the play, to the astonishment of passing rustics.
More than once, in his letters and pamphlets, Sardou
has described his methods of work. Whenever an idea
occurred to him, he immediately made a memorandum of
it. These notes he classified and filed. For example, years
before the production of " Thermidor " he had the thought
of one day writing such a play. Gradually the character
of Fabienne shaped itself; Labussiere was devised later to'
fit Coquelin. Everything that he read about that epoch
of the French Revolution, and the ideas which this reading
inspired, he wrote down in the form of rough notes. En-
gravings, maps, prints, and other documents of the time he
carefully collected. Memoirs and histories he annotated
and indexed, filing away the index references in his file-
cases, or dossiers. At the time of his death, Sardou had
many hundreds of these dossiers, old and new. Some of
the older ones had been worked up into plays, while the
newer ones were merely raw material for future dramas.
When the idea of a play had measurably shaped itself in
his mind he wrote out a skeleton plot, which he placed in
its dossier. There it might lie indefinitely. In this shape
" Thermidor " remained for nearly twenty years, and
" Theodora" for ten. When he considered that the time
was ripe for one of his embryonic plays, Sardou would
take out that particular dossier, read over the material, and
lay it aside again. After it had fermented in his brain for
a time, he would, if the inspiration seized him, write out a
scenario. After this he began the actual writing of the
play.
He never followed the chronological order, but wrote
his most important scene first. In " Thermidor " it was the
scene in which Fabienne is condemned to death. In " Dora "
it was the famous scene between the three men. In his
plays, generally speaking, the great scene is in the next to
126 SARDOU'S CAREER
the last act. When he had thus roughly put his play to-
gether, he once more carefully examined all the notes,
maps, engravings, and other documents in the dossier,
made any additions which suggested themselves, and then
copied out his draft on large sheets of paper with plenty
of margin. While copying, many ideas occurred to him,
which he added to the draft. When it was finished he
would lay it aside for some weeks, after which he would
again read it, making further corrections. Thrice this
process was repeated, and at last the margin had disap-
peared under the numerous corrections and interlineations.
Then he turned it over to the copyist, by whom the succeed-
ing drafts were made.
The play had now assumed form; it remained to be
shaped and polished. The importance that Sardou attached
to the spoken -word is shown by his brilliant dialogue. After
he had finished the fourth draft of a play he often rewrote
the dialogue three or four times. As each of these new
drafts was copied it was bound and put aside. The earlier
drafts looked like what printers call " foul proof," with
myriads of minute interlineations written in a microscopic
hand. At last the copy ceased to be loaded with correc-
tions, and approximated to what printers call " clean copy."
Even then he would frequently refer to the earlier drafts,
and restore versions of the dialogue which he had discarded.
When he worked in collaboration, his collaborator
usually submitted the plan of the play to Sardou. It was
discussed, and changes suggested, until the scenario was to
Sardou's satisfaction. Then the writing was usually done
by his collaborator; when it was finished the whole play
was laid before Sardou. The elder dramatist then fell to
work, and often entirely rewrote the work of his younger
confrere.
Sardou was often reproached by the French critics for
mingling comedy and drama in one play. The first two acts
METHODS OF WORK 127
of his plays are often humorous, the others dramatic.
" Though frequently told that this is wrong," he wrote, " I
believe it is right. During the first two acts I make the
characters as amusing as I consistently can, but not after
the action has really begun. The audience is then well dis-
posed from the outset, and wishes to have its emotions
played upon a little before the curtain falls. If I succeeded
in making them cry from beginning to end, they would
say they were not at the Ambigu ; if I succeeded in making
them laugh all the time, they would say the piece was a
flimsy farce."
In the preface to " La Haine," Sardou has told how his
plays revealed themselves to him : " The problem is invari-
able. It appears as a kind of equation from which the
unknown quantity must be found. The problem gives me
no peace till I have found the answer. In ' La Haine '
the problem was: under what circumstances will the pro-
found charity of woman show itself in the most striking,
manner? The formula once found, the piece came by
itself."
Sardou worked in every division of the playwriting
craft. He wrote rhymed vaudevilles, such as " M. Garat "
and " Les Pres St. Gervais " ; farcical comedies with in-
tricate plots, of which the " Pattes de Mouche " is a type ;
dramatic comedies, such as " Nos Intimes," " Maison
Neuve," " Seraphine " ; satirical comedies, including " La
Famille Benoiton," "Rabagas," "Nos Rons Villageois " ;
historical tragedies, among them " Patrie," " La Haine,"
" Thermidor " ; historical comedies, of which " Mme. Sans-
Gene " is the type ; operettas like " Les Merveilleuses " ;
juridical dramas, such as " Ferreol " ; spectacular extrava-
ganzas like " Le Crocodile " and " Le Roi Garotte " ; broad
farces like " Divorgons " ; blood-curdling melodramas like
"Les Diable Noirs" and "La Tosca"; colossal historical
spectacles like " Theodora," " Gismonda," and " Cleopatre."
128 SARDOU'S CAREER
His versatility is shown by the assertion of a Paris stage
manager that for a Sardou night a play could be taken from
his writings suited to every stage in Paris, from the most
dignified to the most merry, from the Opera to the Palais-
Royal, from the Comedie-Frangaise to the Varietes. A
critic remarked that during nearly sixty years of produc-
tivity, from 1851 to 1908, Sardou's genius adapted itself
to the taste of the time. His early comedies — " Les Pattes
de Mouche," " Nos Intimes," " Les Ganaches " — were
woven with that maze of plot and sub-plot which was de-
manded by audiences of a period when Balzac's methods
were in vogue. After half a century had passed, his later
comedies, such as " Marcelle " and " La Piste," were simple
and clear, the action being all in the hands of two or three
characters; this was the type of play demanded by Paris
audiences of the present epoch. Between these two ex-
tremes such plays as " Dora," " Daniel Rochat," and " Rab-
agas " typified the changing tastes of audiences, and mir-
rored faithfully the periods in which they were produced.
Although Sardou was a marvel of industry as a play-
wright, his busy mind sought occupation in many other
ways. He laid out gardens; he planted trees; he designed
and erected buildings ; he collected books, prints, paintings,
bronzes, bibelots of all kinds. He was an archaeologist ; he
was an expert in Byzantine antiquities ; he was an authority
on the French Revolution; he was a Napoleonist of pro-
found knowledge. And yet, with all his occupations, he
found time to rub elbows with the world, and was famous
in Paris as a story-teller and as a mime.
In France, the people of the stage number a playwright's
works by his acts rather than his plays, as in that country
there are so many one-act pieces produced. Reckoned in
this way, Sardou's work totals over two hundred and fifty
acts. The number of characters figuring in his many pieces
amounts to over eleven hundred.
METHODS OP WORK 129
Concerning these characters, another playwright, De
Caillavet, says that Sardou himself almost believed in their
existence, they were so real. When mention was made of
his historical characters, such as Robespierre or Theodora,
he always spoke as if he had actually seen them. " And,"
comments Caillavet, "he was right, for Rabagas is more
real than the politicians of to-day, and Mme. Sans-Gene is
more real than was the genuine Duchess of Dantzic."
Sardou was always what is called a chilly mortal; he
was perpetually complaining of cold, and even in his over-
heated rooms he often wore a velvet cap and a mufHer
round his throat, and invariably ensconced himself near the
fire. There he loved to talk, and his friends loved to
hear him. To quote the description given by his friend
Adolphe Brisson, " No one knows more things and no one
knows them better than Sardou. His memory is a museum
wherein all the objects are labelled, numbered, classified,
and arranged methodically, and as he passes from one to
another of these objects, he describes them and relates
their history. Each represents to him some souvenir,
which in turn evokes another. From this there results an
uninterrupted chain of anecdotes, of word-pictures, of pic-
turesque sayings. With him conversation never flags.
He throws into his conversation all his inward fire, the
movements of his body, the boyish impulsiveness of his
gestures, the sparkle of his eyes, which are at once mali-
cieux, imperious, and crafty. They have the look of the
man of action and of the diplomatic prelate; as it were,
Voltaire and Mazarin rolled into one. It is delightful to
listen to him." He loved to talk at table. He was very
hospitable, but never allowed his table to be overcrowded,
and preferred that people should not " drop in " unex-
pectedly to dinner.
In person, Sardou was of medium height and spare
build. His face in age was often compared to that of Vol-
9
130 SARDOU'S CAREER
taire, in youth to that of Bonaparte, when the future Em-
peror was still pale and lean. Sardou had a pallid com-
plexion, a long nose, sharp chin, irregular features, and
clear, keen, gray eyes, while his thin meaningful lips were
often curled into a shrewd smile.
He was a genial host and a delightful talker. He was
famous even in France for his brilliant conversation. Your
fluent talker is not always gifted with a clear enunciation,
but Sardou was most distinct, wrote Edmondo De Amicis.
Indistinctness is a crime on the stage, and Sardou was a
severe critic of the rapid and indistinct enunciation of
French actors ; he often insisted at his rehearsals that they
should speak their lines so the audience could hear and
understand them. Even Sarah Bernhardt, he once said,
was a flagrant offender in this respect. In Paris, he added,
she was more careful, but elsewhere she was often utterly
unintelligible. " I have heard," he once remarked, " that
in foreign countries she frequently gallops through her
parts, so that even Frenchmen cannot understand her. I
often wonder if foreigners think they do."
Countless anecdotes are told of Sardou's peculiarities
at rehearsals. Some paint him as good-humored and kindly,
others as bitter and satirical. Probably he was both at dif-
ferent times. Before a piece was put in rehearsal Sardou
always read it himself to the assembled actors. He was a
wonderful reader, and in this respect was probably excelled
by no other playwright, unless it was Ernest Legouve. As
Sardou read he identified himself with each character,
laughed and cried by turns, sprang up and carried out in
pantomime the spoken word — in brief, he acted the various
roles. When the lines were finally committed to memory
by the players and all was ready for the rehearsal, Sardou
would take his place on the stage and follow the action with
the keenest attention. He interrupted continually, running
from side to side, at times taking the words out of the
METHODS OF WORK 131
actor's mouth, and showing him how they should be uttered.
Once when " Les Merveilleuses " was in rehearsal a gavotte
was to be danced under the direction of a ballet-master.
Sardou was not satisfied with the performance, and after
a dozen times he was still disappointed. At last the ballet-
master flew into a rage, clapped on his hat, and told Sardou
to lead his ballet himself. The playwright accepted the
challenge, placed himself at the head of the giggling ballet
girls, and deftly led them through the mazes of the measure.
P. V. Gheuzi, who subsequently collaborated with Sar-
dou in " Les Barbares," gives us a glimpse of the rehearsal
of " Theodora " at the Porte Saint-Martin in 1884. Of all
Sardou's plays this was the one on which he lavished the
most elaborate mise-en-scene and the greatest wealth of
archaeological learning. " It was three o'clock in the morn-
ing," says M. Gheuzi, " and we were still waiting for the
last piece of Ml Amable's scenery to be fixed in position.
The photographers were lying fast asleep in the auditorium,
worn out by their wait of eight hours. But the author of
' Theodora ' did not display the slightest trace of fatigue ;
in spite of a sharp attack of influenza, he went to and fro,
mounted the steps in front, discussed details, gave orders,
supervised everything, and answered all manner of ques-
tions, once more offering to his friends the spectacle of that
prodigious activity which knows but one rival in the world,
that of the grieat and indefatigable artiste, Bernhardt,
whose guests we were."
Like Alexandre Dumas pere, Sardou was extremely
sensitive to the opinions of the less subtle spectators of
his rehearsals. He closely watched and heeded the im-
pressions and comments of the stage carpenters, scene-
painters, firemen, supers, and other humble people behind
the scenes. They represented to him the average mind of
the average audience. To the opinions of actors of his
unproduced pieces, he paid little heed; to the opinions of
132 SARDOU'S CAREER
critics, none at all. At rehearsals no details escaped him.
He would seat himself on the stage chairs and sofas, open
and shut the practicable doors, go to the back of the par-
terre to study the perspective of the scene, climb to the
highest gallery to see if the audience there could hear, and
then hasten back to the stage. There he would seat him-
self, jumping up during a rehearsal thirty or forty times
to show the actors his idea of the action. In doing this he
would laugh, would cry, would shriek, and would even die
a mimic death. Coming to life again, he would call for his
overcoat and hasten to muffle himself up as before. He was
very sensitive to cold, and always came on the stage with
a heavy coat, a muffler, and a cap to protect him from
draughts. He would rehearse from ten in the morning
until three, when he would take a sandwich and a glass of
wine. After this he would resume his work until five, at
which hour he would go blithely forth into the street, smil-
ing and humming, " followed," as one resentful player put
it, " by scowling actors and weeping actresses."
When " Thermidor " was first in rehearsal at the Porte
St. Martin, it is related that Sardou was in despair over
the apathetic attitude of the mob. Dreadful deeds were
done before them, yet they contemplated these bloody
doings with impassive faces and lacklustre eyes. " For the
love of heaven !" shrieked Sardou, tearing his hair, " show
some signs of life! Can't you move yourselves, you
— you — especes d'andouilles!" Here Coquelin intervened:
" Dear Master," he said soothingly, " they'll all do any-
thing you ask them to do, but please don't get angry."
" Angry ! " replied Sardou in great surprise, " why, I'm not
angry; I only called them andouilles."
The phrase applied by the dramatist to his impavid
mob means a kind of sausage made of tripe and pork. The
andouille appeals to the French mind as comic, for it enters
into many sayings, thus " to attempt to break an andouille
across one's knee " typifies a hopeless task ; vetu or Hcele
METHODS OF WORK 133
comme une andouille is applied to foppish obesity — to fat
popinjays, tightly girt, yet lethargic; to plump ladies spill-
ing out of their frocks, yet semi-comatose. The andouille
analogy is apparent.
From his law-suits over the premature reporting of
" La Tosca " and " L'Aifaire des Poisons," it may be easily
imagined that Sardou had a strong objection to the presence
of journalists at the rehearsals of his plays. He always
opposed the admission of outsiders on these occasions, on
the ground that their gossip would disclose to the public
the surprises of the play, thereby depriving it of all its
freshness on the first night. Charges of insincerity in this
matter were often brought against him, but the lapse of
time has brought other playwrights to share his belief. To
such an extent did this feeling pervade the ranks of dram-
atic authors, that in 1902 a meeting was held by the
directors of all the Paris theatres and the directors of the
Society of Dramatic Authors and Musical Composers, at
which it was resolved that thereafter at dress rehearsals,
dramatic critics, newspaper reporters, and all other out-
siders should be rigidly excluded. The only exception to
this rule was to be the issuance of twenty-four tickets,
twelve to the playwright for his family and trusted friends,
and twelve to the manager of the theatre for his family and
for costumers, and other persons connected with the theatre.
The resolution further directed that the manager or play-
wright violating this rule should be mulcted in the sum of
3000 francs, to be devoted to the charitable fund of the
Society of Dramatic Authors. It is perhaps needless to
remark that this rule has since been laid away in lavender.
While this measure excited not a little talk in Paris, it
was generally agreed by theatrical people that it was more
than warranted. It was said that dress rehearsals had
entirely lost the intimate character of former days, when
the auditorium contained only playwrights, actors, and
people connected with the stage. In these latter days dress
134 SARDOU'S CAREER
rehearsals had come to be frequented by cafe loungers, rich
idlers, and men of the world, who considered it " the thing "
to be seen at these exclusive gatherings. Playwrights, man-
agers, and actors were constantly importuned for tickets of
admission. This in itself was sufficiently annoying, but
what was most resented by playwrights and actors was the
fact that the attendants at these rehearsals were often the
most pitiless critics of the plays. These were the men who
organized the first-night cabals, it was they who were
mainly instrumental in creating that atmosphere of sneer-
ing which has ruined so many plays on their first perform-
ance.
Very early in his career Sardou devoted much time to
rehearsing his plays, and was always one of the most earnest
advocates of the exclusion of journalists and idlers from
rehearsals. Even when comparatively unknown he disliked
to let the public know beforehand the striking features of a
new play, and in later years he always maintained that
through the presence of reporters on these occasions his
plays had already ceased to be novelties when the curtain
rose on the first performance. As early as 1866, when
" Maison Neuve " was in rehearsal at the Vaudeville The-
atre, an enterprising reporter printed a minute analysis of
the play before it was produced. This so irritated the
playwright that he refused to permit the piece to be per-
formed, and determined to withdraw it. But the manager
of the theatre, with whom he had signed a contract, brought
an action to enforce his rights, and Sardou was compelled to
give way. The result was an excellent advertisement for
the play, and the wits of Paris declared that it was a pre-
arranged trick between Sardou and the journalist. Sar-
dou's friends insisted he was sincere.
Sardou never really succeeded in his desire to exclude
outsiders from rehearsals, but he paid no attention to the
opinion of the privileged loungers present, and not very
much to the verdict of a first-night audience. He main-
METHODS OF WORK 135
tained that the Paris premiere is not a representative audi-
ence, because made up of critics, reporters, claqueurs, and
blase men of the world. An unfavorable verdict by such
an audience did not, as a rule, disconcert him. In fact,
some of his pieces, after a frigid reception on the first night,
were greeted warmly on the second performance, and sub-
sequently enjoyed long runs.
Concerning Sardou's indifference to the opinion of first-
night audiences Albert Wolff once wrote that "in Paris,
after the first-night audience, there comes another of a
lower grade of intelligence, but the inferior grade comes
two hundred times where the other comes once." And M.
Wolff went on to say that " some of the plays of Sardou
only half please the cultured few. But this select class of
play-goers is small. In all Paris they are barely numerous
enough to fill an auditorium for a single night. These fas-
tidious critics often make a great to-do over some new play
which like a rose dies in a day, and they often depart in
discontent from a theatre which on the next night is
crowded, and remains crowded for the next six months with
the uncultured many." When Sardou brought out " La
Famille Benoiton," the " tout Paris " on its first-night
received it with icy coldness, and Sardou's friends feared
for its future. But the playwright did not waver. He said
that the piece was good and that it would go. His judg-
ment was confirmed, for the play ran over two hundred
nights when first put on, and has been frequently revived.
If Sardou was a faithful attendant at rehearsals, the
same could not be said of the subsequent performances. He
never made it a habit to appear at the theatre, even on first-
nights. In fact, so nervous was his temperament that he
could not remain in the theatre at all, even behind the
scenes. On these occasions he usually took up his station
at some place in the vicinity of the theatre, and from time
to time hght-footed friends would bring him news of the
reception of the play.
186 SARDOU'S CAREER
It is much more difficult for a novice to secure an open-
ing for a play in Paris than for a novel. A publisher can
issue the ordinary paper-bound romance at a small cost,
while even without elaborate setting and scenery a play de-
mands many thousands of francs for its production. But
if the path of the playwright is strewn with difficulties his
reward is great. The Society of Dramatic Authors con-
trols the production of plays in Paris and in the provinces,
and exacts from managers a rigid compliance with its
rules. If a manager refuses to fall into line, he is prac-
tically prohibited from producing any of the plays under
its control, which means that he can produce no new plays
at all. It exacts from a manager in Paris between ten and
twelve per cent, of the gross receipts of a play. This aver-
ages about 5000 francs a night, so that the author's share
of the profits at ten per cent, amounts to about 500 francs
per night. The fees collected from the provincial theatres
are a trifle lower. A successful playwright frequently re-
ceives percentages from theatres all over France simulta-
neously, in addition to a small royalty on the sale of his
play in book form. For the one-act farces so common in
Paris, the author usually receives two per cent, of the gross
receipts, ten per cent, going to the author of the principal
play. Sardou speedily saw that it was more profitable to
write plays occupying the entire evening. As a result,
therefore, not only of his talent as a playwright, but also
of his tact as a business man, he often received from his
plays over 250,000 francs a year. For a single play he fre-
quently received in the first year 150,000 francs. His more
successful plays, such as "La Tosca" and "Mme. Sans-
Gene," netted him over half a million francs apiece.
The fact that the playwrights of France have thriven to
such a degree is largely due to their elaborate organization.
Not only the dramatic authors but also the composers of
music are organized into a society whose directors safe-
guard their legal rights, take them to the courts if neces-
METHODS OF WORK 137
sary, and look after their financial interests. The affairs
of the society are managed by a committee of fifteen, two
of whom are elected president and secretary. Of this body
Sardou was president at the time of his death, and had
been for some years. He directed its activities with sagacity
and success. If Sardou had not been a talented playwright
he could have been a successful man of business. His ac-
counts were kept with exactness, and the files of his docu-
ments were arranged with method. He kept all business
letters ; even the rough drafts of his contracts were put away
with the utmost care. If a dispute arose, he was never at
a loss, for his documents were at hand.
At one period it was the fashion in Paris to shout
"plagiarism" the day after each new success by Sardou.
Elsewhere these charges are discussed specifically in con-
nection with the plays accused. Generally, it may be added
that in the history of the stage there is no case on record
of an author being accused of plagiarism the day after a
failure. It is only successful plays which bring forth these
accusations. And there is no stage play which does not
bear a certain resemblance to some other stage play. There
are few melodramas in which the author does not reward
virtue ere the curtain falls, and unite the leading lady
and the hero who have loved each other madly ever since
the first act. All the plays in existence are based upon a
baker's dozen of situations. The late D'Oyly Carte, the
well-known theatrical manager, once wrote : " The sub-
jects available for plays are necessarily limited, and we
have a well-known set of ' motives ' which occur over and
over again. . . . It is inevitable that pla3rwrights should
constantly be making use of the same motives and effects
with varieties of scenes and characters." And as Dean
Swift characteristically remarked : " If I light my candle
from another that does not affect my property in the wick
and tallow."
f
CHAPTER XV
The French Critics on Sardou
All his life Sardou was at feud with the critical fra-
ternity. It is not uncommon for playwrights to have a
poor opinion of critics. Even those writers whose plays
have won fame and riches believe that the critics underrate
their work. Mr. Pinero once, when asked to define a
comedy, acidly remarked: "A comedy is a farce by a
deceased playwright." Correspondingly, many critics have
persisted in classing Sardou's most successful comedies as
farces. They have also scarified him for, as they main-
tained, putting farce, comedy, melodrama, and tragedy all
in a single play.
Sardou did not content himself with epigrams, as does
Pinero. He was a pugnacious playwright, and ever
ready for battle. His polemics with critics would make a
volume. Often these controversies became so bitter that
Y they reached the verge of the duello. His feud with Fran-
' cisque Sarcey never became quite so envenomed, but it was
long as well as deep, for it ended only with their lives.
Sarcey's long-continued criticism of Sardou may make
it apropos to mention that the present writer recently re-
read Sarcey's collected criticisms. Edited by his son-in-
law, Adolph Brisson, they have been appearing in book
form, and now make some eight volumes under the title
" Quarante Ans de Theatre." Years of reading criticisms
on Sardou in newspapers, French, English, and American,
had left an impression on the writer's mind that the leading
critics were unfavorable to him. This impression is not cor-
rect concerning the French critics, as will be found on
reading the criticisms of the most notable of these writers.
The late Francisque Sarcey was the dean of French
138 ~ "
THE FRENCH CRITICS ON SARDOU 139
dramatic critics, and the most popular, if not the most
polished among them; Jules Lemaitre is probably thejnost
brilliant ^critic, and EmileFaguet certainly the most philo-
s ophica l. All three of these critics, while in special in-
stances they often criticised Sardou^unfayorably, spoke
highly of his talent in their general criticisms of his work. '
A similar discovery resulted from an inspection of the
writings of lesser known French critics — for most of the
Paris critics now collect their work for book publication.
Among these may be mentioned Auguste Vitu, Rene
Doumic, Gustave Larroumet, Adolph Brisson, Albert Wolff,
Louis Lacour, B. J. E. Montegut, J. Ernest-Charles, Em-
manuel Arene, and others.
In his day the dean of French critics, Francisque Sar-
cey was originally a professor at the Lycee Charlemagne;
in 1859 he became a dramatic critic, which calling he fol-
lowed for forty years until his death, in 1899. During
much of this time he w as critic of Le Temps, and lectured
as well as wrote on tfie drama. Personally, he was ex-
tremely popular with the Parisians, who called him " Uncle
Sarcey." He was without doubt the most influential critic
in France. Sarcey was the author of something less than
a score of works, the most important of which is his
" Quarante Ans de Theatre." In these eight volumes
may be found criticisms on Sardou covering thirty-nine
years. Many of these are unfavorable, and Sardou re-
sented them. But an examination of Sarcey's collected
criticisms shows that his general estimate of Sardou's
ability was high. For example, writing as long ago as
i860 of " Les Pattes de Mouches " Sarcey said :
" This comedy reveals in him who has wrought it much talent
and the promise of a brilliant future. M. Sardou will in some
years be one of the masters of the stage. . . . His dialogue
is clever, incisive, and brilliant. It is full of images. It has a
distinct charm. . . . This play is the first step made by a young
man who cannot fail to climb high in the future."
140 SARDOU'S CAREER
In 1865, discussing " La Famille Benoiton," Sarcey
wrote :
"Sardou understands his trade. In the fourth act he has
placed a great scene — one of the finest we have on the stage —
pathetic, admirable. At its close came the playwright's triumph —
the audience broke into furious applause. The success was com-
plete, although the last act is bad. But why dwell on the defects?
y There are many defects in Sardou's works, but he is nevertheless
an artist of the first order. You feel that you are in the presence
of a master, young, daring, original. ... I wish that Sardou
were faultless. I would like to see him add to his marvellous
stage skill a profounder quality of observation. But with all his
faults he possesses many and surpassing excellences."
Of " Patrie," writing in 1869, Sarcey said :
" ' Patrie ' is one of the most marked successes Sardou has
ever had, and the play well deserves success. It is full of remark-
able scenes. The effects were obtained by simple means. The
sentiments expressed are lofty, the style is simple, the language
is sober and vigorous. The play was received by the audience
with an explosion of enthusiasm."
B. J. E. Montegut was for a number of years the official
critic of the Revue des Deux Mondes. Although not
always praising Sardou's plays, his general estimate of the
playwright was high, even years ago, as is shown by an
article printed in the Revue for March, 1877. It is curious
that he should have written with such an air of finality
thirty-one years before the playwright's death.
" ' Patrie,' wrote M. Montegut, " contains one of the finest
scenes in modern drama — ^the final scene. Such a creation lifts
up the mind to heights not often touched on the stage. It is a
powerful and romantic ending. ... To sum up our impres-
sions of Sardou; our dramatic literature may possess more vigorous
talents, but there is jiojwriter_with^ more jg« of
the stage nor with greater familiarity with the tastes of~audiences.
When Sardou's career is closed' and the" generation wKich~foilows
ours shall wish to study the contemporary drama, it is in his works
that it will find the most intelligent and the most vivid microcosm
of the times in which he lived."
THE FRENCH CRITICS ON SARDOU 141
Thirty-two years have passed away since M. Montegut
wrote — the time usually allotted to a generation. His
forecast of Sardou's status a generation hence is interesting.
Another elder critic of note, Louis Lacour, was an ex-
pert in ancient manuscripts. He was attached to one of
the great Paris libraries, and was likewise a fruitful writer.
Lacour was the author of a monograph entitled " Trois
Theatres," in which he discusses and compares the work
of Dumas, Augier, and Sardou. The latter playwright he
defends from the oft-made charge of mingling comedy and
tragedy. " In the real life of the world," says Lacour,
" there are few comedies through which there does not run
a thread of tragedy." This view does not strike the Eng-
lish-speaking reader as unreasonable, yet such treatment
is contrary to the rigid rules of the classic drama, so long
held sacred in France. Lacour also defends Sardou for
his use of bloody tragedies. " Where," he asks, " would
Shakespeare be were such restrictions applied to him?
Would they not taboo the poisoning of Hamlet's father,
the strangling of Desdemona, the midnight murder of
Duncan?" Recapitulating the striking qualities of Sardou,
M. Lacour says :
" Sardou is not only a satirical as well as a romantic writer
and an artist in words of most extraordinary skill, but he is like-
wise a keen judge of contemporary vice. In his tragedy there is
no over-emphasis and no declamatory lines. His style is emi-
nently dramatic, and one feels in it insensibly a certain rhythm
which is all that prose can have and not be verse. If, microscope
in hand, one discovers in Sardou's work 'warts and spots,' as
Montaigne says, there none the less remain remarkable excel-
lences. If, by the sentiment of justice which is traditional in
criticism, one lays aside the inferior part, the critic is seized,
gripped, dominated, by the verve and fire of this playwright's
work."
Among the younger French critics one of the most
prominent is Rene Doumic. M. Doumic has written much
in the line of literary and dramatic criticism for the Journal
142 SARDOU'S CAREER
des Dehats, the Revue des Deux Mondes, and the Revue
Bleu. M. Doumic does not praise Sardou unreservedly,
but he most assuredly does not hold him in low esteem.
" The most striking point in Sardou's work," says M. Doumic,
"is its variety. He has not confined himself to a single school.
Of all the forms of the drama he has believed that the play-
wright should neglect none. . . . Thanks to his extraordinary
adaptability, he has been able to give to the public, at the exact
time that they desire it, the particular sort of work for which they
are looking. With a rare subtlety of scent he has known how to
discover the weaknesses of the hour and to give them scenic form.
His types have their date — some of the Second Empire; some of
the Third Republic. . . . He is a master in the art of weaving
a tangled plot, gradually unravelling it so as to carry curiosity and
emotion to their highest pitch. He has an alert mind and a fertile
fancy. His dialogue is nervous, agile, keen. . . . But his
characters are abstract; they are in reality but puppets, and the
action of his plays is highly artificial. . . . Why is it that his
creations lack reality? It is due to his prodigious dexterity, which
has been his worst enemy."
It will be seen that M. Doumic agrees with the English-
speaking critics in his view of this phase of Sardou's work.
But in his general estimate he differs from them radically.
" Leaving the weak points of Sardou's work," he says, " in
such plays as ' Rabagas ' and ' Divorgons ' one has the pleasure of
praising him without reserve; they are marvels of deHcate, in-
genious, and finished work. ' Patrie ' and ' La Haine ' are most
successful dramas, and he is beyond the reach of cavil in his skill
in perfecting the modem comedy and the historic drama. He is
endowed with very rare qualities, and all that he lacks is to have
a higher conception of his art. Still, there is but one voice to
salute in him the most expert among the masters of the stage."
Another of the younger men among French critics was
Gustave Larroumet, who was untimely taken off in 1903.
He was lecturer on French literature at the Sorbonne, and
succeeded Sarcey as dramatic critic on the Temps, probably
the most authoritative French daily. Larroumet at times
criticised unfavorably certain of Sardou's plays, but his
THE FRENCH CRITICS ON SARDOU 143
general estimate of the playwright was high. When the
government promoted Sardou to the grade of commander
in the Legion of Honor (later he was promoted to Grand
Cordon) Larroumet wrote:
" A reaction has come about in Sardou's favour after a long
period of harshness. Critics and theatrical reporters have been
hostile to him for various motives. They have reproached him
with thinking only of material success; with wasting his fine
talents; with making playwriting more of a trade than an art.
This treatment has been unjust. Sardou is, to a very high degree,
an artist, although his is a practical talent. For that special art
that produces illusion, for an adroit and powerful grasp upon the
spectator, for the faculty of giving life to imaginary beings, for
the power of holding for three hours an audience always attentive
and never bored, he has never been equalled. ' Patrie ' and ' La
Haine' make us think of the great works of the Renaissance.
Besides ' Patrie ' the dramas of Victor Hugo seem hollow. In ' La
Haine' French art penetrated the soul of mediaeval Italy. . . .
In the least important of Sardou's plays there is more of inven-
tion than would be ample to insure the entire career of one of the
'younger school' of playwrights to-day. . . . Thus this man
so severely treated by judges whose decisions would be considered
absurd if posterity remembered their names — ^he who has been
stigmatized as merely a jester, a chaser after money, a pla-
giarist, a stage artisan manufacturing for exportation — this man
is admitted to-day to have written a number of fine and strong
plays. He has painted our times — always agreeably, sometimes
with power. Although sneered at for writing only for the present,
it will be evident that he has written more than once for pos-
terity."
Jules Lemaitre — academician, journalist, playwright,
novelist, lecturer, political orator, and statesman — has in
his varied career been one of the most brilliant o£ French
critics. It can by no means be said that he has been indul-
gent toward Sardou — often M. Lemaitre's readers have
roared and the playwright has winced under his mordant
pen. But M. Lemaitre is just. In a general estimate of
Sardou's work he wrote:
144. SARDOU'S CAREER
" Sardou's most incontestable qualities are fertility, verve, and
imagination. These qualities are only to be justly judged when
Sardou's immense repertory is considered in its ensemble, and
this perhaps is why no great dramatist has been so ill-treated by
the critics. This is why each new work from his pen has met
with so many pettifogging objections. But this is why, also, in
the face of the thousand petty resistances of detail that we bring
to bear against him, we feel that this man is a power, that he is
one of the finest dramatic temperaments of the century, that in
tragedy he has twice or thrice attained to grandeur and almost to
beauty. In summing up his qualities I have only obeyed a scruple
of conscience. In the work of such a man one has not the right
to discuss some particular error, without recalling the scope of his
entire work. Sardou is one of the greatest dramatic authors of
his time. ' Patrie ' and ' Divorgons ' do not fall far short of being
masterpieces. No one has the same fertile and inventive mind as
Sardou. He has a sense of the historic drama and of high tragedy.
No one has either amused or moved us more than he. He is an
undisputed master among the workers of the stage, an excellent
caricaturist of contemporary manners, a daring poet of a powerful
imagination."
A critic who stands at the head in France is Emile
Faguet, professor of French poetry at the Lycee Charle-
magne. He is a member of the French Academy, and is the
author of many books. In 1896 he succeeded Jules Lemaitre
as dramatic critic of the Journal des Debats, which post he
recently resigned to devote himself to literature. M.
Faguet does not share the low view of Sardou's work en-
tertained by some critics. Concerning the charge that Sar-
dou mingled melodrama with comedy, M. Faguet wrote :
" In Sardou's more ambitious productions there is an up-to-
date comedy mingled with a melodrama. The purists of the
' unity-of-impression ' school have been much shocked and scan-
dalized by this peculiarity. Yet this formula had been invented a
century ago by a certain M. Beaumarchais. Why should this species
of drama be condemned 4 priori? Despite the protestations of
some of my colleagues, I cannot understand why such a play is
contrary to good sense or why it is disloyal to verity. . . .
(
THE FRENCH CRITICS ON SARDOU 145
There is talent in the realistic plays of the day, but of an entirely
different sort from Sardou's. I personally find greater power in
a drama founded solely on a conflict of mighty passions. But I
^m prepared to admit that plays like Sardou's, based only upon a
combination of circumstances, may interest us the more because we
feel that we might easily be to-morrow playing a part ourselves
in such a story."
Reviewing Sardou's career, M. Faguet wrote thus of
him:
" He was a writer of an astonishing fertility. In his uninter-
rupted power of production he rivalled the Spanish dramatists of
the classic period. But whatever jealous rivals may say, the quan-
tity of his production did not prevent it from often being of a
high quality. He wrote in almost every branch of dramatic litera-
ture, and in each he has left works of mark. In addition to his
fertility, his skill was prodigious. None better than he knew the
mechanism of the stage. As he studied Scribe to learn the craft,
and surpassed his master, so the dramatists of the future will be
obliged to study Sardou. But they will take from him not the
best of his art, but only the mechanical portion which he himself
had learned. This man not only possessed skill in construction,
emotional power, and wit in dialogue, but philosophical penetration
as well. There are those whom this assertion may surprise: I
advise them to reread 'Daniel Rochat,' and they will see there set
forth a struggle between a religious woman and an atheistic man,
who love one another; yet their convictions force them to part,
and they fight out their battle with a power and a passion which
move the most cynical reader. French audiences will long remem-
ber this man, who made them laugh, who made them weep, who
even made them think; who depicted France to foreign audiences
in her best guise, and who honoured her greatly in more ways than
/ one. His life was a happy one, for while his youth was poverty-
stricken his age was glorious, and that is more than a fair division
of a human life."
IQ
PART SECOND
THE SARDOU PLAYS
THE SARDOU PLAYS
DORA'^
In the first act of " Dora " we are at Nice, in March —
that is to say, at the end of the season, and at the close of
the festival time. Of the cosmopolitan society which is
found at Nice, everyone is on the verge of departure.
Yet among this swarm of strangers, and more or less
authentic aristocracy, the Marquise de Rio-Zares and her
daughter Dora find themselves stranded at Nice. They are
practically prisoners at their hotel, and they are kept there
by bolts and bars in the shape of bills. Of these, one obliga-
tion is most pressing, for they cannot pay their hotel bill. But
the M'arquise does not submit with resignation to the thought
of remaining in this embarrassing position. She makes
application for interviews with various gentlemen whom
she does not know, — among others with a French Deputy,
Favrolle, and a foreign diplomat. Baron Van der Kraft.
It is first to Monsieur Favrolle that the Marquise de
Rio-Zares relates her misfortunes. She is the widow of
a Spanish officer, Don Alvar de Rio-Zares, a former friend
of Esparto. Driven into exile by the enmity of Navaez,
Don Alvar went to seek his fortune in Paraguay. There
he became General, from General he became President,
but in crossing a river at the head of his invincible troops
he lost his life. His widow, the unfortunate Marquise, had
nothing remaining of her vast fortune but a ship-load of
guns. This cargo has been seized, on board a French ship,
by a Spanish cruiser guarding the coasts of Cuba. She de-
sires to secure restitution and indemnity, and this is why
the Marquise de Rio-Zares has done herself the honour of
requesting a visit from the Deputy Favrolle.
' English version entitled ' ' Diplomacy. ' '
149
160 THE SARDOU PLAYS
In listening to this astonishing and melancholy narra-
tive, related in a peculiar jargon, in which Spanish and
Catalan are mingled with the dialects of South America,
FavroUe at first suspects that the Marquise de Rio-Zares
is an adventuress seeking to borrow money of him. In
fact, he believes this so strongly that his suspicions are only
removed by his friend, Andre de Maurillac, who was
acquainted in South America with this same extraordinary
Don Alvar de Rio-Zares. Andre has conceived a passion,
although he does not yet know it, for Mademoiselle de
Rio-Zares. This young lady is a unique and fascinating
person, beautiful, elegant, seductive as a fairy princess,
virtuous as a saint, and poor as a church mouse. She is
always surrounded by men who are laying their homage
at her feet, but they all carefully refrain from asking her
hand in marriage. Though she is personally of spotless
character, rumour has been busy with her name. This is
so much the case that a certain Stramir — who has been
presented to her as a possible husband by the Princess
Bariatine — dares to offer her, in good set phrase, a
magnificent position, giving her at the same time to tinder-
stand that he is already married; living apart from his
wife, but not divorced. Dora, outraged and indignant, rises
and drives him publicly from her presence, hurling her
bouquet into his face.
This is the moment chosen by Baron Van der Kraft to
make certain overtures to the Marquise de Rio-Zares, who
sees in the quarrel with Stramir the disappearance of her
last chance of paying her hotel bill. She had hoped to
settle her debts by her daughter making this fortunate
marriage.
Baron Van der Kraft is a type of person not unknown
in Parisian society. He is a promoter of foreign political
intrigues, having a footing in various diplomatic camps,
conducting secret police negotiations, and profiting by
DORA 151
speculation in government securities. He has trusted ears
in all the drawing-rooms and cunning hands in all the desk-
drawers of Paris. The Baron maintains, at Paris and at
Versailles, (ostensibly for an Austrian diplomat, the Baron
Paulnitz) a small feminine army, a sort of foreign legion,
made up of Hungarians, Wallachians, Czechs, Slavonians,
South Americans, and English women. These ladies wear
gorgeous gowns, and resemble Solomon's lilies in the other
respect that they toil not; but they excel at writing letters,
which letters pay the cost of their gorgeous gowns. Their
perfumed correspondence is filled with gossip, political and
other, and it amuses foreign statesmen, even when it does
not instruct them: But much is found in these -perfumed
letters of more interest and value to foreign ministers than
that which is found in their official dispatch-boxes.
The reader may wonder whether such private detective
agencies really exist in Paris. Beyond doubt they do, and
not only there, but in other continental cities as well. More
times than one, scandals have come to light, showing that
great ladies in European capitals have been in the pay
of foreign governments, and reporting the private conversa-
tions of their guests for pay.
Such is the curious environment in which Baron Van
der Kraft exercises his peculiar talents. The worthy Mar-
quise de Rio-Zares — ^who is not cunning, who on the con-
trary is very simple, and who loves her daughter dearly —
is easily persuaded that she is a distant cousin of Baron
Paulnitz, and she therefore accepts without question a pen-
sion of 12,000 francs, offered to her by Baron Van der
Kraft, in the name of Baron Paulnitz. Baron Van der
Kraft does not think highly of the ridiculous Marquise de
Rio-Zares, but he hopes to make the daughter useful in
his business, by working on her through the mother.
The Baron undertakes to explain to Dora what she is
expected to do in return for her mother's pension. Dora
152 THE SARDOU PLAYS
does not understand the approaches of the secret political
agent, but she disarms him by a simple avowal, which is
that she loves Andre de Maurillac; she believes he loves
her; therefore she does not wish to mingle in political
intrigues, and she has no higher ambition than to be
Andre's wife and the mother of his children.
It may be necessary to mention here that Andre de
Maurillac has come to Versailles on a visit to the Princess
Bariatine, who has undertaken to assist in returning to
Dora's mother the celebrated ship-load of guns. The
Princess, who is something of a politician herself, hopes to
use this demand for indemnity as a lever for upsetting the
Ministry, but the defection of a certain political group,
belonging to the Left Center, disconcerts her cunning plans
to bring about certain interpellations demanding that the
Ministry should exact from the Spanish Government the
restitution of the cargo of guns. The Princess's plans are
defeated, and thus poor Dora's dower disappears.
This is why the Baron Van der Kraft believes that the
hour has come for those proposals which Dora's native
honesty repels. This is why Andre, knowing that the
Marquise de Rio-Zares is ruined, thinks that there is no
time for him to lose to make his avowal. Dora, who feels
dimly the sentiments which actuate him, doubts him. She
has so many times suffered the humiliation of avowals being
made to her by men, not as they are offered to an honest
and virtuous girl, but as they are addressed to an adven-
turess, that she fears Andre might also approach her as
other men had done. So it can easily be seen how great
is her joy when Andre tells her he loves her and asks her
to be his wife. The Marquise shares the delight of her
daughter, and the marriage is arranged apparently without
opposition.
There is one quarter, however, from which resistance
is to be apprehended, underhand, but none the less formi-
DORA 153
dable on that account. It comes from the Countess Zicka,
one of the mysterious ladies subsidized by Baron Van der
Kraft. This Countess Zicka, who poses as a noble Hun-
garian widow, is in reality a woman without reputation,
without country, without name, but not without a police
record. She has conceived a violent passion for Andre.
Not being able to prevent his marriage, she determines to
ruin the happiness of her rival, who believes her to be a
friend. She profits by a secret mission, which has been
confided to her by Baron Van der Kraft, and weaves a
most abominable plot against Dora. She ransacks the
private papers of Andre, who is just about to leave on his
wedding journey, and succeeds in finding a secret dis-
patch, with which he has been entrusted by his uncle, the
Minister of Marine, to be taken to Italy. She persuades
Dora to write a note to Baron Van der Kraft, excusing
herself for not having invited him to her marriage cere-
mony, and to assure him of her gratitude for past benefits;
while Dora is writing the letter, the Countess slips the
stolen dispatch into the envelope.
Andre returns, and is on the point of opening his desk,
which will reveal to him the theft, when a visitor is
announced, one Tekly. Tekly is a young Hungarian, a
revolutionary refugee, exiled by Austria, and who, like
many men, had been madly in love with Dora. In the first
act we saw him just leaving Nice, when he gave her a
photograph of himself, with these words written on the
back : " A ella — mi alma — a Dora," which might be trans-
lated either " To her — ^to my soul — to Dora," or " To her
whom my soul adores." On his way to Greece Tekly was
so imprudent as to go ashore when his ship touched at the
Austrian port of Trieste. He was at once arrested by the
Austrian police, and was liberated only through the inter-
vention of an Austrian Minister, who was an old friend
of his father. Tekly, who did not know that Andre had
154 THE SARDOU PLAYS
just married Dora, relates to him that his arrest at Trieste
had been the result of a secret denunciation, and that this
denunciation came from Dora.
Andre is about to leap upon Tekly in his rage, but is
restrained by his friend Favrolle. He demands from Tekly
categorical proofs of his assertions. Tekly, suddenly en-
lightened as to the dreadful charge that he has made, and
that the woman he accuses has become the wife of Andre,
endeavours in vain to retract his charge. Andre will not
permit him to do so, and Favrolle persuades Tekly that
any man of honour, involuntarily falling into a false situa-
tion, in which a woman's reputation is concerned, has but
one course to take. It is to tell the truth, in order that,
if there be calumny, or scandal, or slander concerning her,
it may be brought to light, uncovered, unmasked. The
unfortunate Tekly can only plead that what he has uttered
is the truth, hard and bitter as it is for him to repeat it.
He informs Andre that he was in the hands of the
Austrian Minister, his father's friend; that a photograph
had been sent to the Austrian police at Trieste; that the^
had received notification that he would touch at that port;
that no one knew that he was aboard the steamer but Dora ;
that the photograph which had been sent, in order that the
police might identify him, was the photograph which he had
given to her, with his words of adoration written on the
back. Andre pleads that the photograph might have been
stolen from Dora and sent by some one else. " But,"
replies Tekly, " no one but Dora knew by which route
I should travel."
The proofs are apparently overwhelming, yet Andre
loves his wife so madly that he still endeavors to doubt.
But on going to his desk, he perceives that it has been
rifled, and that the secret dispatch, entrusted to him by his
uncle, has been stolen. His keys have been in no hands
DORA 155
but his own — and Dora's. What a terrible discovery for
a wedding day ! The unfortunate husband is crushed.
Favrolle is the only one who does not lose his head.
He sees at once the possible complicity of Baron Van der
Kraft, and succeeds in securing from him Dora's letter,
of which the Baron has not yet broken the seal, and of
which he does not suspect the importance. Ahdre himself
opens the letter; out of it falls the stolen document. The
proof is crushing, undeniable, overwhelming. Andre
places the letter and the document before Dora. The un-
fortunate bride, with indignation and shame, protests that
she is innocent, but she cannot explain away the fatal
circumstances which. attack her honor.
Fortunately, the Countess Zicka is caught in her own
snare. She has come to FavroUe's quarters, to learn from
him what has taken place between the young couple, and
to ascertain if she has succeeded in the trap which her
infernal jealousy had sprung. Favrolle is absent, but the
Countess commits the imprudence of opening his portfolio
to read a letter from Andre that she knows to be there.
When Favrolle returns to his desk, he recognises the per-
fume of the Countess's gloves, which have been lying on
his portfolio. This discovery arouses in his mind vague
and floating suspicions. He at once weaves hurriedly a
plan — simple, but absolutely sure. He persuades the
Countess Zicka that she has been betrayed by Van der
Kraft, and that he has in his possession copies of the police
records revealing her shameful past. Zicka is terrified. In
order to avoid disclosure and secure immunity, she avows
the crime which she has committed. She clears the char-
acter of Dora from the dreadful stain, and the young bride
is restored to the arms of her doubting husband, Andre,
no longer doubting, but full of confidence in her love and
honour.
LES PATTES DE MOUCHE ^
The play begins at Chinon, at the country-house of
Monsieur and Mme. Vanhove, which has just been re-
opened after being closed for three years. At that time the
family of the late Mme. de Crussolles, mother of Madame
Vanhove, had just left Chinon for Paris, where Clarisse de
Crussolles was to marry M. Vanhove. Everjrthing had been
left exactly as it was, as Mme. de Crussolles intended to
return. But her sudden death, immediately after her
daughter's marriage, so profoundly impressed the young
bride, that she had ordered the chateau to be kept closed
and nothing in it disturbed. Therefore, now that she and
her husband and her younger sister, Marthe, are returning,
everything in the house, even to the most trifling object,
is exactly as it was three years before.
In the opening scene the new servants, brought from
Paris, are sweeping and dusting, and the old housekeeper,
Solange, warns them not to touch a certain statuette of
Flora, which to the late Mme. de Crussolles had been as
the apple of her eye. She always dusted this precious piece
of Sevres with her own hands, and her daughter, out of
filial affection, allowed no one else to touch it.
The young sister of Mme. Vanhove, Mile. Marthe de
Crussolles, is adored by the young stripling, M. Paul. He
is domiciled in an adjacent country-house, whose master,
M. Thirion, is his guardian, although M. Thirion's wife,
Colomba, is so masterful a lady, and takes so profound an
interest in Paul, that she rather than her husband might be
said to be his guardian.
The Thirions discover Paul in a tete-a-tete with his
lady love; it is in the Vanhove park, where M. Thirion is
1 Best-known English version entitled " A Scrap of Paper."
156
LES PATTES DE MOUCHE 157
chasing butterflies, for he is an ardent entomologist. Mme.
Thirion takes her husband severely to task for permitting
this flirtation, saying that she does not think much of the
family, as Martha's elder sister, Mme. Vanhove, was a good
deal talked about at Chinon some three or four years before,
when M. Prosper Block was dangling around her. This
same M. Prosper, it seems, has just arrived from India;
he is an old friend of Thirion, and is comfortably installed
as a guest at the Thirion chateau for an indefinite period —
not entirely to the liking of Mme. Thirion. He is, it would
appear, her husband's friend, and not hers.
While the Thirion spouses are wrangling. Prosper
enters, wearing a suit of yellow nankeen, carrying a sun-
shade, and fluttering a Chinese fan. He relates with the
utmost placidity that he had just made a tour of tb^
neighbouring village, where the natives betrayed surprise
and hilarity on seeing him. He further tells of having
met a young lady, evidently not of the village, mounted on
a handsome horse; this Diana could not conceal her merri-
ment when her eyes fell on him. He goes into ecstasies
over this young Amazon, and asks who she may be. He
is told that she is Mile. Marthe, younger sister of Mme.
Vanhove. M. Prosper, being a child of nature, frankly
announces that she has won his heart; that it is a case of
love at first sight, and that he will immediately seek a
serious interview with her brother-in-law, M. Vanhove.
He asks what manner of man is this Vanhove, and is told
that he is a Hollander; that he is sombre, suspicious, and
jealous. Vanhove, it seems, is jealous beyond belief; he
is wildly in love with his wife, and is hardly conscious of
the existence of her sister, Marthe, or of her cousin,
Suzanne, who is a frequent visitor. Suzanne is a Parisian,
an orphan, has a large fortune in her own right, is nearing
thirty, is pretty, witty, but has never married, because she
168 THE SARDOU PLAYS
says she wishes to remain free. Fortified with these par-
ticulars, Prosper goes to seek the sombre M. Vanhove.
If the chatty French globe-trotter, Prosper, could be
disconcerted by anyone, it would be by the gloomy Hol-
lander, Vanhove. To his most captivating conversational
sallies, Prosper receives only monosyllabic replies. De-
spairingly he finally comes to business ; he tells Vanhove that
he has squandered the fortune left him by the paternal
Block; that not far away he has a millionaire uncle living,
who wishes him to marry; that the aforesaid uncle has
given him a certain time within which to find a bride ; that
if in six weeks' time Prosper remains unwed, the uncle
threatens himself to marry — his housekeeper. Therefore
Prosper has installed himself as a guest with his old friend
Thirion, and has come to present to M. Vanhove a demand
for the hand of his sister-in-law. Mile. Marthe. To this
Vanhove replies indifferently that it does not concern him,
and that Prosper must see his wife and her sister about
the matter. Prosper informs him that some three years
before, when he was a guest of the Thirions, he had already
been fortunate enough to meet Mme. Vanhove before her
marriage. Therefore, as an introduction is unnecessary,
Vanhove bids a servant announce Monsieur Block to
Madame Vanhove, and goes off to his kennels, for he is a
mighty Nimrod, and a dog-lover before the Lord.
While he is waiting for the lady of the chateau. Prosper
looks around the room. He notices that everything is
exactly as it was when he had been there three years be-
fore. He even recalls a certain book which Qarisse and
he were reading together on the momentous night ; he goes
to the table, and examines a volume lying there. " It is
the same ! " he says to himself. " Why, it is like the fairy
tale of the enchanted wood. Everything is exactly as we
left it — even the statuette of Flora." And he is approach-
ing the Flora to inspect it, when Mme, Vanhove appears.
LES PATTES DE MOUCHE 159
This delicate interview opens coolly, but speedily be-
comes animated. From the somewhat tense conversation
it appears that these two young people had loved one
another madly, but that some unexplained circumstance
had brought about a complete rupture of their relations.
Hence there is an embarrassment on both sides, which is
not lessened when Prosper presents his claim for the hand
of Marthe. Clarisse at once vehemently replies:
" This marriage must not, nay, it shall not take place !
While I have nothing to blush for in the school-girl passion
which I felt for you. Monsieur, you certainly must under-
stand that I could not tolerate as my sister's husband, and
as a familiar frequenter of my husband's home, the man
whom I foolishly thought that I loved before I loved my
husband. Withdraw your demand. Monsieur, I beg of
you."
"And you call it a school-girl love," says Prosper bit-
terly ! " So it was a school-girl love for which I have
exiled myself and wasted my life for three years! Yet
it did not seem to me then that it was a school-girl love. I
was foolish enough then to believe that you loved me as
I loved you — ^with an ardent and an honest passion. And the
letters that you wrote me certainly seemed sincere. Do not
start — I burned them all, as I promised to do. Do you
remember our letter-box? It is here still — the statuette oi
Flora. It seems as if it were only the night before last that
I was leaving you in this room, tenderly saying ' good-
bye until to-morrow.' And you replied to me with equal
tenderness ' until to-morrow then, good-bye.' To-morrow
is here, but you — ^you are Mme. Vanhove. Such is
woman's constancy."
Clarisse chafes under these reproaches. She replies that
he is unjust; that the very next day her mother had in-
formed her of the demand of the millionaire M. Vanhove
for lier hand; that in spite of her tears, her mother had
160 THE SARDOU PLAYS
insisted that she must marry Vanhove ; that she had written
a passionate letter to Prosper, beseeching him to follow
them to Paris, where she would elope with him before they
could marry her to Vanhove; that she had hidden the letter
in the appointed place; that she had accompanied her
mother to Paris. But no word had come from Prosper;
crushed and humiliated by his silence, she had permitted
the marriage to take place.
Prosper is equally indignant at her reproaches. He tells
her that the day after their last meeting a gentleman of
the neighbourhood had used language reflecting on her
coquettish tendencies, which Prosper had at once resented.
A duel followed, and Prosper received a thrust through
the lungs which laid him on his back for some time. " Your
marriage," he concludes, bitterly, " was the first news with
which they greeted my convalescence."
" Then my letter did not reach you ? " asks Clarisse,
anxiously.
" No, Madame," replies Prosper, " for the best of rea-
sons — ^I could not have come after it — ^I was delirious in
bed."
" Then it must be there still," says Qarisse, feverishly.
" Alas ! if my husband were to find it ! "
" I will see if it is there," says Prosper, and he goes
toward the statuette.
" Stop," says Clarisse in a whisper, " here comes my
husband now ! "
It is, in fact, Vanhove; he is accompanied by M. and
Mme. Thirion and Marthe and Paul. Vanhove notes with
suspicion the traces of emotion on Clarisse's countenance,
and then turns and gazes distrustfully at Prosper. His
suspicions are not allayed by Clarisse's announcement that
Prosper has withdrawn his demand for the hand of Marthe ;
they are aggravated by a lively protestation from Prosper
that he has not withdrawn his demand at all.
LES PATTES DE MOUCHE 161
As the conversation proceeds, both Clarisse and Prosper
circle around the statuette with apparent carelessness, but
in reality each is seeking an opportunity to look for the
letter.
In the midst of this strained situation, Suzanne, the
Parisian cousin, enters. She is received with enthusiasm
by Marthe, with affection by Clarisse, and with indiffer-
ence by Vanhove. Under cover of the bustle attending her
arrival. Prosper attempts to lift the statuette. But Su-
zanne observes him, and says suddenly, " Who is this gentle-
man?" All turn to look at him, and Prosper quickly re-
places the statuette as if it burned his fingers. He is
introduced to Suzanne, and while she engages him in
conversation, Clarisse goes stealthily toward the statuette.
Just as she is about to touch it. Prosper turns and ad-
dresses her. Everybody looks at her, and she is forced to
join the group. This by-play is observed by Suzanne, who
watches them narrowly.
Prosper turns the conversation to bric-a-brac. He says
that the Orientals surpass us in their porcelains. " Show
me in this salon," he says, " a single object comparable to
an Oriental masterpiece. Take this bit of Sevres " — he
goes towards it. " A Flora is it not ? " He takes it up.
Qarisse hastens toward him as if to stop him, but he says :
" Oh, do not fear, Madame, I know its value."
" But," interrupts Qarisse, anxiously, " it is covered
with dust. Let me dust it with my handkerchief."
" Do not trouble," answers Prosper, " I will take it to
one side and blow the dust off."
While he turns his back upon the group, as if to blow
off the dust, Vanhove rises in surprise, and begins to note
this little comedy. Suzanne also rises and whispers to
Clarisse, " Be careful, your husband is watching you."
Even as she is speaking, the letter falls to the floor.
Prosper at once places his foot upon it. Suzanne mur-
11
162 THE SARDOU PLAYS
murs to herself, " Oh ! a letter ! I knew there was some-
thing between them," and turning she at once engages
Vanhove in conversation.
Prosper hands the statuette to Clarisse, saying, " I see,
Madame, you are afraid to trust this priceless object to my
careless hands."
She replies in a low voice, " Monsieur, this is cowardly,
this is infamous ! "
To which he replies also in a low tone, but gaily, " All
is fair in war, Madame."
Luncheon is announced, and as Prosper has not budged
from his place, but is still standing upon the letter, Su-
zanne approaches him, and says, " Won't you give me your
arm, Monsieur ? "
" With pleasure," he replies. " But permit me — one
moment — I have dropped something." Deftly dropping
his handkerchief upon th6 letter, he picks up both letter
and handkerchief.
" Come, come," says Suzanne to him in a low voice,
"be generous. Give it up."
"Give up what?" replies the ingenuous Prosper.
" Give up the letter," says Suzanne ; " you know what
I mean."
" No, indeed," he repUes, " we are on the verge of hos-
tilities. It is my reserve."
" Then I will make you give it up," says Suzanne,
determinedly.
" Is this a declaration of war ? " asks Prosper.
"To the knife," replies Suzanne.
"When shall hostilities begin?" asks Prosper.
" After luncheon," she replies. " But give me your arm,
for the husband is watching us."
And the two adversaries walk placidly in to luncheon,
arm in arm.
In the second act, we find ourselves in the apartments
LES PATTES DE MOUCHE 163
of Prosper, in Thirion's house. On every hand are
curiosities which betoken the much travelled man. Against
the wall there stands a tall, Egyptian mummy-case. Every-
where are scattered stuffed birds and beasts, curious wea-
pons, Oriental pottery, and pipes. On the floor are rugs,
made from the skins of wild beasts slain by Prosper's
deadly gun. One of the tables is completely covered with
little curios, and the knick-knacks usually found on a man's
table, such as cigars and cigarettes, ink, pens, and pap>er,
trinket-trays, sealing wax, and a little basket full of cards
and letters.
Prosper is seated in the midst of his Lares and Penates,
smoking and musing. He is putting to himself the ques-
tion, where shall he conceal the letter? He frankly admits
that he has a wholesome fear of the finesse of Mademoiselle
Suzanne. He successively considers hiding it in his hat,
concealing it in the trunk , of a tree, or confiding it to his
friend Thirion. " But," as he philosophically remarks,
" Thirion is a married man, and therefore not to be trusted."
Looking around the room, Prosper's eye falls upon a
little casket, but he shakes his head. " Another," says he,
"might put it in the casket, but I shall show my genius
by concealing it in the only place where no one would ever
dream of looking for it, that is to say, in "
A knock is heard. Enter M. Paul. Paul is pallid with
emotion. Since he has heard of Prosper's pretensions to
the hand of Marthe, he wishes to fight him. Prosper at
once consents, but on condition that he shall have the
choice of weapons. He takes down two Japanese harikari
knives, and gravely proposes to Paul that they shall fight
in the Japanese fashion, which is, to disembowel themselves,
and that, as Paul is the challenger, he shall begin.
As the lovelorn youth is gazing at him with astonish-
ment and horror, another knock is heard. Mme. Thirion
and Marthe appear. They have come expecting to find
164 THE SARDOU PLAYS
Suzanne and the other members of the Vanhove household,
who had made an appointment with them to visit Prosper's
museum. Suzanne is not far behind them. She enters
on their heels.
Prosper shows them his collection of curios, and Su-
zanne comments satirically on his taste for foreign bric-
a-brac. " Show me," says she, " a gentleman seated in an
Anierican rocking-chair, before a Flemish table, covered
with an Algerian table-cloth, and drinking in Dresden
china a Chinese beverage, while smoking Turkish tobacco,
after eating a Russian dinner, during which he has been
talking sport in English to his wife, who has been talking
music to him in Italian, and I will tell you at once that he
is a Frenchman."
After the guests have gone over the collection of curios,
they depart, Suzanne the last. But scarcely have they left
when she returns.
" I am delighted to see you again," says Prosper gaily.
" I feared that you were in full retreat."
"What, before the battle?" retorts Suzanne. "It is
easy to see that you do not know me. But before hostilities
begin, let us have a few diplomatic preliminaries. Our side
appeals to the honor of our adversary. We demand that
he return to us the letter which the rules of common hon-
esty forbid him to keep."
" To which I reply," says Prosper, " that the letter,
being sent to me, and taken by me, is in its proper place-
in my hands."
" But you did not receive it — therefore it is ours," says
Suzanne.
" But you sent it to me — ^therefore it is mine," says
Prosper.
" In that case," says Suzanne, " we wish to know what
you intend to do with the letter? "
" I will reply categorically," answers Prosper. " I will
LES PATTES DE MOUCHE 165
preserve the letter and I will preserve neutrality. The day
that I renounce my pretensions to Mile. Marthe, and make
my final adieus to Mme. Vanhove — that day will I bum
the letter before her eyes. I would have burned it this
morning in my rooms and said nothing about it, if your
defiance had not piqued me to the game of war."
" Come, come," says Suzanne, coaxingly ; " consider
what I said unsaid, and burn it before me. There is a
bright fire — here is a chance to do a good action."
" No," replies Prosper. " I would lose the artistic satis-
faction I expect to enjoy in seeing how you will discover
where I have concealed the letter. The letter is here.
If you find it I authorize you to bum it yourself."
" No," replies Suzanne. " I also require the artistic
satisfaction of seeing you burn it with your own hands and
at this fire."
" If you accomplish this," says Prosper, " I swear to
you on my honour that I will leave this very night to seek
a wife in the Isles of Polynesia."
" You have sworn it," says Suzanne, " and now I shall
commence my blockade. I shall stick to you so assiduously
that you will hate the very sight of me; I shall be insup-
portable, interminable, odious."
" Mademoiselle," replies Prosper, " never was man
threatened with so delightful a punishment. I am intoxi-
cated with joy at the mere thought of the hours I shall
pass in your company. Be good enough to seat yourself
in my easy-chair. Consider yourself at home. There are
some photographs of travel which may interest you. Every-
thing is open. All the keys are in their locks. Come and
go, open and shut, ransack at your will. In the meantime,
I am forced to leave you, to pay a necessary visit. My
only excuse is that it is to a very rich uncle. My only
hope is that I may find you here on my return. Au revoir.
Mademoiselle."
166 THE SARDOU PLAYS
As he departs, Suzanne gazes after him with mingled
feelings. " Really," says she, " this dramatic exit is not
unlike an impertinence. He leaves me free to search for
the letter, but he also leaves me in his private apartments —
therefore compromised."
A knock is heard. " Now I wonder who that is ? "
mutters Suzanne.
The door opens, and Clarisse enters. The moment she
sees who it is, Suzanne immediately locks the door behind
her. Clarisse breathlessly tells that she has seen Prosper
on his horse riding down the road, and has hastened at
once to his apartments, coming so hurriedly that she had
only time to throw a shawl around her shoulders. She at
once begins a feverish search about the room. Suzanne
watches her, while herself seated tranquilly at the table.
When Clarisse reproaches her for her indifference, she
replies that so clever a man as Prosper would not hide
the letter in an ordinary hiding-place; that to her thinking
it must be somewhere in the open. She turns over the heaps
of opened letters lying on the table in the basket. She looks
at one. It is addressed " M. Prosper Block, Honolulu."
The envelope is already opened ; it is dingy and torn. She
hesitates, but murmuring " all is fair in war," she takes
out the enclosure. Clarisse had written on blue paper —
this is on blue paper. Clarisse had written on a half sheet
folded in two — ^this is on a half sheet folded in two.
They open the letter. It is in Qarisse's handwriting,
and it begins : " My dear love, I leave to-night for Paris."
" Your dear love, indeed ! " cries Suzanne. " Lucky for
you that we found it instead of Vanhove."
As she speaks a loud knocking is heard at the door.
A voice is heard crying, " Open the door ! " It is the voice
of Vanhove.
Clarisse flies in terror to the bedroom, despite the
objections of Suzanne, who tries to detain her. But the
LES PATTES DE MOUCHE 167
terrified wife loses her head, enters Prosper's chamber, and
locks the door. As she does so Suzanne unlocks the outer
door, and admits Vanhove.
He is apparently surprised to find Suzanne alone. He
insists that Clarisse is with her, which she denies. He says
he heard voices, and demands to know with whom she was
talking. She says she was reading the labels on the curios.
He is still suspicious, and tells her that he is certain that
there is something between his wife and Prosper; that the
whispering of the day before over the statuette had aroused
his suspicions ; that he believes Prosper's sudden demand for
Marthe's hand was merely a pretext; that it was a pre-
arranged plan to lull the husband's suspicions; that these
ideas had suddenly come to a crisis in his mind while he
was out shooting. He returned at once, went back to his
house, and was told that Clarisse was out. He bade his
dog, Myrrha, seek her mistress. The dog had led him to
the door at which he had just knocked — ^the door of
Prosper's room.
Suzanne reproaches him bitterly for his suspicions, and
tells him that a man who would set a dog upon his wife's
footsteps would believe anything. She finally succeeds in
quieting him, and he is about to leave reassured, when he
suddenly sees the shawl which Clarisse in her haste had
left upon a chair. He breaks forth in a fresh frenzy of
rage, and seizing his gun tells Suzanne that he will kill
both Prosper and his mistress, Clarisse.
Suzanne here determines to shield Clarisse at any cost.
" Stop ! " she cries, " you madman ! If you wish to kill
the mistress of Prosper, kill me, for I am his mistress."
As Vanhove recoils in surprise, she goes on : " You force
me, then, to restrain you from your rash action, to tell
you the truth. Do you think that a woman comes alone to
a man's rooms to look at curios? If I did not at once open
the door it was because I feared discovery. If your dog
168 THE SARDOU PLAYS
led you to this door, it was because I was wearing Clarisse's
shawl. If Clarissa is opposed to the marriage of Marthe
with Prosper, it is because she knows of my liaison with
him."
Vanhove is thunderstruck at this revelation. " How
blind I have been," he says. " I remember now that this
man spoke of a love affair dating some three years back.
I did not dream that it was with you. But be calm, Su-
zanne, no one shall know your secret. Out of evil shall
come good, for this M. Block shall not marry Marthe, he
shall marry you."
Suzanne is overcome by this new complication, and
endeavours to dissuade Vanhove. But the stubborn Hol-
lander can not be dissuaded. He tells her that he will
make it his affair; that he will see Prosper at once; and
that if before evening Prosper has not promised to marry
Suzanne, he will take Prosper by the neck, and choke the
life out of him. Vanhove babbles of his love for Qarisse,
of his regard for Suzanne, of his determination to force
Prosper to marry her — all this with such volubility that he
does not give Suzanne a chance to get in a word. Still
talking, he dashes out in a whirl of excitement. As he
leaves, Suzanne falls into a chair. " And they call him a
silent man ! " she groans.
As the door closes behind him, Clarisse timidly peeps
from the bed-chamber and says:
" Suzanne, dear, how can I ever thank you ? I was lost,
and you have saved me."
" Yes," replies Suzanne, drily, " I have saved you, and
now I am lost."
Clarisse is still in mortal terror lest her husband should
discover the letter and should learn something from his
meeting with Prosper. So she begs Suzanne to burn the
letter and to urge Prosper to leave at once. In the mean-
LES PATTES DE MOUCHE 169
time, she hastens away, to reach her home before Vanhove
arrives there.
After her departure Suzanne reflects that it is easy to
burn the letter, but not easy to make Prosper go. " Still,"
she says to herself, " he swore to me that if I made him
burn it, he would depart at once for the Polynesian Islands."
She determines to place the letter in a tempting way
twisted like a cigar-lighter between the bars of the fender.
She then takes the matches from the mantel-place, and
throws them into the fire. Then, hearing the sound of
Prosper's footsteps, she throws herself into an easy chair
with an air of complete exhaustion.
When Prosper enters, a duel of words takes place
between the two, which Suzanne finally interrupts by com-
plaining that it is growing dark and asking for lights.
Prosper rings for lights, when Suzanne points to the
candles on the mantel-piece and suggests that he light
them. He seeks vainly for matches, when his eye falls
upon the twisted scrap of paper. He holds it to the fire,
and it breaks into a little flame. Suzanne watches him
breathlessly, but at this moment a servant enters with a
lighted lamp, saying, " Did you ring for lights, sir ? "
Prosper says, " Yes, yes," and mechanically extinguishes
the flaming scrap of paper which he still holds in his
fingers.
The two duellists are now seated at the table, with the
lighted lamp between them. Suzanne begins toying with
the Honolulu envelope, and Prosper grows restless. But
she throws it down. She appeals to him as a man of honour.
She is eloquent, she is touching, and at last Prosper tells
her she may command him in anything; that he thinks she
is not only beautiful but good; that he adores her; that he
will always be her slave, and, as a proof of his servitude,
he will burn the letter before her eyes. So saying, he picks
up the Honolulu envelope with the tongs, holds it in the
170 THE SAKDOU PLAYS
fire, and when it is nothing but ashes, deposits them at her
feet.
Suzanne, looking at him with humid eyes, and feeling
the power of a woman over the man who loves her, almost
forgets that he has not burned the real letter. But she
regains her calmness. She points it out to him, lying on
the floor, and bids him burn it. Prosper does not under-
stand what it is, but mechanically picks it up.
As he does so, the barking of the dogs is heard without.
Vanhove and the other sportsmen are returning. As
Suzanne still bids him bum this strange bit of paper.
Prosper hurriedly holds the real letter to the candle flame.
But as it catches fire the voice of Vanhove is heard at the
door. Prosper tosses the flaming paper out of the window,
and it falls into the garden below. Suzanne rapidly tells
him that the first paper which he burned was not the letter ;
that the one he had Just tossed out of the window is thel
incriminating epistle. With sudden understanding he tells
her that he will secure it, come what may, and he dartsi
out of the door on his way to the garden.
The sportsmen have returned from the chase. Among
them is Thirion, who is being good-humbredly chaffed by
his companions because he has been chasing butterflies
instead of shooting partridges. They have crossed
Thirion's garden, and are now assembled in Vanhove's
conservatory. Thirion defends himself, saying that he had
seen a very rare specimen of the Lepidoptera, which he had
succeeded in catching, and points to his gun, which he has
placed in a corner. Qut of the muzzle of the gun pro-
trudes a scrap of paper twisted into a cornucopia; in this,
says Thirion, is imprisoned the famous specimen he has
caught.
Into the conservatory come Suzanne and Prosper. He
comes from Thirion's garden, following the steps of the
returning sportsmen, who had passed under his window.
LES PATTES DE MOUCHE 171
Suzanne has searched also, but neither has found the scrap
of paper. They ransack their brains for every possible
thing that can have happened to it, but cannot think of any
solution. So Suzanne sends Prosper forth again to search
for the letter.
Suzanne encounters Busonier, one of the gentlemen
returning from the hunt with Vanhove. She interrogates
him closely. Did he see a piece of flaming paper fall from
the window? Yes, he did. What happened to it? Some-
body picked it up. Who picked it up — was it Vanhove?
Busonier racks his brain for some minutes, and finally
remembers that it was not Vanhove but Thirion who
picked it up. And Suzanne drops him hke lightning and
hastens off to find Thirion.
As Suzanne goes out, the youthful Paul enters the
conservatory, which is now deserted. He is in disgrace;
Mme. Thirion thinks he takes too much interest in young
women, and is neglecting his studies. Therefore, his place
will not be laid at dinner that evening; instead of that, his
^hings are packed, and he is to go back to school by thej
five o'clock train. Paul is in despair. He may not see
Marthe before his departure. He must leave in a few
minutes. He determines to write her a note. He fever-
ishly ransacks his pockets, but has no note-book, not
even a scrap of paper upon him. His eye falls on Thirion's
gun, which is standing in a corner. In its muzzle is a scrap
of paper. Paul flies toward it and opens it. He sees that
it contains a butterfly. " Bah ! " he mutters ; " what is one
more or less in my guardian's enormous collection?" He
smooths out the letter, seats himself at the table, folds
and tears off the burned portion, and taking out a pencil,
begins to write on the blank side.
As he is writing he hears the sound of voices. It is
Suzanne and Thirion. She is asking Thirion what he did
with the little scrap of paper. Paul says suddenly, " There
172 THE SARDOU PLAYS
is my guardian — I must hide," and he conceals himself
behind a large palm in a jardiniere.
Suzanne, Thirion, and Busonier enter, still talking of
the scrap of paper. Thirion tells her that he put it in the
muzzle of his gun. They go to the gun, but the paper is
gone. Suzanne says feverishly, " We must find it — ^look
for it ! Look for it ! both of you ! " But as she sees Van-
hove entering the conservatory, she says " No, no ! don't
look for it!"
Here the signal for dinner is given, and the guests
all pass through the conservatory on their way to the din-
ing-room. All, that is to say, except the luckless Paul,
who is restricted to gazing upon his lady-love through the
open door. He seizes upon a new waiting-maid, who does
not know all the guests. He offers her a gold piece to take
a note to a certain lady at the table. She accepts the mis-
sion, takes the note, and promises to slip it under the
lady's plate at a favorable moment.
But Prosper enters, and Paul again conceals himself.
Lying on the floor. Prosper sees a scrap of paper. He
picks it up with a cry of joy. But it is only the scorched
fragment which Paul tore off when he was writing his
love-letter.
Vanhove, hearing Prosper's cry, leaves the dining-room
to see what caused it. He sees Prosper, and at once accosts
him. He asks Prosper if he still persists in his demand
for Marthe's hand. Prosper replies that Mme. Vanhove's
objections have caused him to withdraw his demand. To
this Vanhove replies that the objections were caused by
the existence of a previous attachment — he refers to Su-
zanne's love for Prosper. Prosper thinks he means his
love for Clarisse. A most amusing misunderstanding
occurs between the two men. Vanhove insists upon bring-
ing about a reconciliation — he means between Suzanne and
Prosper. Prosper thinks he means himself and Clarisse.
LES PATTES DE MOUCHE 173
The interview is growing stormy, when Suzanne enters.
To avert the impending duel, she throws herself at the feet
of the astonished Prosper, swears to him that she has
always been faithful, and begs him to give her back her
honour. To all this the beaming Vanhove nods approval.
At first Prosper does not understand that this comedy is
for Vanhove's benefit, but, being a keen-witted person, he
speedily jumps at the truth, and determines to take an un-
expected advantage of his loving Suzanne. He admits
everything; he owns that his fault was grievous, but swears
that he will make amends, and that he will be true to her.
Therefore, as Suzanne loves him and he loves her, he calls
Vanhove to witness that they have agreed to marry. So
saying he clasps the now reluctant and struggling Suzanne
in a hearty embrace.
Upon this interesting scene there arrive all the com-
pany from the dining-room. Vanhove, with the air of an
old matchmaker, pointing to the affectionate couple, re-
marks gravely : " I have the honour to announce the
marriage of my cousin Suzanne with M. Prosper Block."
There is a rebellious flash in Suzanne's eyes as she
receives the congratulations of the company, but she is
fairly caught and she knows it.
But there is one of the company who is not engaged in
congratulating the young couple. It is Thirion. He has
surprised the new waiting-maid slipping a note under his
wife's plate at table. He has seized upon the note. It is
written on blue paper. He is reading it aloud. It begins,
" My dear love — I leave to-night for Paris." And as Van-
hove approaches him to ask the cause of his emotion, Thir-
ion suddenly says : " You are the master of the house.
You must know your guests' writing. Who wrote this?"
and he hands the scrap of paper to Vanhove. The latter
takes it, turns it over mechanically, and begins reading the
note pencilled by Paul on the other side. While they are
174 THE SARDOU PLAYS
disputing over the different readings, Prosper seizes the
letter, saying that it is his. Vanhove looks at him s!us-
piciously, and asks him to prove it.
" This is the proof," says Prosper. " I wiH give it to
my future wife tp read."
Suzanne takes it, and generously declares that she has
such faith in her future husband that she will burn it un-
read. Vanhove warns her not to be too impulsive; that
her whole future happiness may depend upon this letter.
But she smiles at Prosper, and extending the letter into
the flame, she holds it there steadily until it is all consumed.
Then she gives her hand to Prosper.
" Upon my word, sir," says Vanhove, " you are a lucky
fellow to have so trusting a wife."
PATRIE ^
The drama " Patrie " is generally regarded as Sar-
dou's masterpiece. It was first produced on March i8th,
1869, at the Porte St. Martin. It was not staged at the
Theatre-Frangais until March 11, 1901. Thus thirty-two
years elapsed before one of the best contemporaneous
French plays found its way to the first French theatre,
and even that was due to a fortuitous incident. Some years
before, a young woman at the Paris Conservatoire was
about to recite passages from the role of Dolores in
" Patrie." Ambroise Thomas, then director of the Paris
Conservatoire, forbade it, because the rules prescribed that
candidates for prizes could recite only from plays produced
at the Theatre-Franqais. Alexander Dumas His warmly
denounced this regulation. Jules Claretie, another member
of the jury, promised to produce " Patrie " at the Theatre-
Frangais, of which he was director. But it was several
years before he could carry out his promise, and just as
the rehearsals of " Patrie " were in progress the theatre
was destroyed by fire. It was not until the new Theatre-
Frangais was erected that Sardou's famous play was pro-
duced at a government theatre.
Sardou was noted for his attention to detail in mounting
his plays. When " Patrie " was first produced, even in
1869, it was well staged. So when it was reproduced at
the Porte St. Martin in 1886. But its final production at
the Theatre-Frangais, in 1901, was generally considered to
be the finest dramatic production ever put upon the stage
in Paris. The costumes, the scenery, the historical fur-
niture, the pictures, the tapestries, and the mise-en-scene
1 Best-known English versions entitled "Fatherland," "Dolores,"
"A Sorceress of Love."
176
176 THE SARDOU PLAYS
generally, amazed the Parisians. The market-place, where
the Dutch prisoners were brought before the austere
Spanish officers; the sombre interior of Risoor's house,
with its magnificent tapestry; its massive plate reposing
on a richly carved sideboard; the Duke of Alva's Palace;
the Hotel de Ville of Brussels; the Tower of St. Gudule;
the lines of picturesquely attired Spanish soldiers; the
march of Dutch prisoners to the stake; the gorgeously
vestured priests and prelates reciting prayers; the funeral
music and the muffled drums — ^all of these were arranged
in eight tableaux, which were marvels of stage painting and
setting. The Duke of Alva carried a silver reliquary, an
actual relic of the Inquisition; it belonged to the famous
collection of Sardou, who lent it to, the actor Paul Mounet.
The crucifix carried in the funeral procession was copied
from a Spanish i6th century original belonging to the
collection of Jules Claretie, Director of the Theatre-
Frangais.
Sardou was famous for his interference, at rehearsals.
He was nearly seventy at the reproduction of " Patrie "
in 1901, but he skipped about the stage and gave orders
regardless of the consequences. At one time he became
embroiled with the leading man, Mounet-SuUy, and it re-
quired all the tact of Director Claretie to restore peace.
When the funeral procession entered, with the Spanish
soldiers beating a funeral march with muffled drums, Sar-
dou put his fingers to his ears and shouted : " Stop ! stop !
that's not the way to roll drums. You must roll crescendo.
Three ruffles of the drum crescendo stopping with a stac-
cato. Here, like this," and seizing a pair of drumsticks,
he showed the amazed drummers the effect he wanted.
The first act of " Patrie " begins in Brussels, in 1568,
when the terrible Duke of Alva is attempting to stamp out
the liberty of a free people with fire and sword. The first
DIVORgONS 193
free, let us have no more constraint. Let us act as if we
were simply good friends, just like two good fellows." At
this unexpected remark, Cyprienne is overjoyed. She
throws her arms around her husband's neck, hugs him, and
says: "Are we going to be separated? How nice of
you ! " This auspicious opening naturally leads to con-
fidences, and des Prunelles obtains exact details concerning
the degree of intimacy to which Adhemar had attained.
The husband is gratified to find that his wife has been
guilty of nothing but imprudence, coquetry, and a little too
much freedom in words. " You know, it is so slow in the
country," says she, naively.
Adhemar arrives. Des Prunelles gravely announces
to him the approaching dissolution of their marriage bonds.
" My dear friend," he adds, " you love Cyprienne. I with-
draw all my pretensions to her, and I give you my full per-
mission to marry her at once, as soon as the legal pre-
liminaries are arranged." " But, but, but," stammers the
young gallant, " I had not hoped that my pretensions would
reach such a point." " But you would be wrong not to take
advantage of this opportunity," replies des Prunelles coldly.
" A pretty woman, with 400,000 francs fortune, is not to
be sneezed at. I know that you have only 2,600 francs a
year for a salary. It is also true that she has been in thQ
habit of spending 60,000 francs a year on her gowns. I
am aware that the income from her fortune is only 22,000
francs, and that you will have to make up the other 40,000
yourself out of your 2,600. But if you cut her down in
milliner's bills, in carriages, and in horses, you may be able
to make both ends meet. When you need advice, command
me. I will give you the best I can."
Adhemar, on reflection, thinks that perhaps the affair
is not such a bad one. But the fair Cyprienne, generally
sentimental, becomes extremely thoughtful. The husband
tactfully retires, leaving them in this frame of mind, after
13
194 THE SARDOU PLAYS
having invited Adhemar to dinner. This gentleman is so
struck with the lady's dowry that his love, so lately pas-
sionate, is now changing into a contemplative aifection.
For the moment his thoughts are preoccupied by gratitude
toward the husband. He even feels so much under obliga-
tion to him that he points out to Cyprienne his delicate
position — that so long as she remains the wife of that
friend and worthy gentleman, he can offer her no famil-
iarities or caresses, but will treat her with the utmost
respect. " Respect ? " says Cyprienne, who has been put
very much out of countenance by the prosaic nature of her
love affair. "Respect? How funny! Why, since- it isn't
wrong, it isn't at all interesting any more."
While Adhemar has completely forgotten his lady's
eyes, in thinking of her large fortune, she has temporarily
withdrawn, and des Prunelles reappears. He is in evening
clothes, and has his crush hat in his hand. His wife looks
at him in surprise. " Are you not to dine with us ? "
" No," he replies ; " you are going to dine tete-a-tete with
Adhemar." "And where are you going to dine?" "I?
I am going to dine at the cafe." " Alone ? " The husband
smiles : " Perhaps alone — ^perhaps with a friend." Cypri-
enne looks at him fixedly. " I will wager you are going to
dine with some woman," she cries.
Cyprienne falls into a fit of violent jealousy. When the
husband sees that he has her in a proper frame of mind,
he says : " Do you wish to be certain that I am not going
to dine with some woman ? Then come and dine with me."
"At the cafe, in a private room?" she asks. "Yes."
" Indeed, indeed, I will ! Oh, what a jolly time we shall
have." " But," says the husband, " how about Adhemar? "
She replies, "Adhemar? Oh, let him go to the mischief!
Let him dine by himself." The bell rings, the servant
enters, and announces Adhemar ; but Cyprienne, seizing her
husband by the arm, says to him : " Come, quick, he may
DIVORgONS 195
catch us," and her maid-servant falls stupefied in a chair,
as she sees M. and Madame des Prunelles slipping off to-
gether like two lovers. When Adhemar enters, judge of
his amazement when he learns that his lady love has gone
out. When her maid, at her wit's end to find an excuse,
says that Madame has gone to see her sick aunt, Adhemar
is disgusted and surprised. " Fibs already ! " he cries.
While Henri and Cyprienne are dining in a private room
at the cafe, the gay lothario Adhemar is running from one
end of the city to the other, looking for Cyprienne's several
aunts. There is a torrential rain-storm. He is drenched.
Water is streaming out of his hat, his coat-tails, his boots ;
his umbrella is turned inside out, and he finally appears,
grotesque, ridiculous, and sneezing from a violent cold
in the head. He brings a Commissary of Police to safe-
guard his marital rights. This is based on a provision of
the French law, by which a husband may secure a Com-
missary of Police to make an official visit where he has
reason to believe his wife is in a position reflecting on his
conjugal honour. When the lover implores the law officer
to declare the presence of husband and wife, in the private
room of a restaurant, to be contrary to his rights, the
situation becomes extremely ludicrous.
The play closes with Henri and Cyprienne turned lovers
again, and the discomfiture of Adhemar — a most unusual
situation on the French stage.
LA HAINE
The historical background which Sardou chose for " La
Haine" lends itself to the madness of furious love and
savage hate. He placed his scene in the fourteenth cen-
tury, amid those little Italian republics which struggled so
bitterly against each other and against themselves. This
play reveals more of the obscure and bloody annals of those
republics than one could find in the pages of Sismondi.
In 1369 the little Republic of Sienna was divided into
two factions, Guelphs and Ghibellines, the common people
against the aristocrats, the followers of the Emperor against
the followers of the Pope, the poor against the rich. Such
was the internal condition of this model republic, while
the Emperor of Germany and the ruler of Rome hung upon
the factions' flanks like brigands while they were cutting
one another's throats. Nevertheless, illumined by some
sudden return of reason, the two factions of Sienna
arranged a truce, and came to an understanding. They
agreed to stand together against their common enemy, the
Emperor of Germany, Charles IV.
It is on the eve of this great day, coinciding with the
nativity of the Virgin, September 8, 1369, that the play
begins. Fighting is going on in the country. The pro-
scribed Guelphs of Sienna are returning in force, accom-
panied by squads of German allies, under the leadership
of Orso Savagnana, son of a wool-carder. Orso is a
popular hero, half tribune, half soldier. He had dared one
day, in the streets of Sienna, to throw a wreath of flowers
to Cordelia Saracini, as she was leaning from the balcony
of her palace. Cordelia is one of the haughtiest girls in
the city, sister of two Ghibelline nobles, Ercole and
Giugurta Saracini. She hurls back the wreath into the face
196
LA HAINE 197
of the Guelph artisan, adding to the insult bitter and
stinging words on his plebeian birth. From this springs
the hatred — " La Haine " — which gives the play its name.
The sound of battle comes nearer. The Ghibellines are
weakening, while the victorious Guelphs have fought their
way as far as a barricade situated in front of the Saracini
palace. A man mounts on the barricade. It is Orso. A
woman appears on the balcony. It is Cordelia. " Woman,"
cries Orso imperiously, " bid your lackeys open this por-
tal." " It is not the time," replies Cordelia, defiantly, " to
open gates when thieves are in the city streets." " Have
at you then ! " cries the exasperated Orso. He gives the
signal for the assault. The walls are scaled. Orso and his
band penetrate into the palace. But death would not be
bitter enough for the unfortunate Cordelia. Instead of
hurling her from the window into the street, as the howling
mob demands, Orso drags her, half strangled, into the
interior of the palace, and there accomplishes on her his
hideous vengeance.
Despite their apparent triumph, the Guelphs are masters
of only half the city. Many men have fallen on both sides.
Among the dead Ghibellines is Andreino, a boy of fifteen,
son to Uberta, the old nurse of Cordelia. The Ghibellines
demand a truce, to care for the wounded and bury the dead.
These brave soldiers delight in carnage, but they fear
pestilence. The palace of the Saracini is a fiery furnace.
Has Cordelia perished in the flames? This is the question
which the brothers Saracini ask. The response is not long
in coming. Cordelia is living, but if she is not dead by her
own hand, it is only because she thirsts for vengeance first.
But vengeance upon whom? She knows not the name of
her outrager; she has not seen his face; she knows only
fiis voice.
In the great square before the grand cathedral, Guelphs
and Ghibellines are drawn up on two sides of the rectangle.
198 THE SARDOU PLAYS
Each faction has ostensibly come to assist at the solemn
mass for the nativity of the Virgin. But although they have
come presumably to pray, they are just about to fall upon
each other in bloody fray, when the great doors of the
cathedral open, and Archbishop Azzelino appears on the
marble steps. He solemnly adjures them : " Men of
Sienna, is this what you call a truce in honor of the Vir-
gin? The church belongs to God. Let all who are Chris-
tian men lay down their arms, or the doors which I will
close to them living, I shall open only to their dead bodies."
Thus threatened with excommunication, the Guelphs and
the Ghibellines lower their arms and enter the cathedral,
each faction by a door to right and left, while the solemn
chants of the monks break forth from within.
Orso during this scene has uttered but one word, yet
Cordelia has heard him, and she follows into the church
the group of men, from among whom has come the sound
of the voice she abhors.
The next scene is a cloister, occupied by Guelphs and
German soldiers as a barrack. While Cordelia is seeking
for the despoiler of her honour, Uberta learns by chance the
name of the man who has killed her son, Andreino. It is
Orso who violated the virgin sister of the Saracini. It is
Orso who slew Andreino, the young son of Uberta. The
two women dispute over the privilege of revenge, but
Cordelia has her way. Uberta entreats her, saying: "Oh,
Cordelia, my nursling, cherished by my milk, I pray you
let me kill him ! " But Cordelia replies : " No, not you,
Uberta. It is my privilege. You are weeping only for a
death, while I am mourning for my life, which is my
honour."
Springing out from behind a file of soldiers, Cordelia
strikes deep with the poniard. Orso reels — he falls to the
ground, the blood flowing from a deep wound in his throat.
Amid the shock of the battle which has suddenly begun,
LA HAINE 199
his men bear him away, still breathing, and lay him in the
shadow of the church door. When the soldiers have gone
Cordelia and Uberta return, to assure themselves of the
certainty of their vengeance. But they find the body gone.
" Can it be that he is only wounded? " asks Uberta. " Just
God ! " cries Cordelia, " grant that he may be dead."
In the square, in front of the church, Cordelia at last
finds the body for which she has been looking. When she
sees the work of her bloody dagger, the immense miracle
of feminine pity descends upon her, and she gives water
to the parched lips of the once strong man who now feebly
begs for assistance. When the ferocious Uberta ap-
proaches, turning over corpses in order to find that of the
man who had slain her son, Cordelia hides the body of her
outrager from the view of the vindictive nurse.
After Cordelia has temporarily hidden Orso from
Uberta, who would finish the wounded man without re-
morse, she conceals him in an unfrequented portion of the
Saracini palace. Giugurta, her brother, being among the
vanquished, is obliged to flee from the city. He wishes to
leave the palace by the gardens, but in order to reach them,
he must pass through the chamber where the wounded
Orso lies. Cordelia endeavours to restrain him — with such
persistence that Uberta has her suspicions aroused, and a
violent scene takes place between Cordelia and her nurse,
in which the latter discovers the truth. Cordelia asks her
for mercy, and in the name of her young son, she begs the
sorrowing mother not to offer up a bloody sacrifice to the
youth who she hopes has become an angel in heaven. Sud-
denly Uberta cries, " Hush ! there is your brother." It is
apparent that, like the outraged noblewoman, the plebeian
mother also has pardoned Orso. Giugurta is forced to
flee by a dangerous road, and is soon arrested by the
Guelph troops stationed outside the city.
Cordelia and Orso find themselves face to face. At the
200 THE SARDOU PLAYS
sound of the name " Cordelia," he recognises not only his
victim, but also the chamber where, in the intoxication of
vengeance and victory, he committed his cowardly and
odious crime. The two images succeed one another in his
memory, the woman who poniarded him, and the woman
who saved him by giving him water when he was dying of
thirst. These two women are but one, and that one his
victim. His repentance breaks forth.
" Cordelia, it is my duty to wipe away the stain upon
your honour."
" To make me your wife? Alas, if it were only I against
whom you had sinned, but what have you done to your
country, O Guelph?"
" Ah, this unholy war," he replies. " I curse it, as you
do, but it is your work and mine. Yes, it was you, — ^you
from that balcony and I from the barricade, — you gave the
signal for the frightful war. It is our hate which has
brought on the war, so let our love subdue it. This city,
which like you has been outraged and soiled by me, I will
pluck from despair, and like you, I will lift it up."
" But will you dare to propose peace-making to your
Guelph comrades ? "
"Yes, I will promise them anything," says Orso, "but
let me know that you will pardon me."
" Go," replies Cordelia, " I have blushed for you — ^now
let me see if I can be proud of you. You have been a
bandit, be now a hero. Then it will be soon enough to
talk to me of your love."
Next we see, in the ruins of the old municipal palace,
the Ghibelline prisoners, among whom is Giugurta Saracini.
They are about to be put to death. Orso appears amid the
acclamations of the populace, who rejoice over his apparent
resurrection from the dead. He addresses the people:
" People of Sienna," he cries, " the Emperor Charles IV.
is about to lay siege to our city. He demands that you shall
LA HAINE aOl
give him 50,000 golden florins to retreat. I propose that
he shall give us 60,000 florins to be permitted to depart in
peace."
Cries come back from the crowd : " Orso, you are mad !
We have not sufficient troops."
" You are mistaken," replies Orso. " If you wish, I
will raise for you an army in a day. You ask how? I
answer, let us throw open our prison doors, release our
captives, and together, Guelphs and Ghibellines, we will
march shoulder to shoulder against the foreign tyrant."
This proposal raises a storm. Orso is insulted and de-
nounced as a traitor, but he maintains his firm attitude, and
soon wins the approval of the fickle crowd. The prison
doors are thrown open, the chains are stricken from the
limbs of the Ghibellines, and the citizens, enemies hitherto
but friends now, go forth side by side to fight the foreign
hordes.
A brief word passes between the lovers. " Is this the
task you wished of me, Cordelia ? "
" Yes," replies Cordelia, and she murmurs words which
fall sweetly on Orso's ear.
This colloquy between the lovers is overheard by
Giugurta, and he says to Cordelia grimly: "We shall
speak of this after the battle."
The last scene is laid in the interior of the great
cathedral. The Emperor Charles has been defeated and is
in retreat. The army of Sienna has returned to the city.
Cordelia, terrified by the threats of her brother, has taken
refuge in the cathedral as a sanctuary. Giugurta has joined
her there. His patrician pride drives him into a frenzy,
as he, the eldest of the house of Saracini, learns from his
sister's lips the story of her shame. " So that is why you
barred the way between me, me your brother, and liberty.
You betrayed me to save your lover, a wretch, a workman,
a fellow of the street." He is about to kill Cordelia as he
202 THE SARDOU PLAYS
has killed Uberta, her accomplice, but he recoils from the
idea of shedding blood in a church. Cordelia has fainted
on the steps of the high altar ; although he shudders at the
idea of stabbing her there, he does not hesitate to pour
between her lips a vial of poison.
The people enter. The returning soldiers of Sienna,
with Orso at their head, are about to chant a Te Deum
before the high altar. But as they approach, they see the
white-clad form of Cordelia, writhing in convulsions on
the altar steps. " It is the plague, the black death ! " shouts
a young monk. The crowd falls back in terror, all but
Orso — he seizes Cordelia in his arms; thus he has de-
cided to share her death. By the laws of the republic, the
plague-stricken are separated from the world; the doors of
the church are closed upon them, not to be opened until
after their death. But before the citizens abandon the un-
fortunate lovers the Archbishop Azzelino extends his hands
and gives them his episcopal blessing. They shall be
united before God.
When the vast church is emptied of all save themselves,
the two lovers exchange farewells full of hope. Orso,
wounded, is repentant, and they die in each other's arms,
exchanging, as they bid farewell to life, their first and last
kiss.
LA FAMILLE BENOITON^
The point in this play that strikes the reader is the
timeliness of the subject. "La Famille Benoiton" was
produced November i8, 1865. It was in the heyday of
the Second Empire — when the third Napoleon was at the
height of his glory — immediately before the great Exposi'^
tion, when the rebuilt Paris of Baron Haussmann was
dazzling strangers from all over the world — when the great
fortunes amassed by the successful speculators of the time
were being squandered in luxury and dissipation. Such
was the extravagance of the new-rich, both men and women,
that it was the target of pen and pencil. The satirical
journals of the day swarm with jests levelled at rich men's
sons, at horsey heiresses, at the fast society men and
women who were found gambling at Trouville, betting at
Biarritz, and running racing stables at Longchamps. The
subject of fashionable frivolity was in the air. Already
several dramatists had coquetted with it. One was M.
Dumanoir in his " Toilettes Tapageuses." Another was
Henri Meilhac, who in " Les Curieuses " discussed the sub-
ject of feminine frivolity and extravagance in not too
delicate a manner.
Sardou saw in the subject good material for a play:
he decided to build it around a bourgeois father, suddenly
enriched in business, who believes in " up-to-date " methods
in educating his children. The results are shown in the
slangy, jaunty, and horsey Benoiton girls and what be-
falls them. This bourgeois father is M. Benoiton, who
has achieved fortune originally as a successful mattress-
maker, and subsequently by speculations on the Bourse.
1 Best-known English version entitled "A Fast Family."
203
204- THE SARDOU PLAYS
The play begins in the villa of the Benoitons, in one of
the pretty suburbs near Paris. There are several villas
there, separated not by walls, as is usual in France, but by
ornamental hedges, which make them in a way more
neighbourly than is customary. One of the villas adjacent
to that of the Benoitons is occupied by Mme. Qotilde, a
wealthy spinster, both witty and wise. Perhaps her main
fault is her desire to marry people — other people : not her-
self — she is too wise for that. She has on her hands an
old maid, Adolphine, whom she has despaired of marrying
off, and the first scene is a dialogue between the two, in
which much of the plot of the play is set forth.
There suddenly appears a cousin of Qotilde's, a Vis-
count de Champrose, who has stumbled on her villa through
pursuing at breakneck speed a pretty face framed in the
window of a carriage. Being a frank cousin, he explains
to Clotilde how he came to drop in upon her, and she con-
jectures that the face belongs to one of the pretty
Benoiton girls, and tells him the history of the family.
One of the daughters, Martha, is married. Her hus-
band, Didier, is a successful business man, who commits
the blunder of devoting himself entirely to business and
neglecting his wife. In consequence, his wife devotes her-
self entirely to fashions and frivolity, and neglects him.
She is foolish enough to take to gambling at fashionable
watering-places. While at Dieppe she loses at a gambling
salon, and is unable to pay her stake ; the croupier and the
players are all expectantly looking at her, and she Is
crimson with mortification, when a stranger whispers to
her, " Madame, will you permit me to lend you the trifle
you need ? " With this, he places the requisite stake upon
the table, puts her arm in his, and leads her from the gaming
table. She learns that the gentleman to whom she is in-
debted is the Viscount de Champrose. She keeps this a
secret from her husband, and subsequently saves up her
LA FAMILLE BENOITON 205
pin-money until she has enough to pay the debt. She
meets the Viscount by appointment in the Tuileries Garden,
and gives him the money. This is their last meeting.
The Viscount falls in love with the third daughter,
Jeanne. He determines to present his suit to her father,
but the vulgarity of old Benoiton appalls him, as well as
the discovery that Benoiton is the man who has purchased
the ancient Champrose chateau and estates, and that he is
thinking seriously of utilizing the Viscount's ancestral por-
traits and baptizing them all Benoitons. He is further
dismayed to learn that his prospective father-in-law is a
mattress-maker. Even with all these drawbacks, he is so
much infatuated with the beauty and vivacity of Jeanne
that he would still attempt to make her his wife, but he is
alarmed at her frivolity, her recklessness, and her slang.
But his cousin Clotilde assures him that the girl has a
good heart, and endeavours to further the match.
The second daughter, Camille, is sought in marriage by
a M. Prudent Formichel, son of the capitalist Formichel,
who is a friend of the elder Benoiton. M: Prudent is
prudence personified, and thinks only of his future wife's
dowry. She is secretly loved by her cousin Stephen, a
clerk, and elopes with him. The elder Benoiton moves
heaven and earth to get hold of the errant daughter before
the marriage can take place, and in the meantime M.
Prudent increases the size of the dowry he expects. He
was to have had 200,000 francs with the lady. He informs
the father that if she is not returned before the next morn-
ing he must have 300,000 francs, and if she remains away
over night the price will be 400,000 francs.
In the meantime, Adolphine, the old maid, suspects the
existence of an acquaintance between Champrose and
Martha. She investigates, finds suspicious circumstances,
and tells the whole story to Didier, the husband. He is
shocked and horrified ; he believes that his wiffe is false to
206 THE SARDOU PLAYS
him, and that their child is not his, but Champrose's.
They have had a quarrel that very morning, as he has re-
fused to give her 5000 francs for some lace which she
wanted. Angered at his parsimony, as she calls it, she
orders and pays for the lace, which is sent home with the
receipted bill. The husband is there when it arrives. He
opens it, finds the receipt, and demands to know where
she got the money. The unfortunate woman hesitates, and
lies. She says she borrowed it from her father that morn-
ing. At that very moment old Benoiton enters. The hus-
band accosts him with, " Here are the 5000 francs my wife
borrowed from you." But Benoiton stares in surprise,
replying that she borrowed no money from him and he has
not seen her for several days. Thereupon the infuriated
Didier turns upon his wife, accusing her of having re-
ceived the money from Champrose, who is promptly chal-
lenged by him to a duel. Clotilde begs Champrose not to
fight. He says he must, as an honourable man, but until his
last breath he will assure the husband that he never met
his wife. Before the duel he confides to Clotilde a small
package of letters, which he says are from Martha to him ;
if he falls in the duel, Clotilde must destroy them. With
that he leaves the room, and Didier enters. He sees the
letters; he notices Clotilde's agitation; he taxes her with
knowledge of the intrigue of Martha and Champrose; he
demands that she show him the signature of one of the
letters to prove to him that they are not by his wife.
Driven to extremity, Clotilde throws the letters into the
fire, thereby confirming his belief that they are by his wife.
When Martha learns this, she bitterly reproaches Clotilde,
telling her that the letters were simply business documents
touching the repayment of a loan; that they proved her
complete innocence; that she was about to send to
Champrose, telling him to give them to her husband; that
LA FAMILLE BENOITON 207
now, as all proof of her innocence is destroyed, her husband
will leave her, and her life is wrecked.
The two unhappy spouses are finally brought together
by the grave illness of their daughter. She is at the point
of death. Clotilde tells the news to Didier and Champrose
at the same time, bidding Didier watch Champrose's face.
There is nothing on the Viscount's countenance but modified
regret. " Do you think that a father would look like that
when told of the impending death of his child ? " she asks
of Didier. Clotilde finally brings the couple together by the
bedside of their child, and they are reunited. It is needless
to state that Jeanne marries Champrose, and that Cousin
Stephen marries Camille. Cousin Clotilde thus succeeds
in marrying everybody — everybody, that is, except
Adolphine.
DANIEL ROCHAT
The play begins at Ferney, near the Swiss frontier, in
the villa made famous by Voltaire. The one hundredth an-
niversary of the death of that great writer is about to be
celebrated. All are looking forward to an address by the
celebrated orator, Daniel Rochat, a French deputy, and one
of the leaders of free thought in France. But Daniel
Rochat is late. It is only known from the newspapers that
he has been travelling in Switzerland for the past three
weeks, incognito, accompanying two sisters, yoimg Anglo-
American ladies, Lea and Esther Henderson. At least such
is the account given by Daniel himself to his secretary and
confidant. Dr. Bidachej one of those go-betweens in whose
dexterous hands even the most powerful politician at times
becomes a plaything, and at other times a productive invest-
ment.
Daniel Rochat has met the two American ladies by
chance. He has fallen in love with the elder. Lea. He has
not yet declared his love, and Lea does not know the true
name and identity of her chance acquaintance. She seems
devoid of narrow prejudice, and generous in praise of
liberty of speech and thought, as becomes a daughter of
free America. But Daniel asks himself, may not this Amer-
ican heiress become affrighted at the name and fame of
Rochat? For Daniel Rochat is not a free-thinker merely,
he is the adversary of all superstitions, the foe of all re-
ligions — for, to him, religion and superstition mean the
same thing. In a word, Daniel Rochat is an ardent atheist.
The hour for the oration has come. Daniel pronounces
an eloquent discourse before the bust of Voltaire, and it is
thus that the veil of his incognito is lifted for Lea. Fas-
cinated and subjugated by the eloquence of Daniel, she
208
DIVORgONS 193
free, let us have no more constraint. Let us act as if we
were simply good friends, just like two good fellows." At
this unexpected remark, Cyprienne is overjoyed. She
throws her arms around her husband's neck, hugs him, and
says: "Are we going to be separated? How nice of
you ! " This auspicious opening naturally leads to con-
fidences, and des Prunelles obtains exact details concerning
the degree of intimacy to which Adhemar had attained.
The husband is gratified to find that his wife has been
guilty of nothing but imprudence, coquetry, and a little too
much freedom in words. " You know, it is so slow in the
country," says she, naively.
Adhemar arrives. Des Prunelles gravely announces
to him the approaching dissolution of their marriage bonds.
" My dear friend," he adds, " you love Cyprienne. I with-
draw all my pretensions to her, and I give you my full per-
mission to marry her at once, as soon as the legal pre-
liminaries are arranged." " But, but, but," stammers the
young gallant, " I had not hoped that my pretensions would
reach such a point." " But you would be wrong not to take
advantage of this opportunity," replies des Prunelles coldly.
"A pretty woman, with 400,000 francs fortune, is not to
be sneezed at. I know that you have only 2,600 francs a
year for a salary. It is also true that she has been in thq
habit of spending 60,000 francs a year on her gowns. I
am aware that the income from her fortune is only 22,000
francs, and that you will have to make up the other 40,000
yourself out of your 2,600. But if you cut her down in
milliner's bills, in carriages, and in horses, you may be able
to make both ends meet. When you need advice, command
me. I will give you the best I can."
Adhemar, on reflection, thinks that perhaps the affair
is not such a bad one. But the fair Cyprienne, generally
sentimental, becomes extremely thoughtful. The husband
tactfully retires, leaving them in this frame of mind, after
13
194. THE SARDOU PLAYS
having invited Adhemar to dinner. This gentleman is so
struck with the lady's dowry that his love, so lately pas-
sionate, is now changing into a contemplative affection.
For the moment his thoughts are preoccupied by gratitude
toward the husband. He even feels so much under obliga-
tion to him that he points out to Cyprienne his delicate
position — ^that so long as she remains the wife of that
friend and worthy gentleman, he can offer her no famil-
iarities or caresses, but will treat her with the utmost
respect. "Respect?" says Cyprienne, who has been put
very much out of countenance by the prosaic nature of her
love affair. "Respect? How funny! Why, since it isn't
wrong, it isn't at all interesting any more."
While Adhemar has completely forgotten his lady's
eyes, in thinking of her large fortune, she has temporarily
withdrawn, and des Prunelles reappears. He is in evening
clothes, and has his crush hat in his hand. His wife looks
at him in surprise. " Are you not to dine with us ? "
" No," he replies ; " you are going to dine tete-a-tete with
Adhemar." "And where are you going to dine?" "I?
I am going to dine at the cafe." " Alone ? " The husband
smiles : " Perhaps alone — ^perhaps with a friend." Cypri-
enne looks at him fixedly. " I will wager you are going to
dine with some woman," she cries.
Cyprienne falls into a fit of violent jealousy. When the
husband sees that he has her in a proper frame of mind,
he says : " Do you wish to be certain that I am not going
to dine with some woman ? Then come and dine with me."
"At the cafe, in a private room?" she asks. "Yes."
" Indeed, indeed, I will ! Oh, what a jolly time we shall
have." " But," says the husband, " how about Adhemar? "
She replies, "Adhemar? Oh, let him go to the mischief!
Let him dine by himself." The bell rings, the servant
enters, and announces Adhemar; but Cyprienne, seizing her
husband by the arm, says to him : " Come, quick, he may
DIVORgONS 195
catch us," and her maid-servant falls stupefied in a chair,
as she sees M. and Madame des Prunelles slipping off to-
gether like two lovers. When Adhemar enters, judge of
his amazement when he learns that his lady love has gone
out. When her maid, at her wit's end to find an excuse,
says that Madame has gone to see her sick aunt, Adhemar
is disgusted and surprised. " Fibs already ! " he cries.
While Henri and Cyprienne are dining in a private room
at the cafe, the gay lothario Adhemar is running from one
end of the city to the other, looking for Cyprienne's several
aunts. There is a torrential rain-storm. He is drenched.
Water is streaming out of his hat, his coat-tails, his boots ;
his umbrella is turned inside out, and he finally appears,
grotesque, ridiculous, and sneezing from a violent cold
in the head. He brings a Commissary of Police to safe-
guard his marital rights. This is based on a provision of
the French law, by which a husband may secure a Com-
missary of Police to make an official visit where he has
reason to believe his wife is in a position reflecting on his
conjugal honour. When the lover implores the law officer
to declare the presence of husband and wife, in the private
room of a restaurant, to be contrary to his rights, the
situation becomes extremely ludicrous.
The play closes with Henri and Cyprienne turned lovers
again, and the discomfiture of Adhemar — a most unusual
situation on the French stage.
LA HAINE
The historical background which Sardou chose for " La
Haine " lends itself to the madness of furious love and
savage hate. He placed his scene in the fourteenth cen-
tury, amid those little Italian republics which struggled so
bitterly against each other and against themselves. This
play reveals more of the obscure and bloody annals of those
republics than one could find in the pages of Sismondi.
In 1369 the little Republic of Sienna was divided into
two factions, Guelphs and Ghibellines, the common people
against the aristocrats, the followers of the Emperor against
the followers of the Pope, the poor against the rich. Such
was the internal condition of this model republic, while
the Emperor of Germany and the ruler of Rome hung upon
the factions' flanks like brigands while they were cutting
one another's throats. Nevertheless, illumined by some
sudden return of reason, the two factions of Sienna
arranged a truce, and came to an understanding. They
agreed to stand together against their common enemy, the
Emperor of Germany, Charles IV.
It is on the eve of this great day, coinciding with the
nativity of the Virgin, September 8, 1369, that the play
begins. Fighting is going on in the country. The pro-
scribed Guelphs of Sienna are returning in force, accom-
panied by squads of German allies, under the leadership
of Orso Savagnana, son of a wool-carder. Orso is a
popular hero, half tribune, half soldier. He had dared one
day, in the streets of Sienna, to throw a wreath of flowers
to Cordelia Saracini, as she was leaning from the balcony
of her palace. Cordelia is one of the haughtiest girls in
the city, sister of two Ghibelline noMes, Ercole and
Giugurta Saracini. She hurls back the wreath into the face
196
LA HAINE 197
of the Guelph artisan, adding to the insult bitter and
stinging words on his plebeian birth. From this springs
the hatred — " La Haine " — which gives the play its name.
The sound of battle comes nearer. The Ghibellines are
weakening, while the victorious Guelphs have fought their
way as far as a barricade situated in front of the Saracini
palace. A man mounts on the barricade. It is Orso. A
woman appears on the balcony. It is Cordelia. " Woman,"
cries Orso imperiously, " bid your lackeys open this por-
tal." " It is not the time," replies Cordelia, defiantly, " to
open gates when thieves are in the city streets." " Have
at you then ! " cries the exasperated Orso. He gives the
signal for the assault. The walls are scaled. Orso and his
band penetrate into the palace. But death would not be
bitter enough for the unfortunate Cordelia. Instead of
hurling her from the window into the street, as the howling
mob demands, Orso drags her, half strangled, into the
interior of the palace, and there accomplishes on her his
hideous vengeance.
Despite their apparent triumph, the Guelphs are masters
of only half the city. Many men have fallen on both sides.
Among the dead Ghibellines is Andreino, a boy of fifteen,
son to Uberta, the old nurse of Cordelia. The Ghibellines
demand a truce, to care for the wounded and bury the dead.
These brave soldiers delight in carnage, but they fear
pestilence. The palace of the Saracini is a fiery furnace.
Has Cordelia perished in the flames? This is the question
which the brothers Saracini ask. The response is not long
in coming. Cordelia is living, but if she is not dead by her
own hand, it is only because she thirsts for vengeance first.
But vengeance upon whom? She knows not the name of
her outrager; she has not seen his face; she knows only
his voice.
In the great square before the grand cathedral, Guelphs
and Ghibellines are drawn up on two sides of the rectangle.
198 THE SARDOU PLAYS
Each faction has ostensibly come to assist at the solemn
mass for the nativity of the Virgin. But although they have
come presumably to pray, they are just about to fall upon
each other in bloody fray, when the great doors of the
cathedral open, and Archbishop Azzelino appears on the
marble steps. He solemnly adjures them : " Men of
Sienna, is this what you call a truce in honor of the Vir-
gin? The church belongs to God. Let all who are Chris-
tian men lay down their arms, or the doors which I will
close to them living, I shall open only to their dead bodies."
Thus threatened with excommunication, the Guelphs and
the Ghibellines lower their arms and enter the cathedral,
each faction by a door to right and left, while the solemn
chants of the monks break forth from within.
Orso during this scene has uttered but one word, yet
Cordelia has heard him, and she follows into the church
the group of men, from among whom has come the sound
of the voice she abhors.
The next scene is a cloister, occupied by Guelphs and
German soldiers as a barrack. While Cordelia is seeking
for the despoiler of her honour, Uberta learns by chance the
name of the man who has killed her son, Andreino. It is
Orso who violated the virgin sister of the Saracini. It is
Orso who slew Andreino, the young son of Uberta. The
two women dispute over the privilege of revenge, but
Cordelia has her way. Uberta entreats her, saying: "Oh,
Cordelia, my nursling, cherished by my milk, I pray you
let me kill him ! " But Cordelia replies : " No, not you,
Uberta. It is my privilege. You are weeping only for a
death, while I am mourning for my life, which is my
honour."
Springing out from behind a file of soldiers, Cordelia
strikes deep with the poniard. Orso reels — he falls to the
ground, the blood flowing from a deep wound in his throat.
Amid the shock of the battle which has suddenly begun,
LA HAINE 199
his men bear him away, still breathing, and lay him in the
shadow of the church door. When the soldiers have gone
Cordelia and Uberta return, to assure themselves of the
certainty of their vengeance. But they find the body gone.
" Can it be that he is only wounded ? " asks Uberta. " Just
God ! " cries Cordelia, " grant that he may be dead."
In the square, in front of the church, Cordelia a.t last
finds the body for which she has been looking. When she
sees the work of her bloody dagger, the immense miracle
of feminine pity descends upon her, and she gives water
to the parched lips of the once strong man who now feebly
begs for assistance. When the ferocious Uberta ap-
proaches, turning over corpses in order to find that of the
man who had slain her son, Cordelia hides the body of her
outrager from the view of the vindictive nurse.
After Cordelia has temporarily hidden Orso from
Uberta, who would finish the wounded man without re-
morse, she conceals him in an unfrequented portion of the
Saracini palace. Giugurta, her brother, being among the
vanquished, is obliged to flee from the city. He wishes to
leave the palace by the gardens, but in order to reach them,
he must pass through the chamber where the wounded
Orso lies. Cordelia endeavours to restrain him — with such
persistence that Uberta has her suspicions aroused, and a
violent scene takes place between Cordelia and her nurse,
in which the latter discovers the truth. Cordelia asks her
for mercy, and in the name of her young son, she begs the
sorrowing mother not to offer up a bloody sacrifice to the
youth who she hopes has become an angel in heaven. Sud-
denly Uberta cries, " Hush ! there is your brother." It is
apparent that, like the outraged noblewoman, the plebeian
mother also has pardoned Orso. Giugurta is forced to
flee by a dangerous road, and is soon arrested by the
Guelph troops stationed outside the city.
Cordelia and Orso find themselves face to face. At the
aOO THE SARDOU PLAYS
sound of the name " Cordelia," he recognises not only his
victim, but also the chamber where, in the intoxication of
vengeance and victory, he committed his cowardly and
odious crime. The two images succeed one another in his
memory, the woman who poniarded him, and the woman
who saved him by giving him water when he was dying of
thirst. These two women are but one, and that one his
victim. His repentance breaks forth.
" Cordelia, it is my duty to wipe away the stain upon
your honour."
" To make me your wife ? Alas, if it were only I against
whom you had sinned, but what have you done to your
country, O Guelph?"
" Ah, this unholy war," he replies. " I curse it, as you
do, but it is your work and mine. Yes, it was you, — ^you
from that balcony and I from the barricade, — ^you gave the
signal for the frightful war. It is our hate which has
brought on the war, so let our love subdue it. This city,
which like you has been outraged and soiled by me, I will
pluck from despair, and like you, I will lift it up."
" But will you dare to propose peace-making to your
Guelph comrades ? "
" Yes, I will promise them anything," says Orso, " but
let me know that you will pardon me."
" Go," replies Cordelia, " I have blushed for you — ^now
let me see if I can be proud of you. You have been sa
bandit, be now a hero. Then it will be soon enough to
talk to me of your love."
Next we see, in the ruins of the old municipal palace,
the Ghibelline prisoners, among whom is Giugurta Saracini.
They are about to be put to death. Orso appears amid the
acclamations of the populace, who rejoice over his apparent
resurrection from the dead. He addresses the people:
" People of Sienna," he cries, " the Emperor Charles IV.
is about to lay siege to our city. He demands that you shall
LA HAINE 201
give him So.cxx) golden florins to retreat. I propose that
he shall give us 60,000 florins to be permitted to depart in
peace."
Cries come back from the crowd : " Orso, you are mad !
We have not sufficient troops."
" You are mistaken," replies Orso. " If you wish, I
will raise for you an army in a day. You ask how? I
answer, let us throw open our prison doors, release our
captives, and together, Guelphs and Ghibellines, we will
march shoulder to shoulder against the foreign tyrant."
This proposal raises a storm. Orso is insulted and de-
nounced as a traitor, but he maintains his firm attitude, and
soon wins the approval of the fickle crowd. The prison
doors are thrown open, the chains are stricken from the
limbs of the Ghibellines, and the citizens, enemies hitherto
but friends now, go forth side by side to fight the foreign
hordes.
A brief word passes between the lovers. " Is this the
task you wished of me, Cordelia ? "
" Yes," replies Cordelia, and she murmurs words which
fall sweetly on Orso's ear.
This colloquy between the lovers is overheard by
Giugurta, and he says to Cordelia grimly : " We shall
speak of this after the battle."
The last scene is laid in the interior of the great
cathedral. The Emperor Charles has been defeated and is
in retreat. The army of Sienna has returned to the city.
Cordelia, terrified by the threats of her brother, has taken
refuge in the cathedral as a sanctuary. Giugurta has joined
her there. His patrician pride drives him into a frenzy,
as he, the eldest of the house of Saracini, learns from his
sister's lips the story of her shame. " So that is why you
barred the way between me, me your brother, and liberty.
You betrayed me to save your lover, a wretch, a workman,
a fellow of the street." He is about to kill Cordelia as he
20a THE SARDOU PLAYS
has killed Uberta, her accomplice, but he recoils from the
idea of shedding blood in a church. Cordelia has fainted
on the steps of the high altar ; although he shudders at the
idea of stabbing her there, he does not hesitate to pour
between her lips a vial of poison.
The people enter. The returning soldiers of Sienna,
with Orso at their head, are about to chant a Te Deum
before the high altar. But as they approach, they see the
white-clad form of Cordelia, writhing in convulsions on
the altar steps. " It is the plague, the black death ! " shouts
a young monk. The crowd falls back in terror, all but
Orso — he seizes Cordelia in his arms; thus he has de-
cided to share her death. By the laws of the republic, the
plague-stricken are separated from the world; the doors of
the church are closed upon them, not to be opened until
after their death. But before the citizens abandon the un-
fortunate lovers the Archbishop Azzelino extends his hands
and gives them his episcopal blessing. They shall be
united before God.
When the vast church is emptied of all save themselves,
the two lovers exchange farewells full of hope. Orso,
wounded, is repentant, and they die in each other's arms,
exchanging, as they bid farewell to life, their first and last
kiss.
LA FAMILLE BENOITON^
The point in this play that strikes the reader is the
timeliness of the subject. "La Famille Benoiton" was
produced November i8, 1865. It was in the heyday of
the Second Empire — when the third Napoleon was at the
height of his glory — immediately before the great Expost*
tion, when the rebuilt Paris of Baron Haussmann was
dazzling strangers from all over the world — when the great
fortunes amassed by the successful speculators of the time
were being squandered in luxury and dissipation. Such
was the extravagance of the new-rich, both men and women,
that it was the target of pen and pencil. The satirical
journals of the day swarm with jests levelled at rich men's
sons, at horsey heiresses, at the fast society men and
women who were found gambling at Trouville, betting at
Biarritz, and running racing stables at Longchamps. The
subject of fashionable frivolity was in the air. Already
several dramatists had coquetted with it. One was M.
Dumanoir in his " Toilettes Tapageuses." Another was
Henri Meilhac, who in " Les Curieuses " discussed the sub-
ject of feminine frivolity and extravagance in not too
delicate a manner.
Sardou saw in the subject good material for a play:
he decided to build it around a bourgeois father, suddenly
enriched in business, who believes in " up-to-date " methods
in educating his children. The results are shown in the
slangy, jaunty, and horsey Benoiton girls and what be-
falls them. This bourgeois father is M. Benoiton, who
has achieved fortune originally as a successful mattress-
maker, and subsequently by speculations on the Bourse.
1 Best-known English version entitled "A Fast Family."
203
204. THE SARDOU PLAYS
The play begins in the villa of the Benoitons, in one of
the pretty suburbs near Paris. There are several villas
there, separated not by walls, as is usual in France, but by
ornamental hedges, which make them in a way more
neighbourly than is customary. One of the villas adjacent
to that of the Benoitons is occupied by Mme. Qotilde, a
wealthy spinster, both witty and wise. Perhaps her main
fault is her desire to marry people — other people : not her-
self — she is too wise for that. She has on her hands an
old maid, Adolphine, whom she has despaired of marrying
off, and the first scene is a dialogue between the two, in
which much of the plot of the play is set forth.
There suddenly appears a cousin of Clotilde's, a Vis-
count de Champrose, who has stumbled on her villa through
pursuing at breakneck speed a pretty face framed in the
window of a carriage. Being a frank cousin, he explains
to Clotilde how he came to drop in upon her, and she con-
jectures that the face belongs to one of the pretty
Benoiton girls, and tells him the history of the family.
One of the daughters, Martha, is married. Her hus-
band, Didier, is a successful business man, who commits
the blunder of devoting himself entirely to business and
neglecting his wife. In consequence, his wife devotes her-
self entirely to fashions and frivolity, and neglects him.
She is foolish enough to take to gambling at fashionable
watering-places. While at Dieppe she loses at a gambling
salon, and is unable to pay her stake; the croupier and the
players are all expectantly looking at her, and she Js
crimson with mortification, when a stranger whispers to
her, " Madame, will you permit me to lend you the trifle
you need ? " With this, he places the requisite stake upon
the table, puts her arm in his, and leads her from the gaming
table. She learns that the gentleman to whom she is in-
debted is the Viscount de Champrose. She keeps this a
secret from her husband, and subsequently saves up her
LA FAMILLE BENOITON 205
pin-money until she has enough to pay the debt. She
meets the Viscount by appointment in the Tuileries Garden,
and gives him the money. This is their last meeting.
The Viscount falls in love with the third daughter,
Jeanne. He determines to present his suit to her father,
but the vulgarity of old Benoiton appalls him, as well as
the discovery that Benoiton is the man who has purchased
the ancient Champrose chateau and estates, and that he is
thinking seriously of utilizing the Viscount's ancestral por-
traits and baptizing them all Benoitons. He is further
dismayed to learn that his prospective father-in-law is a
mattress-maker. Even with all these drawbacks, he is so
much infatuated with the beauty and vivacity of Jeanne
that he would still attempt to make her his wife, but he is
alarmed at her frivolity, her recklessness, and her slang.
But his cousin Clotilde assures him that the girl has a
good heart, and endeavours to further the match.
The second daughter, Camille, is sought in marriage by
a M. Prudent Formichel, son of the capitalist Formichel,
who is a friend of the elder Benoiton. M. Prudent is
prudence personified, and thinks only of his future wife's
dowry. She is secretly loved by her cousin Stephen, a
clerk, and elopes with him. The elder Benoiton moves
heaven and earth to get hold of the errant daughter before
the marriage can take place, and in the meantime M.
Prudent increases the size of the dowry he expects. He
was to have had 200,000 francs with the lady. He informs
the father that if she is not returned before the next morn-
ing he must have 300,000 francs, and if she remains away
over night the. price will be 400,000 francs.
In the meantime, Adolphine, the old maid, suspects the
existence of an acquaintance between Champrose and
Martha. She investigates, finds suspicious circumstances,
and tells the whole story to Didier, the husband. He is
shocked and horrified; he believes that his wife is false to
206 THE SARDOU PLAYS
him, and that their child is not his, but Champrose's.
They have had a quarrel that very morning, as he has re-
fused to give her 5000 francs for some lace which she
wanted. Angered at his parsimony, as she calls it, she
orders and pays for the lace, which is sent home with the
receipted bill. The husband is there when it arrives. He
opens it, finds the receipt, and demands to know where
she got the money. The unfortunate woman hesitates, and
lies. She says she borrowed it from her father that morn-
ing. At that very moment old Benoiton enters. The hus-
band accosts him with, " Here are the 5000 francs my wife
borrowed from you." But Benoiton stares in surprise,
replying that she borrowed no money from him and he has
not seen her for several days. Thereupon the infuriated
Didier turns upon his wife, accusing her of having re-
ceived the money from Champrose, who is promptly chal-
lenged by him to a duel. Clotilde begs Champrose not to
fight. He says he must, as an honourable man, but until his
last breath he will assure the husband that he never met
his wife. Before the duel he confides to Clotilde a small
package of letters, which he says are from Martha to him ;
if he falls in the duel, Clotilde must destroy them. With
that he leaves the room, and Didier enters. He sees the
letters; he notices Clotilde's agitation; he taxes her with
knowledge of the intrigue of Martha and Champrose; he
demands that she show him the signature of one of the
letters to prove to him that they are not by his wife.
Driven to extremity, Clotilde throws the letters into the
fire, thereby confirming his belief that they are by his wife.
When Martha learns this, she bitterly reproaches Clotilde,
telling her that the letters were simply business documents
touching the repayment of a loan; that they proved her
complete innocence; that she was about to send to
Champrose, telling him to give them to her husband; that
LA FAMILLE BENOITON 207
now, as all proof of her innocence is destroyed, her husband
will leave her, and her life is wrecked.
The two unhappy spouses are finally brought together
by the grave illness of their daughter. She is at the point
of death. Clotilde tells the news to Didier and Champrose
at the same time, bidding Didier watch Champrose's face.
There is nothing on the Viscount's countenance but modified
regret. " Do you think that a father would look like that
when told of the impending death of his child?" she asks
of Didier. Clotilde finally brings the couple together by the
bedside of their child, and they are reunited. It is needless
to state that Jeanne marries Champrose, and that Cousin
Stephen marries Camille. Cousin Clotilde thus succeeds
in marrying everybody — everybody, that is, except
Adolphine.
DANIEL ROCHAT
The play begins at Ferney, near the Swiss frontier, in
the villa made famous by Voltaire. The one hundredth an-
niversary of the death of that great writer is about to be
celebrated. All are looking forward to an address by the
celebrated orator, Daniel Rochat, a French deputy, and one
of the leaders of free thought in France. But Daniel
Rochat is late. It is only known from the newspapers that
he has been travelling in Switzerland for the past three
weeks, incognito, accompanying two sisters, young Anglo-
American ladies. Lea and Esther Henderson. At least such
is the account given by Daniel himself to his secretary and
confidant, Dr. Bidache, one of those go-betweens in whose
dexterous hands even the most powerful politician at times
becomes a plaything, and at other times a productive invest-
ment.
Daniel Rochat has met the two American ladies by
chance. He has fallen in love with the elder. Lea. He has
not yet declared his love, and Lea does not know the true
name and identity of her chance acquaintance. She seems
devoid of narrow prejudice, and generous in praise of
liberty of speech and thought, as becomes a daughter of
free America. But Daniel asks himself, may not this Amer-
ican heiress become affrighted at the name and fame of
Rochat? For Daniel Rochat is not a free-thinker merely,
he is the adversary of all superstitions, the foe of all re-
ligions — for, to him, religion and superstition mean the
same thing. In a word, Daniel Rochat is an ardent atheist.
The hour for the oration has come. Daniel pronounces
an eloquent discourse before the bust of Voltaire, and it is
thus that the veil of his incognito is lifted for Lea. Fas-
cinated and subjugated by the eloquence of Daniel, she
208
DANIEL ROCHAT 209
listens first to his public speech, and then to a more private
one in which she accepts, with the declaration of his love,
the ofiEer of his hand and heart.
In the second act, all the personages of the play are in
the little city of Versoix, upon the lake of Geneva. At
first they are in the house of Mrs. Powers, the aunt of the
Henderson sisters; and subsequently we find them in the
country-house of one of her neighbours, a Swiss savant, M.
Guillaume Fargis.
This romantic marriage, so suddenly determined upon,
is to be celebrated at once, for Daniel has been urgently
summoned to Paris by his political friends to take part in
an important debate in the Chamber of Deputies. His
presence is considered absolutely indispensable. Daniel is
very happy. He has not thought it necessary to discuss
with Lea or her aunt the particular form of the wedding
ceremony; to him they both seem devoid of all attachment
to vain religious ceremonies, h^ce he is confident there
can be no occasion for disagreement on this point. He
arranges to have the Mayor of Versoix come to the hou.«e
of Mrs. Powers to carry out the legal forms of the civil
marriage, according to the Swiss code. While the docu-
ments are being filled out a very worldly conversation is
going on among the guests who are present for the wed-
ding; at the same time a rather frivolous young American
lady, Miss Arabella Bloomfield, is playing on the piano a
brilliant Hungarian melody. In fact, this civil marriage is
utterly devoid of solemnity. Lea herself signs the legal
documents with such an indifferent air as to astonish the
French and Swiss persons present.
Daniel takes her hands and expresses his profound joy.
" My dearest love, I was right in saying that this cere-
mony should take place quickly."
" Ceremony f" exclaims Lea, in surprise. " Ceremony !
oh! you mean the signing of the documents, I suppose?"
14
210 THE SARDOU PLAYS
At this moment there enters a stranger— a solemn per-
son, severely clad in garb of sober black, with a white
neckcloth.
"Who is this gentleman?" asks Rochat.
"Did not my aunt tell you?" replies Lea, tranquilly.
"This is Mr. Clarke, our pastor, who is to marry us at
the church."
Daniel is overwhelmed. He finds himself threatened
with a religious ceremony, for Lea's reply is most precise.
Although she has signed the documents brought by the
Mayor, she does not believe in the civil or legal ceremony,
and does not consider herself married.
After the wedding luncheon, during which Daniel is
gravely preoccupied, he holds a consultation with his friend
Fargis and Dr. Bidache. Fargis wisely counsels Daniel
to go to the church and be married, since Lea wishes it. But
Bidache opposes this vigorously. " It would be impos-
sible," says he, "for Daniel to enter a house of worship
to be married. His opinions, his writings, his speeches, his
past and his future — all forbid it. His constituency would
mock at him." Daniel agrees v«th Bidache. Fargis, how-
ever, insists that he must yield, and adds : " Do not commit
in your own household the unpardonable fault that you have
committed elsewhere. Do not raise the religious question
in your family." But Daniel is decided. He replies: "I
must make no concessions. The church holds our wives in
its leading strings. It controls them. It is time that such
men as I should give the church notice that we control our
wives."
It speedily becomes evident that Daniel does not realise
the importance which Lea attaches to the religious cere-
mony. He asks her to grant him an interview, in which he
lays before her his wishes. At first Lea is astonished. She
does not understand him. But when she does understand,
she flatly refuses to accede to his request. She is the
DANIEL ROCHAT 211
daughter of an English father and an American mother,
and she possesses the instincts of the two nations. Like
Daniel, she believes in freedom, but she believes in Christian
and not infidel freedom.
These two opposing natures become aggravated by con-
tradiction. When Daniel places himself in absolute nega-
tion. Lea endeavours all the more to hft him to the spiritual
regions of hope and faith. A rupture seems inevitable. At
last the storm bursts. Daniel publicly refuses to accompany
Lea to the church, and Lea refuses to follow him to his
home, affirming that she does not consider him as her hus-
band before God. There is no course left for Daniel but
to retire, threatening to make good his legal rights.
But by the time that evening has come, Daniel is so
unhappy that he pleads for an interview. Lea, however,
by reason of the lateness of the hour, refuses to grant him
an interview until the morning. Daniel then introduces
himself, clandestinely, into Lea's apartments. The husband,
mad with love and passion, endeavours to make her yield
herself to him as his wife, his true, his veritable wife, with
all that word implies. Lea feels her danger, she struggles
against it, but she also feels an ardent desire to give herself
to her husband-lover. Even in the midst of their delirium
of passion the discordance of their sentiments appears.
"Rest in my arms," cries Daniel, "here on my heart,
my dearest love, and I will make my love for you the only
religion of our life."
But Lea replies: "Do not blaspheme, Daniel. There
can be no true love without God."
" But," pleads Daniel, " you see that there can be such
a love, since I love you dearly." But Lea still resists him.
" Ah, you do not love me !" cries Daniel.
" Not love you ?" she eixclaims. " I not love you ? Ah,
Daniel, yours is only an earthly love. You love, and when
death comes all is over; but for me, this earthly life of
212 THE SARDOU PLAYS
love is not all; I desire you with the love of eternity. I
desire you not only here on earth, but after this life is over.
Yet you say that I do not love you! You speak of your
poor, short, earthly love, and compare it with mine — ^with
my love, which hopes to be eternal, with my love, which
has wings!"
Daniel, half vanquished, and dazzled with the myste-
rious obscurity of the nuptial chamber, which he sees
through the half-closed doors, at last gives way, and con-
sents to be married before the pastor, Mr. Clarke, in whose
neighbouring house the lights are still shining. They are
to be married without witnesses. Lea consents to this,
but Daniel demands more — ^he demands that their religious
marriage shall remain a secret.
But Lea refuses. "What? That I shall conceal the
fact that I am espoused to you before God, conceal it as a
shame? Do you think that I would associate myself with
such a cowardly lie? Never! Deny your faith, if you will,
I shall boast of mine."
All is over. Daniel refuses to yield, and leaves Lea
fainting on the floor.
On the following day the family and friends have come
to the conclusion that the unendurable situation must be
brought to an end. Dr. Bidache has discovered that, by
the Federal law of Switzerland, divorce can be granted for
so grave a cause as religious variance which might impair
the conjugal tie. For a time Daniel still hopes that they
may succeed in overcoming the difficulty, but neither will
yield. It is too late. The charm is broken. Lea under-
stands at last that she has been mistaken about Daniel,
and she believes that Daniel has been mistaken about her.
The divorce takes place, and the curtain falls upon disunited
lovers.
MADAME SANS-GENE
In 1893 took place the first production of " Mme. Sans-
Gene." For some time there had been tokens of a First
Empire craze. The taste of the day was inclining to Napo-
leonic literature, drama, furniture, pictures — everything, in
fact, of the period so long out of favour. Whether this was
due to the exhuming of long-buried memoirs of the Empire
times, or whether these memoirs were brought to light
because of the Empire fad, are open questions. Intense
interest had been aroused by the publication of the memoirs
of Baron de Marbot, one of the dashing young generals of
Napoleon. At about this time, also, there were published a
number of books concerning the private life of Napoleon
and his family, based upon letters and other documents not
before published. Among these were the many volumes
of Masson, Biagi, Levy, Jung, Vandal, and others.
The stage was feeling the effects of this Napoleonic
wave. At the Ambigu, Henri Fouquier had produced a
Napoleon play, and the scenes in which the great Em-
peror, his hands behind his back, stands silently watching
his soldiers march past, were received with great enthu-
siasm. At the Chateau D'Eau, a piece called " Mme. La
Marechale" — which treated of much the same group of
characters and incidents as " Mme. Sans-Gene " — ran to full
houses for over a hundred nights.
At last Sardou produced a play with a Napoleonic set-
ting. It speedily eclipsed all its rivals, and was the only
play of the Empire times which was produced in foreign
countries. It has been said of " Madame Sans-Gene " that
it is merely "an historic vaudeville." Yet it is painted on
an enormous canvas and contains some fifty roles. On the
first production its settings were so sumptuous that there
213
214 THE SAHDOU PLAYS
were not wanting those who said that its success was due to
the costumer, the scene painter, and the stage manager.
But the stage manager was Sardou himself, and he had
much to do with preparing even the scenes and the decora-
tions.
The playwright designedly cast his piece on spectacular
lines. There is no reason why a play should not please the
eye as well as the ear, and " Madame Sans-Gene " was a
delight to several senses. Sardou never considered his work
done when he had finished the text of his play. To him
a play was not only a literary work, but a living, palpitating
thing. The dialogue he looked upon as if it were a skele-
ton, which must be clothed with the flesh of action before
the play could live. Long before the first rehearsal he saw
the gestures, the movements, and the groupings of the
players; he saw the decorations, the costumes, and the
accessories of the stage. In his eyes these were elements of
the drama as vital as the dialogue. Hence his success with
the fifty characters and the enormous canvas of " Madame
Sans-Gene." Had he not possessed this peculiar gift of
materializing his plays as he was writing them, this par-
ticular piece would have been nothing but a succession of
historical tableaux loosely bound together.
In the play " Madame Sans-Gene " is the sobriquet of
Catherine Hubscher, a handsome laundress of the Rue St.
Anne. The first act takes place in her laundry on the ter-
rible loth of August, 1792. Danton and his mad rabble of
M'arseillais are taking the Tuileries. From time to time the
boom of cannon is heard, and the swarm of pretty laun-
dresses shiver with terror at their ironing tables. Catherine
is talking with one of her customers, a certain M. Fouche, a
gentleman who for the nonce has no other occupation than
that of making inflammatory speeches at political clubs.
From his conversation we learn that the patriots are be-
MADAME SANS-GENE 216
sieging the Tuileries, and that Sergeant Lefebvre, the lover
of Madame Sans-Gene, is with them.
The departure of customers and laundresses has left
Catherine alone. While she is still bolting and barring
doors and shutters a young Austrian officer, Count Neip-
perg, hotly pursued, wounded and bleeding, craves entrance
at her door and begs her to hide him. Catherine is good-
hearted and impulsive. She is moved to pity by the young
man's desperate peril, and she hides him in her bedroom.
At this moment a loud knocking is heard at the shutters.
It is Lefebvre with his powder-stained comrades. The ser-
geant warmly greets his sweetheart, and asks leave to go
into her chamber to wash his blackened hands. She hesi-
tates. He is surprised to find the door locked. It arouses
his suspicion; in his jealous rage he forces the door, goes
in, and immediately emerges, saying : " You were right —
there is no one there — ^you only wished to give me a lesson
for my absurd jealousy." But when his comrades have
gone he says : " Why did you not tell me that the man in
there is dead?" When she hears this, Catherine's emotion
is so evidently that of mere pity for a stricken stranger that
Lefebvre is at once reassured. The man, he tells her, is
not dead, but only desperately wounded. He shall be per-
mitted to escape, and Lefebvre will never again be jealous
of his Catherine.
In this prologue we learn incidentally that Catherine had
once done washing for a little Corsican lieutenant, bearing
the queer name of Buonaparte, who had just been retired
from the army. He was so poor that he could not pay his
laundry bill, therefore she had let it go unpaid. The famous
Fouche in this prologue appears so frank a rascal that
we are almost tempted to forgive him his rascality for his
frankness. So with the powder-stained patriots who, out-
numbering the king's body guard a hundred to one, have
just massacred them and sacked the Tuileries, they have
216 THE SARDOU PLAYS
such a patriotic air withal over their plundering that they,
too, are delightful.
After the prologue, nearly twenty years have elapsed
since the scene in Catherine's laundry. The little Corsican
lieutenant has become the Emperor Napoleon, and son-in-
law to the Emperor of Austria. Catherine has long been
the wife of Sergeant Lefebvre, who is now Marshal of
France and Duke of Dantzic. We are in the salon of the
Duchess, who is about to attend a grand court function at
the Chateau of Compiegne. She is endeavouring to learn
deportment, dancing, manners, how to make a curtsy, and
how to carry her train. She is surrounded by dancing-
masters, hair-dressers, music-teachers, dress-makers, bon-
net-makers, and boot-makers.
But although the sergeant husband has become Marshal
of France and Duke of the Empire, she apparently has not
risen to the level of her fortune. Her essays in manners
are farcical. She wears an astonishing costume in violent
contrast to the beautiful gowns of the court ladies who
come to her reception later, and she makes mistakes for
which she is taken to task by the Emperor's sisters. Queen
Caroline and the Princess Elisa. They are mortified over
her blunders at court, and angry at her honest denunciation
of courtly immorality. A wordy war ensues, in which
Catherine shows that she has not lost her ready wit or her
bitter tongue.
Amusing as is this scene, it is a surprising thing that
this clever laundress should have become a Duchess without
losing her washerwoman ways. She is depicted as being
awkward, slangy, and ill at ease. Despite the legends con-
cerning her easy ways and familiar language as a duchess,
it seems incredible that she should not have kept up to the
level of Napoleon's parvenu court. Still, her pitched battle
with the imperial princesses, the sisters of Napoleon, is
highly comic.
MADAME SANS-GENE 217
From the spectacular point of view this scene is most
striking. The Bonapartes were noted for personal beauty,
and the actors and actresses in the Paris production were
chosen for their good looks. The beautiful women with
their gorgeous gowns, the handsome men in the brilliant
uniforms of the day, the rigjid settings of the First Empire
framework — all this together made a striking stage picture.
The manners of the laundress-duchess are too much for
the Emperor. He sends for Marshal Lefebyre, and works
himself into a rage over his wife's shortcomings. He de-
nounces her for her clumsiness and her slang; finally, he
tells Lefebvre that she has not only made herself ridiculous
but the imperial court as well. He closes the interview by
informing the Duke that if he would retain the imperial
favour, he had better divorce the Duchess and that at once.
This unpleasant interview is related to the Duchess by
her husband on his return. She listens to him with a mix-
ture of rage and alarm.
" And you let him say that to you ?" she demands. " If
he had proposed divorce to me, do you think that I would
have tamely submitted? Rather than leave the man by
whose side I have been for so many years, in sickness and
in health, through poverty and in riches, I would have told
him to take his Duchy, his court, his marshal's baton, and
go to tophet with them. That's what I'd have said if he had
dared talk divorce to me."
" Would you ?" says the crafty Lefebvre, who is playing
upon her feelings. "Is that what you would have said?
Well, that's exactly what I told him." And the impulsive
Duchess hurls herself into the arms of her rude Duke and
weeps upon his epaulette, while they are linked in an em-
brace as lusty as in the days when he was a sergeant and she
a washerwoman.
The Duchess is convinced that the sisters of Napoleon
are at the bottom of these intrigues, and that they are poi-
219 THE SARDOU PLAYS
sorting the Emperor's mind against her. She consults
Fouche, the ex-chief of police, who is friendly to her. He
tells her that she is right in her suspicions about the Em-
peror's sisters, but warns her to keep her temper and to
hold her tongue. She follows his advice by flying into a
terrible rage when she meets the two sisters, and accusing
them of violating the seventh commandment. She is sum-
moned to appear before the Emperor.
In the third act the Emperor is seated in his library at
Compiegne. He is attended by the Duke of Rovigo, his
chief of police, by Constant, his man-servant, by Roustan,
his mameluke, and by a large and brilliant gathering of
officers. The Emperor's sisters. Queen Caroline and Prin-
cess Elisa, soon apply for a private audience, and the Court
is dismissed. A family scene ensues. The sisters inform
their brother that his wife, Marie Louise, is unfaithful to
him, and that Neipperg, the Austrian, is her paramour.
The Emperor flies into a rage, and bitterly reproaches his
sisters. The princesses angrily defy their brother, who tells
them he has taken them out of the gutter. Their voluble
scolding impels them to such chance-medley anger that they
finally attack each other ; they drop French and fall into the
picturesque patois of their Corsican youth; they hurl pun-
gent epithets in French, Italian, and Corsican. The Em-
peror himself suddenly relapses into the vigorous language
of their childhood. The Bonaparte family's dirty linen is
washed with great vigour in the midst of imperial splendour
and solemn pomp. Finally the Emperor loses all self-con-
trol, and chases the imperial princesses from his presence
with the poker and tongs.
Madame Sans-Gene arrives on the heels of this scene,
forewarned of the expected storm. It breaks upon her at
once. Being in the vein by reason of his little family jar,
the Emperor launches upon her all manner of invective. He
reproaches her with lack of ease and lack of breeding; he
MADAME SANS-GENE 219
bitterly complains that " she cannot turn around without
falling over her train " ; he accuses her of having brought
ridicule upon his court by her camp manners. He tells her
that it must stop, and the only way to stop it is to divorce
her from the Duke of Dantzic. She replies with spirit, as
her husband has replied. The Emperor continues to
grumble, the Duchess continues to defend herself. She
declares that if she has spoken rudely to the imperial prin-
cesses it was because "they began it by sneering at the
army." This arouses the Emperor. His loyalty to his army
and his comradeship for the Duchess begin at once to pierce
through his mask. He cross-questions Madame Sans-Gene
as his manner softens. She enumerates her campaigns with
the armies of the Moselle, the Vosges, and the Rhine. She
tells of her wound at the battle of Wagram, for she was
then a vivandiere. The Emperor by turns smiles and grows
thoughtful as she eloquently recapitulates his glory and his
triumphs. He finishes by taking a pinch of snuff and pinch-
ing her ear, as was his wont with those who pleased him.
The Duchess becomes emboldened at his change, and she
dares to tell him that they are old acquaintances ; that when
he was a lieutenant she washed for him, and as he was too
poor to pay her, there still remains an unsettled laundry
bill of sixty francs. If (says the Duchess) he is about to
divorce her from her husband and drive her from the
court, she will need money ; therefore, she begs him to pay
his twenty-year-old wash bill. The amused Emperor be-
gins to haggle over the size of the bill, but the Duchess
refuses to reduce it, and tells him that he still owes her
"three Napoleons." There is a curious touch at the end
of the scene, which shows the animal nature of the Emperor.
He has kissed the hand of the Duchess and is examining
an old scar upon her rounded arm, when he suddenly seems
to notice that the sometime vivandiere is still plump and
pretty. He proceeds to linger over the caress, but receives
THE SARDOU PLAYS
a sharp rebuke, for the laundress-duchess is still faithful
to her husband-lover, and, unlike some higher-bom ladies,
her fidelity does not yield even to an Emperor.
The next scene is in Napoleon's cabinet. It is midnight.
The Emperor hears a noise near the private apartment of
the Empress, Marie Louise. He has the lights extinguished,
and his faithful mameluke Roustan seizes in the darkness
Count Neipperg, who is making his way to the Empress's
chamber. Napoleon is doubly furious — ^as husband and as
Emperor. Sardou's iconoclastic humour is shown in this
scene, wherein Napoleon is depicted in his night-clothes
crazed with jealousy, and raving like a jealous bourgeois
husband. He so bitterly abuses Neipperg that the Aus-
trian draws his sword upon the Emperor. Napoleon at
once gives orders that he be shot in secret. But Madame
Sans-Gene, who has already once saved Neipperg's life,
saves him again, partly to prevent another crime from
being laid at her imperial master's door. In the end,
Madame Sans-Gene and Fouche devote themselves to
clearing the Empress's name from the stain of the suspected
liaison with Neipperg. This they succeed in doing, and at
once bundle the adventurous Austrian out of the country.
LA TOSCA
The play opens in Rome, in the year 1800, in the church
of St. Andrea. The young painter, Mario Cavaradossi, is
only half Italian, his mother being French. He is a pupil
of David and inclined toward Jacobinism. He is working
at a fresco in the church. Suddenly a man appears coming
from one of the chapels of the church. He is a political
refugee, one of the defenders of the Parthenopean Re-
public.^
The refugee is Cesare Angelotti, condemned to death,
who, the night before, succeeded in escaping from Castle
St. Angelo, aided by his sister, the Marquise Attavanti.
She has left for him in the chapel of the church of Saint
Andrea a woman's attire, including gown, mantle, and fan.
Note the fan. The artist places himself at the disposal of
the refugee Cesare. He offers to conceal him in his villa
in the environs of Rome.
While Cesare is disguising himself in the chapel. La
Tosca, the celebrated singer, comes to visit Mario, who is
her lover.
She piously offers flowers to the Madonna to secure
pardon for amorous peccadilloes, yet under the indulgent
eyes of this Italian virgin she coquettes with her lover. She
scolds Mario for his lack of piety while she toys with his
moustache. She flies into a fit of jealous anger because to
the Magdalene painted on the wall he has given the features
of the Marquise Attavanti. Why has he given the blue eyes
of the Marquise to the Magdalene? Cannot a Magdalene
have black eyes like those of La Tosca herself? In her
"This was the new title given to the Kingdom of Naples in
1799 by the French. It lasted only 5 months; the monarchy was
then restored by a loyalist rising.
221
THE SARDOU PLAYS
gaiety, in her anger, even in her jealousy, the cantatrice is
infinitely charming. At last the artist Mario succeeds in
appeasing his mistress, and she leaves the church. Just as
she leaves, Baron Scarpia, the chief of police, arrives, but
too late. The refugee Cesare has had time to disguise him-
self and to hide. But he has forgotten the fan, and Scarpia
picks it up.
That evening Scarpia shows the fan to La Tosca at a
fete which is given at the Farnese Palace, where she is to
sing. The jealousy of La Tosca is aroused. She remembers
that Mario had told her he intended to pass the night in
his villa. No doubt, thinks the jealous woman, he is there
now with the Marquise. La Tosca immediately hastens
thither. Scarpia and his men have only to follow the
jealous woman, who thus puts them upon the track.
We must pass over here a host of agreeable and in-
genious details, such as the Te Deum sung in the church
to celebrate the victory that Melas has just achieved over
Bonaparte at Marengo; the swarm of brilliant butterfly
costumes in the Farnese Palace ; the witty dialogue between
the worthy Marquis Attavanti and his wife's cavaliere ser-
vante. Not the least interesting of these incidents is that
in the middle of the festival a dispatch from General Melas
announces that it is not he, but Bonaparte, who, toward the
close of the day, has conquered at Marengo.
At the period when the play opens (June, 1800), the
troops and the police were occupying Rome after the fall
of the Parthenopean Republic. It was the eve of the battle
of Marengo. The time was an ugly one ; the court a cor-
rupt one. The Naples government was noted for the re-
fined cruelty of its agents. Emma Lyon, become Lady
Hamilton, controlled the Queen absolutely. To wear the
hair cut short in the fashion of the French Republic was
punished by death. Torture was common. Mammone, a
bloodthirsty gentleman who loved human heads as articles
LA TOSCA 223
of ornament, was a person in authority. It was a bloody
time. According to Sardou, Judge Trobridge sends to
Lord St. Vincent the head of a Jacobin neatly packed in a
box, and excuses himself for not having favoured Lord
Nelson with a similar gift because the weather was too hot
for it to keep. All this goes on amidst gallantries almost
incredible even at the end of the eighteenth century. Can-
nibals in powdered hair, barbarians in silk stockings — such
are the types of personages which the playwright presents
to his audience.
In the third act La Tosca, wild with jealousy, bursts into
the villa where Mario has concealed Cesare Angelotti. Her
lover convinces her of her error, and repenting of her haste
and her jealousy, she falls on her knees and begs his par-
don. But Scarpia and his spies have followed her. At
this very moment they knock at the door. Cesare is there ;
he is disguised as a woman, with clothing borrowed from
his sister, the blue-eyed Marquise. He is suddenly con-
cealed in a secret hiding place. This refuge is known only
to his host, the painter Mario, and the mistress of that host.
They are the only two who can deliver him to the police.
The Chief of Police, Scarpia, demands that Mario shall be-
tray to him where Cesare is concealed. Mario refuses.
Scarpia has Mario taken behind a screen and put to the
torture. His head is bound in a steel band with three points
which are pressed into the temples by means of screws.
Scarpia knows that Mario, even under the torture, will not
deliver up Cesare, but he also knows that La Tosca will
speak rather than permit her lover to endure the awful trial.
The unfortunate woman resists for some minutes. From
behind the screen comes the strangely altered voice of Mario,
half choked with pain, bidding her be silent. But Scarpia
orders an additional turn of the screw, and then the victim
utters so horrible a cry that La Tosca lets fall the secret
which betrays Cesare.
THE SARDOU PLAYS
After the avowal of La Tosca, Mario is brought in,
pale as death, his forehead bearing bleeding wounds. But
the torture has been futile — Cesare, when he heard the
approach of the police, took poison, and his dead body was
all they found. " Drag it away !" cries Scarpia ; " throw the
corpse into the dungheap, and take the living man to the
scaffold." A faint sound is heard — ^it comes from La Tosca,
who has fallen senseless to the floor.
In the fourth act we find Scarpia seated at a sumptuous
supper in his apartments in Castle Saint Angelo. He has
La Tosca brought before him. She heaps upon him insults
and imprecations. Her passion arouses his desire. He de-
mands of her, more beautiful in her rage, if she wishes to
save her lover. He tells her at what price. He whispers
it in her ear. She cries, " Never !" and recoils, but he
pursues her around the chamber with lust shining hateful
in his eyes. " Then your lover shall die," he says with a
wrathful scowl. At last La Tosca consents to Scarpia's
bargain. It is agreed that he shall order Mario to be shot,
but that the guns of the firing squad shall contain only
blank cartridges. La Tosca bids him draw up the order
to this effect, likewise a safe-conduct for her and Mario.
But the moment he has finished the writing she seizes a
knife from the supper-table and plunges it into his heart.
As the bleeding body falls backward to the floor, she wipes
her hands on the table-cloth, arranges her dishevelled attire,
places a crucifix on the dead man's breast, puts candles
around him, kneels by his side a moment in prayer, and
then disappears through the door.
In the fifth act La Tosca has gone to Mario, who is in
the condemned cell. She relates to him all that she has said
and done and how she has arranged to save his life. But the
soldiers come, and he is led away. From without, she
hears the crash of muskets. With a joyful cry she goes to
find her lover, who she believes is pretending death.
LA TOSCA 225
The last scene is on the terrace of Castle St. Angelo,
where the execution has taken place. La Tosca comes,
feverishly searching for her lover, whom she still believes
to be alive. But Scarpia has deceived her — he did not give
the order he had promised — ^the soldiers had loaded their
muskets with ball. La Tosca sees before her only the
bleeding body of her lover. With a wild cry she leaps
from the lofty parapet of Castle St. Angelo and is drowned
in the turbid Tiber.
15
THERMIDOR
It is curious how little even experienced critics can fore-
tell the reception of a play. Francisque Sarcey witnessed
the dress rehearsal of "Thermidor" without the faintest
idea of the trouble which the play would cause. Writing
on the 2d of February, 1891, he discussed the dress re-
hearsal. These rehearsals in Paris are largely attended by
critics, other journalists, actors, managers, officials of the
various ministries, and privileged persons generally. Fre-
quently at a rehearsal there will be an audience of several
hundred persons. At the " Thermidor " rehearsal Sarcey
was present, and saw no promise of potential trouble ; even
the first representation, according to his accoimt, passed
off without any noticeable excitement. M. Qemenceau was
present, and Sarcey heard him jest about the length of
some of the political harangues in the play, but without ex-
pressing any particular animosity. This is notable, as M.
Qemenceau was subsequently regarded as a ringleader in
the riotous manifestations against the play.
The first representation took place on a Saturday. The
manager of the leading theatre at Nice had invited the
Paris critics to visit the southern city to witness the first
representation of Emile Blavet's "Richard III." The
critics had consented, on condition that the date of the
"Richard III." production be postponed until immediately
after the premiere of " Thermidor." This was done, and
on the morrow of the' " Thermidor " production the group
of critics left for Nice, all unsuspicious of the coming
quarrel. Little did they think that the play they had just
witnessed would turn out to be a veritable powder-maga-
zine, whose explosion would shake the Comedie-Frangaise,
and almost blow the ministry from power.
226
THERMIDOR 227
When the critics arrived at Nice they were rendered
speechless with surprise by the receipt of telegrams from
Paris speaking of " grave disorders over ' Thermidor.' "
They carefully compared notes, but their united recollections
could call up nothing in the play calculated to lead to
civic disorder. They finally concluded that a small knot of
rowdies or practical jokers had attempted to disturb the
audience, and that their efforts had resulted in a panic.
But the telegrams continued to come, and continued to grow
more threatening. Sarcey admits that he was one of the
optimists, and maintained that the third representation
(coming, as it did, on a Tuesday) would settle all disorder;
that the Tuesday audience at the Comedie-Frangaise is the
famous " Tout Paris " ; that on Tuesdays the spectators are
made up of the fine flower of Paris; that there would be
absolutely no places at the disposition of the populace except
in the third gallery, and there half a dozen police agents
could maintain order. But, to the amazement of his con-
freres and the discomfiture of Sarcey, the usual Tuesday
performance at the Comedie did not take place, for the
Monday night turned out to be a pitched battle fought out
with fists and canes. Therefore, the Government decided
to prohibit the further production of " Thermidor."
Like the classical tragedies, the drama of " Thermidor "
takes place in a single day — ^in fact, in less than the classical
twenty-four hours. It begins with the break of dawn; it
is ended before night-fall. This rapidity of the action is
itself in accordance with historical verity, for the play is
intended to show us the workings of the Reign of Terror,
and in that bloody time a single day often sufficed for the
arrest, the judgment, and the execution of the victim.
The dominant idea of " Thermidor " is new to the
stage. It is the denunciation of a young girl to the Revolu-
tionary Tribunal. In spite of the effort made to save her —
of which she refuses to avail herself because she considers
THE SARDOU PLAYS
the means dishonorable — she goes to the tumbril. Sardou
evidently asked himself what, in that terrible time, could
have been the most heroic form of sacrifice ; and he replied
through his play that nothing can surpass the courage of a
young girl who lays down her life rather than lose her
good name.
The first scene is laid on the bank of the Seine. On the
right is a place where washerwomen congregate. At the
back, across the arches of the bridge, are to be seen the
tangled streets of old Paris. To this spot on the river bank,
Chance, the playwright's trusty henchman, conducts the
principal personages of the drama. First comes the actor,
Labussiere, who is the pivot of the piece. This soft-hearted
player abominates the crimes of the Revolution, but he must
needs look to his own head, at an epoch when heads were
so lightly fixed upon men's shoulders. The ingenious
Labussiere has, therefore, found a means of saving his own
head, and at the same time contriving to succour those of
his friends whose heads are in danger. To accomplish this,
he has donned a tiger's skin — ^that is to say, he has accepted
a position in the office of the Committee of Public Safety,
one of the branches of the Revolutionary Tribunal. Thus
there pass through his hands the dossiers or indictments
which condemn the victims to the guillotine. Labussiere
spends his time in going over these documents, mislaying
some, and making away with those of the most helpless vic-
tims. Fearing to leave any trace of them, he secretes the
papers, soaks them in water, converts them into pulp, and
when it is dark, goes to the river bank to throw them into
the Seine. Such is his errand on this particular morning.
The next person to appear is a young officer, Martial
Hugon, who has returned from the wars, detailed to bring
back to the Convention some captured flags. This brilliant
young soldier has fallen in love. He has a romantic adven-
THERMIDOR 229
ture to relate. He has succoured a young girl whom he
found fainting in the snow. He has learned from her that
her name is Fabienne Lecoulteux. She has just left a
convent, and, being the sister of a rebel, she was, as such,
suspected and persecuted. Martial has placed her with a
female relative of his, where he thought she would be
secure. Naturally, the only thing to do was to fall in love
with her, which he at once did. The young couple ex-
changed vows to wed. Martial was then obliged to rejoin
his command in the field, and not long after he was reported
dead on the field of battle. But he was not dead, although
desperately wounded. He has returned to Paris, but finds
that Fabienne has disappeared. He searches for his sweet-
heart throughout the great city, but in vain.
The third person to appear on the scene is the young
girl. We have already learned that the river bank is fre-
quented by washerwomen. At this moment they come
trooping in. There is evidently some excitement among
them — ^there are sounds of loud jeers and mocking voices.
They are pursuing and harassing a young girl, one of their
number, and mocking her because she is a " fine lady," an
" aristocrat," and because she has white hands. Increasing
in their fury, they finally shriek-, " To the river ! throw her
into the river !" It is Fabienne. Martial Hugon recognises
her, and rushes to save her from the fury of these viragoes.
But he would not succeed were it not for the assistance of
the good Labussiere. The actor shows to the eyes of the
startled washerwomen an official badge on which are these
words: "French Republic, Committee of Public Safety."
The effect is magical — ^the mob respectfully falls back, and
makes way for Labussiere and his proteges.
It is in this act that the great political dialogue takes
place between Martial and Labussiere. It draws a contrast
between the hopes of 1789 and the realities of 1793, and is
a bitter and stinging indictment of the French Revolution.
230 THE SARDOU PLAYS
It is this part of the play which caused such intense ex-
citement, and which threatened to bring on a riot at the
time of its first production.
The second act opens in the costumer's establishment of
Madame Berillon. Her husband is a recognised type of
the times, known as " the trembler " — a good-hearted man
whom the Terror has terrified into pretending to be a revolu-
tionary ruffian. He has debaptised himself and his family,
and has taken the classical name of " Casca." He is just
equipping himself, putting on his red liberty cap, and
girding on his great sabre, to go and attend the meeting
of his " Revolutionary Section." The good-hearted
Labussiere brings to the establishment of Madame Berillon
his two friends, the young lovers. She receives them hos-
pitably, and all sit down to a bounteous meal. There the
story of Fabienne is told. Martial's female relative, fear-
ing to keep her longer, as she is a " suspect," had turned
her into the street. Fabienne thought at first of asking
a refuge from an old servant of her family, who is married,
and whose husband. Heron, holds a government position;
but the husband offered her insulting attentions, which
drove her from this house, and she went back to the con-
vent. But even here the anger of the baffled libertine.
Heron, has followed her, and the question is whether she
shall flee to the frontier with Martial. As the lovers are
warmly discussing this question, a tumult is heard from the
street. They go to the windows. A mob is there, dancing
the Carmagnole around a squad of soldiers who are escort-
ing to prison the nuns from Fabienne's convent. Fabienne
shows herself at the window and cries out, " I am she
whom you seek. I am Fabienne Lecoulteux, in religion
Sister Marie Madeleine."
The third act takes place in one of the rooms of the
Louvre. Upon the walls are shelves on which repose vast
masses of documents. It is Labussiere's office. There is
THERMIDOR 231
a great rushing of officials to and fro, for there is a meeting
of the Convention to be held to-day. When all have gone,
Labussiere brings in Martial. Together they go over the
indictments which must be sent to the Revolutionary Tri-
bunal that very day before 3 o'clock. The Tribunal sits
for two hours ; at 5 o'clock the tumbrils take the victims to
the guillotine. While they are looking over these papers,
and remarking on the frivolous charges for which men's
heads are falling, the patriot Marteau comes in, bearing a
special and supplementary indictment. To the horror of
Martial and Labussiere, they read on this new indictment
the name of Fabienne. She has been arrested; she will be
taken before the Tribunal within the hour; her condemna-
tion is certain.
Martial and Labussiere are stunned. The two men face
an awful problem which seems incapable of solution. How,
by what means, by what miracle can they succeed in saving
Fabienne? The time is passing, the seconds are slowly
ticking away, while they are torturing themselves, advanc-
ing ideas which are rejected as soon as proposed. But
they can think of nothing. Yes, there is one means, atro-
cious as it seems. It would be to substitute for Fabienne's
death-warrant another's passport into eternity. Martial,
who loves her, can think of nothing but the safety of
Fabienne, and he begs Labussiere not to recoil at this des-
perate attempt. If it is a crime, he says, he will take the
responsibility. Besides, death for death, is it not better to
compass the death of an unknown ? Vanquished at last by
Martial's ardent supplications', Labussiere goes to the shelf
where are the death-warrants under the letter L. He
finds three bearing the name Lecoulteux. He looks around
like a thief, takes them from their case, and places them
on the table. They examine the three. The first is that of
a man of eighty years. This would be futile — ^blinded by
blood as is the Revolutionary Tribunal, the executioners
THE SARDOU PLAYS
would quickly notice the substitution. Another is that of
a woman of forty-two, but she has two children. Labussiere
refuses to consider the sacrifice of a mother, who would
thus leave her children alone in the world. The third is that
of a woman of twenty-six.
" Here is what we want," cries Martial. " She is
twenty-six and Fabienne is twenty-two. Read, Labussiere !
She is a strumpet — she has been the mistress of a lord.
She is a low creature."
" Yes," solemnly replies Labussiere, " but she is a human
creature."
This scene works powerfully on the nerves of its partici-
pants, but the tension is suddenly relieved by the irruption
of an excited crowd into the room. They have just returned
from the Convention. They tell of the fall of Robespierre.
The Reign of Terror is ended. In their joy over the news,
Labussiere and Martial forget their project of substitution.
There is no longer need of it.
The fourth act takes place in the great hall of the Con-
ciergerie, which may still be seen to-day on the right of the
great staircase in the Palace of Justice. Robespierre has
fallen, but none the less the Tribunal continues its bloody
work. Fabienne is named among the unfortunates who are
just about to quit the prison for the scaffold. At the doors,
on the staircase, lining the walls, a menacing crowd hurls
insults at the victims. But Labussiere and Martial have not
lost all hope. There exists for women a means of post-
poning their execution; it is to declare themselves with
child. The good Labussiere obtains from one of the jailers
the formal document used in such cases. He fills in the
blanks. All it lacks is the signature of Fabienne. The
two men beg her to sign it. " Is this a time to haggle over
means when one is face to face with the guillotine?"
The fickle mob suddenly becomes interested in Fabienne.
" What, execute a young citizeness that way ? — a pretty
THERMIDOR 233
girl who has been a little gay, and who is going to become
a mother? No, no!" The mob is partly pitying, partly
amused, partly jeering. "No, no! Let her go back to her
cell, and have her baby."
But Fabienne, wild with indignation, refuses the scorn-
ful gage. " They have lied, lied atrociously ! This man is
not my lover. Do not insult a modest girl. Let me rather
be a martyr than dishonoured." And she is taken away,
with the others, to the guillotine. Maddened and frenzied,
the hapless lover. Martial, precipitates himself on the sol-
diers to drag her from them. They fire upon him, and he
falls dead as his sweetheart goes to the scaffold.
FEDORA
The play begins at St. Petersburg, in the bachelor
apartment of Captain Vladimir Garishkine, son of the
Minister of Police. The Captain, although still young, has
led a reckless life in all the capitals of Europe, but he has
finally been recalled to the Russian Court, with the pros-
pect before him of filling high places in the employ of the
State. Therefore he has decided to forswear sack and live
cleanly — to mend his reckless ways of living, and to repair
his shattered fortunes by wedding a young and rich widow.
Princess Fedora Romazoff.
This we learn in the first act from the conversation be-
tween the Captain's valet and the jeweller Tchileff, who has
come to deliver a piece of diamond jewelry.
But the Captain does not return, although it is already
late. The Princess Fedora calls to ask for him, and is sur-
prised at this prolonged absence. Her surprise soon
changes into anxiety. Disquiet reigns in the Russian capi-
tal, which is ever terrorized by the secret workings of the
nihilists. At this moment a police officer, one Gretch,
appears, bringing Vladimir, but in a deplorable condition
— he has been frightfully wounded, and is dying. The
scene is a striking one — ^the chamber of the dying man,
with the white-bloused surgeons going to and fro by the
dim lamplight in the midst of the weeping servants.
The Princess determines to overcome her sorrow and
learn the truth about her murdered lover. But the police
can tell her nothing. Vladimir has been found dying, in a
deserted house in a solitary suburb. His servants are
interrogated, but all they know is that the Captain had
received that morning a letter brought by a woman. He
said at once, " I will go," and threw the letter into a desk
234
FEDORA 235
drawer. The Princess opens the desk and searches fever-
ishly, but finds nothing. The letter has disappeared —
stolen doubtless, but by whom? Evidently by the person
who led him into the ambuscade. But who has entered
the house? Only two persons. The jeweller Tchileff is
one, but this worthy person was not near the desk, and had
not been left alone for a single moment. The second person
is a gentleman who had called two or three times upon
Vladimir. It is Count Loris Ipanoff . It is then remembered
that Count Loris had seated himself at the desk under the
pretext of writing a line to the absent Captain. Probably
it was he who opened the drawer and took the letter.
Therefore, it is Count Loris who was the assassin of
Vladimir, and as Vladimir was the son of the Minister of
Police, evidently the crime is due to the nihilists. Upon
the imperious orders of the Princess Fedora, the police
hasten hot-foot to the Ipanoff palace, to seize the Count.
As they are leaving, Vladimir Garishkine, in the midst of
his sobbing servitors, yields up the ghost. The curtain
falls.
The second act takes us to Paris. Here we are intro-
duced into the home of the Countess Olga Soukarefl, an
aristocratic person, who is very young, very pretty, very
coquettish, very naive, and very depraved. As a critic
said of her, she delighted to mix nihilism with her dissipa-
tion — ^to mingle pearl powder with nitro-glycerine. The
exiled Count Loris Ipanoff is one of the habitues of her
salon. There he meets the Princess Fedora. The Princess
has devoted her life to the discovery of her lover's assassin.
She pretends to have been disgraced and exiled from St.
Petersburg, and under this mask she secretly directs the
movements of the Russian spies who have been sent to
Paris to watch the nihilists. Count Loris is the object of
their particular attention. Nevertheless, the Princess, for
whom Count Loris betrays a dawning sentiment of love,
236 THE SARDOU PLAYS
feels no repulsion for him. On the contrary, it would
rather seem as if she loved him, and as if she wished to
believe in his innocence.
The sudden avowal of his love by Count Loris entirely
lulls the suspicions of Fedora. She allows herself to be
wooed, she lends a more assenting ear than she herself
suspects to the love pleadings of the Count. But when
she pretends to him that she has been pardoned by the
Czar, and proposes to Count Loris that he should return
with her to Russia, he admits to her without hesitation that
it is impossible, for he is exiled under the suspicion of a
dreadful crime.
" What crime ? " she asks.
" The death of a man."
"Whatman?"
" He was called Vladimir Garishkine."
" But this charge cannot be true — it is not true ! "
" Yes, it is true."
Thus the Princess finds herself face to face with her
lover's murderer, confronting the man whom she has sworn
to send to the scaffold. She tries to denounce him as an
assassin, but she feels that in her heart she loves him, and
in the struggle and turmoil of her contending emotions she
cannot tell which will have sway, her vengeance or her
love. Restraining her emotions, she begs Count Loris to
relate to her the cause and the details of the murder. But
Count Loris objects that it is neither the time nor the place
for such a confidence ; that they are in the house of a third
person, and that such a confession cannot be made under
such circumstances and in a few words. " True," replies
Fedora. " I will return to my home, and shall await you
there."
In the third act we find Fedora in her own house, on
the Cours-La-Reine, which skirts the River Seine. It
fronts on one of the most deserted of all the river quays of
FEDORA 237
Paris. She has given secret instructions to the Russian
police spy, Gretch, and his agents. They are told that
Count Loris will enter by the river gate of the garden,
which he will find unlocked. When theiir interview shall
have ended, and when the Princess shall have learned from
him all she wishes to know, she will let him out by the main
vestibule. There, the Russian police posted upon the pier
will spring upon him, bind him, gag him, drag him to a
swift steam yacht moored at the quay, and from there the
yacht will dart down the river to Havre, where Count Loris
will be placed on board of a Russian ship of war. "At
that hour of the night," says officer Gretch philosophically,
" the police of Paris will not bother us."
If the Count should resist, they are to kill him. This
is the order from St. Petersburg, for the Minister of Police
desires to put an end to his son's assassin. The Princess
has already sent to the Minister of Police the names of
two supposed accomplices of the nihilist Loris, a Russian
named Platon Sokoleff, who has come bearing a letter to
Count Loris from his brother, and the Count's brother
himself.
Count Loris arrives at Fedora's house at last. He has
just received terrible news. His brother's letter tells him
that he has been condemned in contumaciam, and that all
his property has been confiscated. So it means exile for
life. Never again will he see his brother, or the old mother
whom he loves so fondly, and whose eyes he will not be
permitted to close. " Ah," he cries, " if I could only find
out who has denounced me, who it is that is pursuing me
even in Prance, who has set this crowd of spies on my
heels! After all, there is but one thing that could turn
suspicion towards me — it is the disappearance of the letter
from Vladimir's desk — ^the letter which I took from there.
Who could have fallen on this clue? Who has set the
police on my track with such suddenness that it was only
238 THE SARDOU PLAYS
due to a lucky chance that I was not arrested even in my
mother's sight and that I had barely time to flee? Ah, if
I knew this accursed spy, the author of all my misfortunes,
I would kill— kill— kill! "
Fedora trembles and turns pale under this shower of
threats. But what matters it, since within an hour she shall
have avenged the death of Vladimir? But she must lead
Count Loris to recite the scene of the murder. She utters
the word "Nihilist!"
" Nihilist ?— I a nihilist ! " cries Count Loris. " Never ! "
" But did you not kill Vladimir? "
" Yes, but it was for revenge, and in loyal duel. He
had seduced my wife. I surprised them in the isolated
house which hid their guilty loves. He fired, and wounded
me. I returned his fire, and he fell dead."
" Your wife ! " cries Fedora ; " Vladimir the lover of
your wife ? Prove it ! "
" There is nothing easier." And Count Loris shows to
Fedora letters in which Vladimir assures the Countess
Loris of his eternal love, at the same time mocking at the
Princess Fedora, saying that he meant to wed her only
to repair his shattered fortunes.
This terrible recital so excites Fedora that when the
Count tells how he turned his revolver on Vladimir, she
shrieks, " Yes, kill him, kill him ! " as if she herself were
in reality present at the bloody scene.
Count Loris, quivering with excitement, wishes to go.
He fears that his prolonged presence in her house might
compromise the Princess. Fedora does not wish him to
go, for the Russian spies are in ambuscade at her door,
waiting to fall upon their prey. But she cannot reveal to
him the snare which awaits his footsteps, so she yields
herself to him, and Loris does not leave until the break
of day.
It would seem as if the end of this night of terror and
FEDORA 239
of love would lead to the legitimate union of Count Loris
and the Princess Fedora. But the blind hatred with which
the Princess has pursued the murderer of Vladimir has
engendered fatal consequences. The Minister of Police,
Garishkine, father of Vladimir, has been hurled from
power by a Court intrigue. The Emperor has signed the
pardon of Loris, but before his fall Garishkine had time
partially to slake his savage revenge. He had the brother
of Count Loris arrested as a nihilist, and secretly drowned
in his dungeon. On learning the death of her first-born,
the mother of the two brothers dies of grief.
These two messages of evil reach Count Loris at the
same time, and he learns that his brother had been de-
nounced simultaneously with Platon Sokoleff, also sen-
tenced to death as a nihilist. He learns from his secret
informant that the spy who had denounced his brother is
a woman. Count Loris makes an awful oath to kill her.
The despair, the tears, the supplications of Fedora at last
make clear to Loris that the author of all his misfortune
is before him. Revenge and fury break forth in his tor-
tured mind. He demands an accounting from the Princess
of all the frightful evils she has accomplished. He hurls
at her bitter words, he calls her strumpet, spy. He
threatens to strangle her with his own hands. But the un-
fortunate victim of love and hatred saves him from that
crime by taking poison, and Fedora dies before his eyes.
RABAGAS
This play was one of several in which Sardou was
accused of striving after political ends. As a result, the
adherents of the particular faction or party attacked in his
play revenged themselves by attacking play and pla)rwright.
" Rabagas " was first produced early in 1872, when the
wounds of the war with Prussia, and the subsequent Com-
munist insurrection, were as yet unhealed. In the last act of
the play Sardou put into the mouth of " Rabagas " a long
recital of the ups and downs of the various insurrectionary
governments of Monaco. This is a parody on the numer-
ous revolutions at the time of the Paris Commune. On
the first night the actor, Grenier, who played " Rabagas,"
was extremely nervous, and in delivering this speech he
seemed to make his audience even more nervous than he
was himself. During the evening the spectators had been
gradually getting restless, and this long speech was re-
ceived with murmurs of dissatisfaction which at the end
changed to vigorous hisses.
The playwright was charged by the radical press with
caricaturing Gambetta in the person of " Rabagas." Other
and milder journals seemed to see in the character a
resemblance to Emile Ollivier, one of the ministers of
Napoleon III. The critic Sarcey believed that " Rabagas "
was a composite of Gambetta and Ollivier.
The scene of " Rabagas " is laid in the Principality of
Monaco. In the first act the courtiers of the Prince are
bitterly abusing the populace for their insurrectionary
spirit, which takes the form of mutinous murmurs when
the Prince and his courtiers pass along the princely high-
ways. The spirit of revolt even descends at times to the
240
RABAGAS 841
hurling of old shoes, unmerchantable cabbages, and de-
ceased cats over the high walls of the princely garden. The
headquarters of the insurrectionary sentiment is at the
beer-house known as the " Flying Toad." Here the ring-
leaders of the revolt are installed, here they hold forth in
speeches to the populace, and here they publish a revolu-
tionary journal called the Carmagnole. This sheet is
edited principally by Rabagas, a clever but unscrupulous
lawyer, aided by an unfrocked priest, Camerlin, and some
kindred spirits known as Vuillard and Chafiiou, aided by
an alcoholic soldier of fortune, one General Petrowlski.
When the play begins, the Prince is much concerned
over the disturbed condition of his dominions. Not a day
passes without some new outrage by his subjects. Yester-
day, a beautiful marble statue was mutilated; this morn-
ing, a horrible caricature of the Prince disfigures his palace
portal.
So much is the Prince exercised over these affairs of
state that he gives but a tepid attention to his daughter's
affairs of the heart. The Princess Gabrielle is too obviously
interested in her cousin Carle, a subaltern in the Prince's
body-guard. The Prince is far from suspecting the un-
palatable truth, that his daughter loves the untitled lieu-
tenant. But he is much displeased with her familiar
intercourse with this young gentleman, and forbids her to
continue it. Therefore, the lovers are forced to meet clan-
destinely. Carle goes every night to a deserted part of the
park under his lady-love's window. But last night, in
getting out of the park by a postern gate with a private key,
he ran against a ladder on which a man was apparently
attempting to mount the wall. Fearing scandal might
smirch his mistress's name if he were discovered. Carle
silently fled under cover of the darkness, as the unknown
fell heavily to the ground.
It is at this crisis in his domestic and political affairs
16
242 THE SARDOU PLAYS
that an accident brings to the Prince's attention the pres-
ence of a strange lady who has just arrived in Monaco.
It is Mrs. Eva Blount, an American lady, young, wealthy,
and a widow. She is travelling for pleasure. The Prince
and Mrs. Blount discover that they are old friends; they
had met a few years before at Paris, where the Prince was
spending some time incognito. Mrs. Blount is a lady of
so much tact and knowledge of the world that the Prince
begs her to accept the position of first lady-in-waiting to
the Princess, and to constitute herself as guide and mentor
to that feather-headed young lady. This Mrs. Blount con-
sents to do. She also undertakes the position of ex-officio
counsellor to the Prince, who is much in need of the advice
of a person of her strong common sense. When she is thus
taken into his official confidence, his ministers are urging
the suppression of the Monaco insurrection with artillery
and cavalry. But Mrs. Blount bids the Prince beware of
such folly; she warns him that if he follows such advice
he will soon be a fugitive and Rabagas will be president
of the Republic of Monaco. He consents to abandon the
coercion of the populace by arms, and leaves Mrs. Blount
full liberty to perfect her own plans. This she speedily
proceeds to do, with the wisdom of a serpent and the mild-
ness of a dove.
In the next act we are shown the editorial rooms of the
C'armagnole in the billiard-room of the " Flying Toad."
The staff are awaiting the return of Chief Editor Rabagas,
who is on his way back from Nice after assisting in the
trial of a murder case. He enters; the great man is re-
ceived with hurrahs and frenzied pounding of billiard cues
upon the floor. He is hoisted upon the billiard table, and
makes a speech to his constituents concerning the murder
trial. " In saving the head of the accused," he says, " I
have done only my duty. He is the son of a murderous
father. He is a murderer himself. He was endowed by
RABAGAS 243
nature with ferocious instincts. What matters it if he
killed an old man by beating in his skull ? It was not he who
was at fault, but nature, who made him a tiger. What was
this old man whom he killed? Nothing but an officer of
the law. To bludgeon an officer of the law is not to kill
a man, it is merely to crush a political principle." These
remarks are received with frenzied applause, and the great
man has his luncheon brought in, while the members of
his staff tell him the news of the day and read him extracts
from the proof-sheets of the paper. A patriot comes in
bearing 47 francs, result of a subscription taken up in
favour of a poor widow whose pig has been run over by
the Prince's carriage. On his heels come Tirelirette and
There son, two sixteen-year old misses in extravagant
toilets, who come to demand food and wine-money from
their " friends," who are members of the staff. They are
bold and noisy, but are finally quieted by spreading a
luncheon for them and giving them 20 francs out of the
widow's subscription money. But the printer's devil enters
at this moment, with the terrible news that the printer re-
fuses to go to press until his bill is paid. The sum is 300
francs. After the staff have carefully gone through their
pockets and taken the rest of the widow's subscription
money, they are still short 20 francs. They fall upon the
red-headed Tirelirette; despite her noisy sobs and shrieks,
they ravish from her lean purse her solitary 20-franc piece.
With this they pay the printer, and the Carmagnole goes to
press.
At this moment the printer's devil announces to Rabagas
that a " real lady " wishes to see him. He clears the bil-
liard room, and receives the lady, with 'much empressement.
It is Mrs. Blount. She comes ostensibly with the purpose
of retaining him as her attorney to get her trunks out of
the custom-house, where they are detained by reason of an
excessive amount of lace on her gowns. At first, Rabagas
244 THE SARDOU PLAYS
refuses to undertake the case, saying that he does no com--
mercial business. But the clever Mrs. Blount conveniently
remembers that she had her boots wrapped in socialistic
Italian newspapers; and hence a political tinge might be
given to the detention ; that the great Rabagas could there-
fore attack the government for its attempt to suppress free
thought and a free press. To this he lends a willing ear.
More cordial relations thus being established, Mrs.
Blount gets to business. She tells Rabagas that the Prince
is a great admirer of his ability; that his surroundings are
unworthy of him; that his companions are low creatures
unfit for him to associate with ; that if he chose, he might
climb to power by abandoning his associates and taking the
side of the Prince. She bids him come to the palace for the
fete that evening, and ask for her. Rabagas hesitates; he
makes no promises, but it is easy to see that he is tempted.
Again the members of the Revolutionary Committee
are assembled at the " Flying Toad." To their surprise, an
aide-de-camp brings a missive from the court for Rabagas.
He opens it, and reads it aloud. It is an invitation to attend
a court concert that evening. Rabagas can scarcely conceal
his delight, but the assembled patriots look upon him with
distrust. He finally succeeds in lulling their suspicions by
saying that he probably has been sent for merely to arrest
him. But this trick of the court will be too late. That
very night the revolution has been decreed. Rabagas points
with pride to his own courage in entering the tyrant's den.
Eleven o'clock is the hour, and the signal is a light flashed
from the window.
In the next act, we find ourselves in the gilded halls of
the Prince's court. There is excitement both within and
without the palace. Mobs are collected on the great square,
and the Prince's officers are begging him to disperse the
populace with troops. He is wavering, when Mrs. Blount
appears. He asks her counsel. She tells him that she can
RABAGAS 245
produce a man who will calm this tumult as if by magic.
"Who?" asks the Prince.
"Rabagas," she replies,
" Where and how ? " he asks.
" Here and now," she replies.
The Prince is horrified to learn that Rabagas has re-
ceived a card for the fete, and may be expected at any
moment. In fact, the great man speedily appears. He is
received at first by Mrs. Blount, and he tells her mysteri-
ously that he comes at the risk of his life and his honour to
save her; he cannot explain what is about to happen, but
she may guess; instead of taking her trunks into France,
he says, she may soon need them to flee back into Italy.
Mrs. Blount listens to him, but earnestly bids him pause
and reflect; his talents are lost with such a crowd of com-
mon people; he is naturally an aristocrat — his very de-
meanour in the palace proves it ; if he can suppress the rising,
she says, the Prince will be grateful to him. With these
significant words, she leaves him to go and seek the Prince.
As she leaves the room Rabagas follows her with his
eyes, muttering to himself : " Why, she is a Talleyrand
in petticoats! Rabagas, my boy, you will be the Prince's
minister. I always knew it. I knew I would come out at
the top. Well, it's pretty comfortable here-^flowers, lights,
music, and pretty women. It's true they don't deign to
look at me, but in a day or two they will all be at my feet.
What a difference it is to be of the court, rather than as
my friends are, looking at it through the keyhole."
But the seditious cries and the popular tumult without
are growing in intensity. Each new arrival reports having
received insult and almost outrage. The Prince is about to
yield to the entreaties of his officers, and order the troops
to fire upon the mob, when Mrs. Blount brings forward
Rabagas. The Prince, with much distaste, receives this
gentleman and listens to his counsel. Rabagas insists that
246 THE SARDOU PLAYS
the people should be treated with consideration, persuasion,
eloquence; a velvet hand is needed, he says, rather than a
mailed fist; in short, a lawyer is better fitted for fihe
management of affairs than a soldier. As to which lawyer,
— why, his highness may readily — and so forth.
Swayed by Mrs. Blount, the Prince yields, and suddenly
turning to the assembled courtiers, says : " Gentlemen,
I present to you Monsieur Rabagas, your new Governor."
He cuts short the effusive thanks of Rabagas by bidding
him conjure away at once the peril of a revolutionary ris-
ing. Rabagas assents, and with an assured and smiling
air, he walks toward the balcony overlooking the square.
" I shall want," says he, " two lackeys with flambeaux to
light up my face, in order that the people may not lose
the play of a single feature. Watch me." As he utters
the words the crash of breaking glass is heard. The mob
have grown tired of hurling insults at the Prince, and have
taken to hurling stones at the palace windows. With a
theatrical smile, Rabagas steps upon the balcony to address
the mob. He tells them that the Prince has appointed him
Governor, and that this concession means a liberal govern-
ment. But he is interrupted in his address by hoots and
y,ells ifrom the mob. They call Jiim "traitor," "turn-
coat," " police spy," " renegade." Finally, when he is
wounded in the head by a stone, the exasperated Rabagas
orders the Colonel commanding the palace guard to fire
upon the people, to smash the printing presses of the
Carmagnole, to gut the editorial offices, and to raze the
" Flying Toad," so that not one stone should rest upon
another.
When he hears this bloodthirsty programme the Prince
turns to Mrs. Blount, saying : " Can this be the man you
told me would get me out of this pickle ? "
She replies : " Yes, and I am right, your highness, for
he was the head of the mob and now the mob has no head.
RABAGAS 247
The revolution was Rabagas, and Rabagas lias turned
traitor to his own revolution."
In the next act we find ourselves in the cabinet of
Governor Rabagas, in the Prince's palace. He is attended
by Bricoli, late secretary to his predecessor, now his own
attendant. He learns from Bricoli that his orders have
been carried out — ^his former associates of the " Flying
Toad " are all locked up, the Carmagnale has been sup-
pressed, and the presses of that radical paper smashed. He
also learns that there is much excitement in the city, but,
as it is patrolled by troops, there are as yet no hostilities.
Rabagas interrogates Bricoli as to the internal arrange-
ments of the palace. He learns that the apartments of
Mrs. Blount open on the same corridor as those of the
Princess Gabrielle. The apartments of the Prince are in
another part of the palace; from the Prince's apartment a
secret passage leads to the garden, in the wall of which
there is a postern door, giving a private exit to the street.
To this door there are three keys — one for the Prince, one
for the Governor, and one for the Governor's secretary.
Rabagas immediately demands and takes possession of his
key. Bricoli, who is full of zeal for his new master, tells
how he has discovered the identity of the man who made
his exit from the Prince's garden under cover of night.
He tells Rabagas that it is Andre, a young officer of the
'guard. Neither of them know that in reality the midnight
prowler was Carle, the lover of the Princess Gabrielle, and
that his bosom friend Andre has declared himself to be the
guilty one in order to shield not only the Princess but his
friend, her lover, from discovery. Bricoli tells Rabagas
that he has searched the apartments of Andre and Carle,
which they occupy jointly; he has found there a suspicious
letter, which he has brought to the new Governor. It is in
a woman's hand, and it makes a rendezvous with the young
officer that very night. Neither can guess who the lady
248 THE SARDOU PLAYS
may be. But the thoughtful Rabagas puts the letter aside,
thinking he may find it useful.
The zealous secretary Bricoli is now bidden by Rabagas
to go forth into the city and stir up some enthusiasm for
the new Governor; to order every householder to illumi-
nate ihis windows; and to place on the public square,
immediately fronting the Prince's palace, the inscription,
" Long Live Rabagas," in letters of fire.
As Bricoli departs to carry out these orders, Rabagas
begins a careful examination of the private papers of his
predecessor. To his disgust, he finds among them grateful
notes acknowledging the receipt of small sums of money,
and signed by his associates of the " Flying Toad."
" Faugh ! what a rotten lot they are. I am the only honest
man among them," exclaims the high-minded Rabagas.
In the next scene, we find Mrs. Blount and Andre to-
gether. She tells the young man that his midnight excur-
sions in the garden must be accounted for to the Prince's
satisfaction, and when he pleads ruefully that he can give
no plausible pretext for his presence, she replies: "Why,
every young man has a pretext for nocturnal wanderings.
You are twenty years old — ^therefore, you are in love."
When Andre admits that this excuse might serve, but
pleads that he knows no fair one who might incline a
willing ear, Mrs. Blount at once suggests Mile, de
Therouane. His countenance changes, and he pleads that
wicked tongues might play havoc with her fair fame were
he to speak of her thus.
" Ah, is it so ? " cries Mrs. Blount. " I see you thmk
you are not in love, but you are, and you do not wish to
besmirch her whom you love. You are a gallant young
gentleman. So I will give you another woman to whom
to pay your midnight court. Take me ! "
"You?" exclaims Andre, in astonishment.
" Yes, me. You adore me. Last night you came under
RABAGAS 249
my window to indulge in your nocturnal adoration,
and "
At this moment the Prince enters. He greets Mrs.
Blount cordially, but looks upon Atidre with marked dis-
favour. He coldly asks him what he is doing there when he
is under arrest. Mrs. Blount intercedes for Andre, tell-
ing the Prince that the affair of the garden was nothing
but an amorous escapade. When the Prince asks further
details, she admits frankly that Andre has been lurking
beneath her window, because he is wildly in love with her.
At this the Prince looks at him with even more marked
disfavour, and curtly bids him go. When he is gone the
Prince tells her that he is both gratified and displeased —
gratified because he feared lest Carle might have been
foolish enough to be waiting beneath the window of the
Princess Gabrielle; gratified that it was Andre and not
Carle; gratified that it was not Gabrielle — ^but vexed that
it was Mrs. Blount's window and not some other court
lady's. He determines to order Carle to leave for Paris
at once, on a mission to be confided to him at the legation
there.
In the next scene the Prince is bidding good night to
his daughter and Mrs. Blount. He is about to get a few
hours' sleep, for at half an hour after midnight he is to
take horse with twenty troopers and ride to Mentone,
whence news comes of a contemplated uprising. At this
moment Rabagas enters, radiant, announcing to the Prince
that the outbreak is quieted ; the utmost enthusiasm reigns,
and illuminations all over the city show how popular is
the accession of Governor Rabagas.
" But, Monsieur Rabagas," says the Prince, " you claim
to have quieted the insurrection, do you? Yet, when I
appointed you, I was just about to make all manner of
concessions in order to avoid harsh measures. But you
cried to me : 'I represent conciliation, concord, peace —
260 THE SAHDOU PLAYS
just let me show myself to the people!' You showed
yourself, and what was the result? Charges of cavalry,
volleys of artillery. This is scarcely conciliation. You
called yourself a man of the people, but the people repudiate
you. You are certainly not a man of the court. If you
are neither the one nor the other, pray let me ask you what
you are?"
Rabagas grows pale, and says : " Evidently your high-
ness intends to turn me out."
To which the Prince replies : " Turn you out ? That
is a vile phrase, Monsieur Rabagas. We will talk about
the matter in the morning. Good night."
When the great man finds himself alone, he muses
bitterly,, like Cardinal Wblsey, over the ingratitude of
princes. " I am duped," says he. " Double and triple
idiot that I am, I have been gulled! They feared the
storm, and they used me for a lightning rod. Two hours
of power, and then to be ushered out by a lackey. And
where can I go? I am suspected and distrusted by the
people. I shall be stoned, perhaps assassinated. And for
what? Two hours at court, and a bad dinner. I have sold
my popularity for a mess of pottage. But they shall not
force me to resign. They will have to drag me from my
post, step by step, inch by inch ! "
His secretary, Bricoli, enters, and finding Rabagas alone,
announces two discoveries — ^first, the incriminating letter
was written by Mrs. Blount ; second, Aiidre on leaving the
palace immediately ordered a travelling carriage. Rabagas
at once divines the truth — ^Andre is about to elope with
Mrs. Blount, their extreme precautions being due to the
fact that she is the Prince's mistress. Bricoli asks if the
horses shall be taken out of the carriage. Rabagas tells
him no ; he bids him have the coachman wait at the postern
gate on which the private corridor opens. Rabagas also
tells him to notify the officer commanding the Prince's
RABAGAS 251
escort not to come until two o'clock instead of one. This
complicated order being given, he orders the patriots of
the " Flying Toad " to be taken from their cells and
brought before him.
The interview between Rabagas and his quondam
associates is an animated one. They accuse him of treach-
ery. He accuses them of idiocy. They tax him with balk-
ing the insurrection. He tells them he did not give the
signal for the outbreak because the people had gained all
they desired by his accession to power. When they re-
mark, with resentment, that he is the only one in power,
and they have no oifices, he tells them they are a parcel of
fools unworthy of such a leader. Nevertheless, if they are
faithful to him he will reward them. This is his plan:
He is about to release them; thereupon they must make
arrangements for an outbreak at Mentone. All along the
route shouts must go up that Rabagas is master of the
palace, with the Prince his prisoner, and Rabagas is bring-
ing him to Mentone. In the meantime the people must take
possession of the Hotel de Ville there; and at one o'clock
in the morning the Prince would arrive at the Hotel de
Ville in a carriage, bound and gagged. When they ask
how all this is to be accomplished, he tells them: the
Prince will descend to the postern gate at one o'clock;
a carriage will be waiting there; they three must fall upon
him, bind and gag him; as soon as the Prince is in the
carriage, he, Rabagas, will take his place on the box seat
with the coachman, and drive at top speed to Mentone.
There the frightened Prince would carry out their wishes,
would abdicate, and Rabagas proclaim the independence
of Monaco. When his associates ask what this independ-
ence means, Rabagas replies placidly : " A republic, with
me as dictator." When they leave him the three other
patriots privately suggest overturning the dictatorship and
making it a triumvirate.
252 THE SARDOU PLAYS
In the next scene Carle and Andre meet, and Carle
learns that the Prince has ordered him to depart; the car-
riage is ordered, and his baggage is packed. Carle strug-
gles against the inevitable, insisting that he will keep his
rendezvous for that night with Gabrielle. Andre solemnly
warns him against this imprudent step, but the lover is
obdurate. He is in the vestibule upon which open the
doors of both the Princess Gabrielle and Mrs. Blount. The
hour is late. The ladies in waiting have withdrawn, and
the lights are all extinguished. There is a faint light over
the Princess's door. Carle goes toward it and conceals
himself in an embrasure behind the curtain.
At this moment the door from the Princess's corridor
opens, and Rabagas appears, a candle in his hand. He
looks at Mrs. Blount's door, and mutters : " Evidently
the handsome young officer of the guard is there. Every-
thing is going well. He will stay there for some time. The
carriage is at the door. We shall have the Prince on the
high road to Mentone, while his escort of troopers will not
come until an hour after he has gone."
As he is chuckling over his success, Mrs. Blount appears
at her door, anxious to see whether the impetuous lover,
Carle, has indeed departed. She runs into Rabagas. He
politely requests her to return immediately to her apart-
ment. When she asks why, he tells her that the Prince
is about to go out, privately, accompanied only by his
trusted Governor, and does not wish to be ofiserved. When
she asks the reason for this nocturnal promenade, Rabagas
replies he has made arrangements for some spontaneous
manifestations of joy along the way — ^partly for the Prince
and partly for Rabagas. Mrs. Blount replies that she will
not retire, and that she is determined to advise the Prince
against this rash expedition. Rabagas blusters; if she
dares to do this he threatens he will tell the Prince there
is a man in her chamber. At first Mrs. Blount is about to
RABAGAS 253
resent this accusation. But she conceals her anger, and
asks, " What man ? " Rabagas replies : " Andre de
Mora." When she asks him how he knows this, he
triumphantly exhibits to her the Princess Gabrielle's letter
to Carle. Mrs. Blount affects to be overcome with terror
at sight of the letter, and begs him to give it to her. He
promises that if she will not seek to keep the Prince from
leaving the palace he will give her back the letter. She
suspects that Rabagas has contrived an ambuscade for
the Prince, intending to kidnap him, and determines to
warn the Captain of the guard. But Rabagas distrusts her,
and bars her way as she attempts to leave the vestibule.
At the end of her expedients, she affects to give way, and
promises to aid him, but only on condition that he shall
return her letter. To this he agrees, and they conceal
themselves behind the curtains leading to her door.
The Prince appears alone, carrying his cloak upon his
arm. Mrs. Blount — unseen by Rabagas, the curtain being
between them — makes imperative signs to the Prince not
to go out. He quickly comprehends, and returns to his
apartments. But the opening and closing of doors, and the
sound of his footsteps along the corridor, lead Rabagas,
who is unfamiliar with the palace, to believe that the Prince
has gone to the postern gate. He whispers to Mrs. Blount,
"Is he gone?"
" Yes," she replies, " yes, he is gone. And now, give
me back my letter, which you promised me."
But Rabagas with a sneer says, " Wait — I'll give it to
you some other time." Breaking away from her grasp, he
hastens down the private corridor toward the gate.
" What a treacherous rascal ! " says Mrs. Blount, con-
temptuously, as she looks after his retreating form. From
without there comes the sound of a struggle, the noise of
trampling feet, and a stiiled cry, followed by the rolling
of carriage wheels. " I knew it," she says, " it is an
254 THE SARDOU PLAYS
ambuscade. But the Prince is safe, thank God. And now,
for greater security, let me make the Princess also safe —
at least for to-night." Hastening to the Princess's door
she double-locks it and puts the key in her pocket.
In the next act Andre has come at daybreak to the
ante-chamber, where Carle was to have been on guard.
His mission is to warn Carle to depart before the Prince
should see him. He searches for him vainly. Mrs.
Blount hears him; and coming from her apartments, she
asks him whom he seeks. Andre tells her: Carle had not
obeyed the Prince's order to depart, for he was resolved
to see Gabrielle once more before his departure; therefore
he had changed places with Andre, taking his friend's
guard duty for the night.
When she hears this, Mrs. Blount is overcome with
alarm. She asks at what hour Carle was at the rendezvous,
and when Andre tells her at eleven o'clock, she exclaims
in terror that she had locked the Princess's door at mid-
night, and out of her pocket takes the key.
" My God, Madame ! " cries Andre, " you have locked
them together for the whole night! Hasten! unlock the
door before the Prince learns of this, or Carle's head will
pay the penalty."
As she is hastening to unlock the door, the Prince
enters. He gazes suspiciously at this second tete-a-tete,
and comments on the lady's agitation. She tells him that
Andre has been relating to her the events of the night.
" Instead of relating the events," says the Prince, dryly,
" this gentleman should have been a part of those events.
What were you doing here, sir, when your company was
fighting at Mentone ? "
To which Andre replies that he had left for Mentone
with his men, but when half way there he had received
orders to return at once to the palace. The Prince then
RABAGAS 255
asks who was on guard in the ante-chamber the night be-
fore. Andre replies that it was he.
" How is it, then, sir, that I could not find you here
last night when I was about to go out ? "
Andre replies that he heard a noise in the courtyard
below, and went there by the private door.
" Which is always locked," says the Prince, ironically.
But on a sign of negation from Mrs. Blount, Andre tells
him that, contrary to rule, the door was open the night
before. The Prince recalls that this is true, and he is for
the moment baffled.
At this juncture the Captain of the guard, who has just
returned from Mentone, enters. He reports that order
has been restored ; the Prince's troops had taken the Hotel
de Ville at two o'clock in the morning, delivering Governor
Rabagas, whom they found bound and gagged under a
table, and bringing him^ back with them in a carriage. The
Governor had ordered a royal salute to be sounded for
him, which in effect at this moment falls upon the Prince's
startled ear as Rabagas enters. The Prince requests an
explanation of the adventures of the night.
" Your highness," says Rabagas, " I was entrapped —
I was led into an ambuscade. I went put by this corridor
to go to my apartments, when three masked men leaped
upon me, mistaking me for you. They stifled my cries,
bound and gagged me, and threw me into a carriage,
which set forth at top speed. After an hour of this drive
in darkness and in pain, I heard shouts : ' They have capt-
ured the Prince' was the cry. A horde of men sur-
rounded the carriage. They threw themselves upon me,
and dragged me forth. To their rage and stupefaction
they found that the captive was not the Prince, but I. They
rolled me under a table. As I lay there, helpless and
gagged, startling events were taking place. A new govern-
ment founded by Camerlin (in a Green Chamber) advo-
256 THE SARDOU PLAYS
cated overlooking my defection and pardoning me. But
another government with Vuillard at its head (which
started in a Yellow Chamber) cried ' treason,' and de-
clared against the Greens. At a quarter before two a
third government founded by ChafEou (in a Red Chamber)
suddenly broke forth ; they crept in through a window and
imprisoned the Yellow Government, which still held the
Green Government in captivity. But at two o'clock the
Green Government succeeded in escaping by a chimney,
came in again by the cellar, and surprised the Red Govern-
ment, which fled through the window, thus leaving behind it
its own prisoner, the Yellow Government, which also fled
and took refuge on the roof. Vuillard arrested Camerlin,
who arrested ChafEou, who then arrested everybody. But
trumpets were heard, and the Prince's police force, entering,
arrested all three Governments and liberated me."
" This is all very interesting. Monsieur," says the
Prince, " but tell me how you went out by this door with-
out being seen by this gentleman, who was on guard here
last night?"
Rabagas looks keenly at Mrs. Blount and Andre, and
replies that Andre was not there when he departed.
To Andre's protest that he was at his post, the Prince
replies that this was impossible, or he would have heard
the sounds of the struggle at the door. " So, sir," says
the Prince to Andre, "you are a soldier, you know what
it is to desert your post."
But the Captain of the guard here interrupts, and says :
" Pardon me, your highness, this gentleman was not on
guard last night. The officer on duty last night was the
Chevalier Carle."
Here Mrs. Blount, foreseeing the appalling discovery
that is about to take place, goes to Rabagas, and beseeches
him in whispers to give her the incriminating letter. He
hesitates, but while he is fingering the paper, she snatches
RABAGAS 257
it from him. The Prince sees her, and demands that she
show him the letter. She tells him it is a letter of her own
to Andre.
" I do not believe you," replies the Prince. " I have
caught you in lie upon lie. I demand the truth. You have
left me in a terrible frame of mind concerning my daughter.
From your conversations with this ofificer, your sudden
seizing of this letter, your suspicious watching of the
Princess's door, and Carle's guilty presence here last night
with the connivance of his friend Andre — all these things
seem to point to a rendezvous here, of which this letter
will tell the truth. From your guilty looks toward the
door I very much fear that you have brought together in
my daughter's apartment this unhappy pair. Give me the
letter; if it is your own, as you say, it will prove at once
that I am mistaken. Give it to me. With you I can do
nothing, but I can punish your accomplice. For the last
time I order you, if you would save him, to give me that
letter."
Mrs. Blount is much agitated, but she still refuses.
The Prince says : " Captain, arrest this gentleman.
Will you give up the letter? Before his company, on
parade, degrade him for desertion. The letter? Break his
sword across your knee. The letter? Tear off his epaul-
ettes and slap his face with them. The letter? Order a
firing squad of twelve men. The letter? Let his eyes be
blindfolded and . . . unfortunate woman! will you give up
the letter? or shall he be shot?"
Mrs. Blount, overcome, gives him the letter, and falls
half fainting to the floor.
The Prince hurriedly runs his eye over the letter. " My
God, it is true, then," he cries — " they are there together ! "
And he dashes toward his daughter's door. But before
he reaches the door, it opens, and the Princess Gabrielle
emerges, greeting him so calmly that he is staggered.
17
258 THE SARDOU PLAYS
When he taxes her with having given a rendezvous in her
chamber to Carle, she bursts into tears, and falls into the
arms of Mrs. Blount. She tells her father that Carle left
for Paris the night before at ten o'clock; before leaving,
he had come to the garden to bid her farewell, but their
last interview had been like all their others, she at her
window and he in the garden. The Prince, shaking with
his conflicting emotions, is mollified, and takes his
daughter in his arms.
Suddenly trumpets are heard without, and the Chevalier
Carle enters, having returned from Mentone, whither he
had led the troops when they captured the Hotel de Ville.
The Prince looks at him quizzically, and says :
"Approach, young sir. Do you know the penalty due
the soldier who deserts his post at night?"
" Yes, your highness," says Carle, timidly, " it is death."
" In this case," replies the Prince, " it shall be not
death, but marriage. Embrace your wife. Bless you, my
children. Bless you." And turning to Mrs. Blount, he
says : " Since we have made one misalliance, suppose we
make another. Let us at one and the same time make
you a Princess, and a mother for Gabrielle."
" And now," says the new Princess, " let us put a stop
to revolution. Let Governor Rabagas issue this decree;"
and she dictates to the great man the following proclama-
tion : " Any person having taken part in last night's up-
rising shall be sentenced to imprisonment for life."
When Rabagas is requested to sign this drastic docu-
ment, he says, to the Prince : " Your highness, rather than
attach my name to so cruel a measure I would offer my
resignation."
" It is accepted. Monsieur," replies the Prince with
great quickness.
Here, a wrangle is heard at the door, to which all turn.
RABAGAS 269
Bricoli and the Colonel are coming in, each holding the
other by the collar.
"What is the matter?" asks the Prince.
" I have arrested Bricoli, your highness," replies the
Colonel, " for seditious cries."
" Not so, your highness," replies Bricoli, " I have
arrested him for that very offence. He cried 'down with
Rabagas! ' "
" But," replied the Colonel, " he was crying ' long live
Rabagas.' "
" Gentlemen," replied the Prince, " you can let go of
one another's collars. It is neither ' down with Rabagas '
nor ' long live Rabagas ' but ' good-bye, Rabagas.' "
LES BOURGEOIS DE PONT-ARCY
The town of Pont-Arcy, upon the river Orge, is divided
naturally into three parts; these, also naturally, are in-
habited by three parties, the Upper Old Town, where live
the nobility; the Lower Old Town, made up of the work-
ing classes ; and the Center, or New Town, made up of the
bourgeois, or commercial class. Above, the past; below,
the future; between the two, the present.
At the time when the play begins, it is the bourgeois
who dominate the town of Pont-Arcy. They are repre-
sented in the person of the Mayor, M. Trabut, and above
all by the Mayoress, the handsome Madame Trabut, who
is ambitious for her husband, and who hopes that he may
become a member of the Chamber of Deputies and spend
some time at Paris.
The political and social supremacy of the handsome
Madame Trabut is menaced by jm event which plunges
the lower and the middle class into a fever of excitement.
The Baron Fabrice de St. Andre is about to wed his cousin,
Mademoiselle Berengere des Ormoises. Now the St.
Andre family has shared the liberal opinions of the
bourgeoisie ever since the late baron, father of the present
one, wedded Mademoiselle Brochat, who was the daughter
of a Pont-Arcy tanner. Thus the marriage of the young
baron with his cousin has all the importance of a reconcilia-
tion between two notable divisions of the society of Pont-
Arcy. And as Mademoiselle Berengere is pious and yet
not bigoted, is virtuous and yet not prudish, as she there-
fore will have every opportunity of rendering her house
the most agreeable and most hospitable in all the country
around — it is very clear that the ambitious Madame Trabut
is going to have a dangerous rival. Therefore, all manner
260
LES BOURGEOIS DE PONT-ARCY 261
of intrigues are being hatched among the bourgeois, who
conspire against the Baron Fabrice de St. Andre and his
cousin Berengere, if not to prevent his marriage, at least
to render their residence in the town impossible, and to
force them to migrate. The occasion diligently sought
by all the evil tongues in Pont-Arcy at last presents itself,
and it is on this that the play is based.
At the moment when the action begins, we are plunged
into all the excitement of a local festival — an agricultural
fair, a display of horse-flesh and fine cattle, and the in-
auguration of the statue of a local great man, utterly
unknown to fame beyond the town's borders. In the midst
of this confusion a young woman arrives from Paris, goes
to the Grand Hotel of Pont-Arcy, registers under the name
of Marcelle Aubry, and forthwith demands an interview
with the Baron Fabrice de St. Andre. As soon as the New
Town (where the bourgeois hold forth) learns of this
incident, the gossips set to work. They carefully study
the Paris directory: they find that Marcelle Aubry keeps
at Paris, in the Rue Caumartin, a shop where costumes and
fine lingerie are sold.
" Ah," cackle the bourgeois busybodies, "what can
this young and pretty woman, who sells lingerie in Paris,
have to do with the Baron Fabrice? Evidently it is an old
mistress of his. He has abandoned her, now that he is
about to marry, and she has come here to win back her
faithless lover, or else to make him give her some sub-
stantial indemnity for his desertion."
So all the busybodies and gossips and the Baron's
enemies place themselves on the lookout, and when
Marcelle Aubry presents herself at the house of the Baron's
mother — for he has been prudent enough not to receive a
strange lady anywhere else — her movements are watched
by a half dozen Paul Prys, including Lechard, the local
THE SARDOU PLAYS
news-vender, and several old ladies, who have nothing to
do but make trouble in other people's affairs.
At last, Marcelle and the Baron Fabrice are together.
She has come to make a melancholy revelation. Fabrice
has cherished a strong filial love for the memory of his
father, who died a little more than a year before, stricken
down by an apoplectic attack, while at Paris. Marcelle
explains to him the reason for the long and repeated
sojourns his father had made at Paris during the last
years of his life. It seems that he had conceived for
Marcelle a passion which she shared; he had too late
avowed to her that he was married and the father of a
family. Such being the case, he could do nothing to repair
their common fault, and she had remained four years his
Mistress and had borne to him a child. Marcelle, though
sinning, had retained the feelings of a worthy woman, and
would have preserved his secret as well as her own. But
unfortunately, an agent (who had acted in the purchase
of the shop which Marcelle conducted) had in his pos-
session some papers signed by the elder Baron de St.
Andre. Marcelle owed this agent 50,000 francs, and he
was threatening to make the widowed Baroness de St.
Andre a defendant in an action to recover this sum.
Marcelle shudders at the bare thought of such a revelation
striking the widowed Baroness in her peaceful home, and
she has decided to tell everything to the son, in order that
he might settle the matter.
The young Baron Fabrice, after a first moment of
repugnance at the recital of Marcelle, is obliged to admit
its truthfulness. After looking over the correspondence
she has brought, he admits that it is his father's signature,
and he pays her the 50,000 francs, only too glad thus to
spare his mother the terrible shock and shame.
But he had reckoned without the Paul Prys of Pont-
Arcy. They have devised a scheme by which Marcelle,
LES BOURGEOIS DE PONT-ARCY
on leaving him, shall fall into a veritable ambuscade. She
is arrested; she is taken before the Mayor and his police
officials; her travelling bag is opened; she is ordered to
explain where she got the large sum of money which it
contains. The Baron Fabrice is obliged to interfere in
her behalf, and now we have the scandal which Madame
Trabut and her accomplices have been so skilfully en-
deavouring to bring about. Some of the officials have seen,
among the papers in the travelling-bag, a letter beginning
with these words : " My dearest love Marcelle." The
widowed Baroness de St. Andre severely bids her son
explain. How can Fabrice explain without accusing and
blackening the memory of his father? He therefore per-
mits all these gossips and spies to believe that Marcelle
has been his mistress, and he is forced to make this avowal
in the presence of Berengere, whom he adores. It would
seem that to proceed with the marriage is out of the ques-
tion. The bourgeois of Pont-Arcy have triumphed.
Nevertheless, lawyer Brochat, the brother of the
widowed Baroness de St. Andre, an uncle of Fabrice, has
gone to Paris, to obtain information concerning Marcelle.
He has found only too much information. He discovers
that Marcelle Aubry, who is a young woman of good
family and of fine education, was seduced by the elder
Baron de St. Andre. Lawyer Brochat has discovered
everything, has seen everything, even the child of this un-
fortunate connection. He is obliged to report a portion
of these facts to the widowed Baroness. At the description
of this child, whom he has found altogether charming,
the heart of the widowed Baroness softens. She fancies
that she is its grandmother. When she looks at the photo-
graph, she says: "Ah, my son cannot deny that child.
See what a striking resemblance, and how handsome it is!
I must have it." This maternal effusion brings about the
most striking situation of the play. The widowed Baroness
THE SARDOU PLAYS
will not listen for a moment to the idea of her son Fabrice
abandoning the child. She demands that he marry Marcelle
Aubry. But Fabrice replies that it is impossible, and says
no more. The resistance of her son is revolting to the
generous heart of the widowed Barcmess. She desires
that he shall sacrifice his present love for Berengere to
the duty which he incurred in seducing Marcelle. As she
cannot read his heart, she begins to doubt whether her son
is worthy of any woman's love.
But Berengere does not doubt him. Fabrice has said
to her : " Berengere, have you enough esteem for me,
enough love, to believe in me without witnesses, without
any other proof than my love for you, without even a word,
without even a denial from me ? "
"Do not utter a word," cries Berengere; "I will be-
lieve in you in the face of the entire world." And the two
lovers separate, full of faith in one another, for Berengere
retires to a convent until matters shall have cleared.
In the last act, lawyer Brochat decides to tell his sister,
the Baroness, the truth. He thinks that, rather than allow
her to condemn a living man to suffer under an unjust
stigma, she should learn the truth about one who is dead.
So the truth' is told to her. She learns that the child
which is supposed to be that of her son Fabrice, is in
reality the illegitimate offspring of her own husband's
amour with Marcelle. Berengere comes back from the
convent. She and Fabrice are restored to his mother's
love. Their marriage takes place. The widowed Baroness
takes her husband's child to her heart, and the bourgeois
of Pont-Arcy find that their noses are put out of joint.
THEODORA
When Sardou's " Theodora " was produced at the Porte
Saint-Martin Theatre the theatrical world had been
anxiously awaiting its production. Sarah Bernhardt, who
played Theodora, had not appeared on the stage for about
six months — ^not since the failure of Jean Richepin's ver-
sion of " Macbeth." Tickets sold as high as sixty francs.
So successful was the play that Bernhardt was destined to
appear as Theodora nearly nine hundred times.
The time of the play is in the sixth century, when
Justinian, the Byzantine Emperor, was at his wits' end
with insurrections, one of which resulted in the burning
of the original church of Saint Sophia. The first scene,
a gorgeous hall in the imperial palace, is in the nature of
a prologue, in which the audience is told of the political
intrigues. As the curtain rises, Theodora enters from a
chapel, whence come the throbbing notes of an organ.
Her costume is a replica of the celebrated mosaic of the
Byzantine Virgin in the Church of Ravenna — her robe is
yellow satin embroidered with topazes; her coiffure is
ablaze with jewels, and in her hand she carries a white
lily, which tradition says was Theodora's favourite flower.
The Empress seats herself on a couch of tigers' skins,
and gives audience to her courtiers and to ambassadors
from foreign lands. With her is Antonina, her trusted
friend and former companion in the circus. Theodora
effects a reconciliation between Antonina and her husband,
Belisarius, commander of the imperial forces, who has left
his wife because of her infidelities. At last Theodora dis-
misses the courtiers, and is once more free. The courtesan
appears beneath the golden robes of the Empress. Taking
two mute slaves, she departs, heavily veiled, to meet her
265
THE SARDOU PLAYS
lover, Andreas, who knows her only as " Myrtha," a young
widow, about to be married to a rich old miser.
The second scene is laid in the vaults beneath the
Hippodrome, filled with wild beasts in cages. Here
Tamyris, an old and withered witch, gives to Theodora a
love-philtre with which to win Andreas. Tamyris is an
ex-circus-rider. A familiar dialogue takes place between
the two, while lions and tigers pad softly up and down.
The next scene is in the atrium of Andreas, the simple
lines of its pure Greek architecture contrasting strongly
with the bastard Byzantine of the other scenes. Here a
love scene takes place between Theodora and Andreas, who
tells her that he is one of a band of conspirators; headed
by Marcellus, Captain of the palace guards, they intend
to take Justinian prisoner and carry him off to the coast
of Asia. Suddenly a murmur from the streets is heard,
gradually increasing, till, above the confused noise, voices
can be distinguished. The mob is shouting a ribald song
about Theodora. Andreas is laughingly taking up the
refrain, when Theodora presses her hand on his lips, cry-
ing, " Oh, not you ! not you ! " The mob passes on, and
Theodora hastens to the palace to warn Justinian of his
danger.
In the next scene, the stage is divided into two com-
partments : the one, a cabinet, elegantly furnished in carved
woods inlaid with gold and precious stones; the other, a
gallery hung with Chinese tapestries, with a large window
at the back, through which can be seen the Bosphorus.
In the cabinet a brilliant light falls from a magnificent
flambeau of beaten gold. The gallery is lighted only by
a single shaft of moonlight In the cabinet is seated
Justinian, resplendent in his embroidered robes, and wear-
ing the large pearl ear-rings of the emperors of Byzantium.
Theodora enters. Justinian's suspicions have been aroused
by her long absence ; he is determined to know why she has
THEODORA 267
gone forth at this hour of the night. But she stops his
questions by informing him of the plot against his life.
The roar of the approaching crowd is heard; Justinian is
about to accept the advice of Belisarius, and fly to some
place of safety until his troops can be collected. But
Theodora declares that she will remain to be killed as an
empress in her palace, not fleeing like a hunted beast.
Justinian at last determines to face the mob. But an un-
looked for danger threatens him. Marcellus, having free
access to the palace, has introduced his fellow-conspirator,
Andreas, who is on his way to the Emperor's apartments.
Theodora sees him, divines his danger, and suddenly locks
him into the secret gallery. Marcellus, supposing Andreas
to be behind him, is making his way stealthily into Jus-
tinian's cabinet, when he is surprised and bound by Bel-
isarius and his aids.
Justinian orders that Marcellus be tortured to force him
to reveal the names of his fellow-conspirators. The fur-
nace is brought in, the pincers and branding-irons are
heated red-hot. Theodora begs for a moment's private
converse with Marcellus. Fearing lest he may divulge
her liaison with Andreas, Theodora suddenly stabs him
with the golden pin which confines her hair.
As the man falls dead, Justinian cries : " My God !
What have you done ? "
" He insulted me," Theodora coolly replies, " and I
have killed him."
The scene changes to the garden of Andreas's house.
The stage is set with giant palm-trees. At the back can
be seen an arm of the sea, and in the distance the dim
outlines of the Asiatic coast. In this garden, Marcellus
is buried with Byzantine rites. During the ceremony,
from behind the palm-trees, is heard the chorus of
mourners, chanting a solemn dirge.
Theodora enters, and obtains a promise from Andreas
268 THE SARDOU PLAYS
not to leave his house until she can provide a safer hiding-
place for him. But after her departure his fellow-con-
spirators convince him that she is an impostor and has
betrayed them to the Emperor, thus causing the death of
his friend, Marcellus. Andreas vows vengeance, and
promises to give the signal for an attack on the Emperor
at the Hippodrome on the following day.
The sixth scene represents the imperial box at the
Hippodrome ; on a raised dais are the throne of the Emperor
and the Empress's chair; around them the courtiers,
arrayed in splendid costumes, glittering with embroideries
of gold and precious stones. In the Paris production there
were two hundred persons on the stage.
The Praetor, resplendent in his white tunic, embroidered
with gold, his breast-plate shining with diamonds and
rubies, and holding in his hand his golden rod of ofSce,
announces the Emperor. The guards arrange themselves
in line, and Justinian enters with Theodora, preceded by
the thurifers, bearing censers of chased gold. Bernhardt's
dress in this scene was of bleu de del satin, with a train
four yards long, covered with embroidered peacocks with
ruby eyes and feathers of emeralds and sapphires. It was the
work of the most cunning embroiderers in Paris, and was a
perfect mosaic of precious stones.
At the sight of the Emperor and Empress a tumult
breaks out among the people, and Andreas, hurling in-
sults and reproaches on the Emperor, is seized by the
guards. He is about to be executed by the Emperor's
order, when Theodora stays the officer, saying : " Let him
be bound. This man belongs to me." The people now
fly to arms, and engage in a conflict with Belisarius's
mercenaries.
The next scene is in the crypt of the palace, through
whose windows can be seen the flames of the burning city.
Justinian believes the Empress guilty, and has just deter-
THEODORA 269
mined to kill her, when the news comes that Belisarius
has overcome the insurgents.
In the conflict Andreas has disappeared, and is thought
to be dead, but Theodora finds him in one of the wild-
beast vaults of the Hippodrome, where he has been con-
cealed by Tamyris, who found him among the wounded.
Andreas reproaches Theodora for her treachery, and she,
in her despair, calls on heaven to witness that she truly
loves him. As he still repulses her, she suddenly remem-
bers the love-philtre given her by Tamyris; taking advan-
tage of the wounded man's weakness, she forces the
philtre down his throat. But Tamyris had by mistake
given her a poison intended for the Emperor, who had
caused her son to be executed among the conspirators.
Andreas dies in the most frightful agonies.
Theodora has no time to mourn her lover, for the large
portals of the vault swing open; the executioner enters,
and presents to Theodora a red silk cord. She under-
stands; removing her pearl necklace, she bares her neck
and adjusts the cord. Then, bowing her head over
Andreas, she says to the executioner : " Now, I am ready,"
and Justinian's slave strangles her upon her lover's body.
LES FEMMES FORTES
M. QuENTiN is a prosperous French manufacturer,
recently returned from a trip to America, whither he had
gone to settle the estate of a deceased uncle. He comes
back filled with what he believes to be American ideas
concerning the proper degree of freedom for women. His
two daughters, Gabrielle and Jenny, have been living at
home under the care of his cousin Claire, a young lady of
beauty and accomplishments, but with no fortune. Gabrielle
and Jenny are both lively girls, and when their father
returns with these American ideas they accept them with
the utmost enthusiasm. They have already rather dis-
turbed their chaperone Claire by their tendency toward
flirtation, and Jenny is now interested in a pretended
Montenegrin prince, Lazarowitch, whom Claire is en-
deavouring to send to the right-about.
Domiciled with Quentin's family are M. and Madame
Toupart, the latter a sister of Quentin. The defunct
uncle owned a large factory near Havre, which Quentin
and Mine. Toupart had expected to inherit, as they
were his only heirs. But the eccentric old gentleman had
always refused to see them, so they had given up all hope
of inheriting from him. However, as his sudden death
showed that he had died without a will, his property went
to Quentin and Mme. Toupart. But there was a third
heir, a brother of Quentin, who lived in New York. It
was to see him that Quentin had made the voyage to
America. When there, he found that his brother had just
died, and that his only heir was a son who had not been
seen for years, but who was supposed to be living in
California. Therefore, as Quentin explains, he "put an
advertisement in the newspapers." "It is the custom in
270
LES FEMMES FORTES 271
America," he says ; " everybody's private affairs are in the
newspapers. To ascertain news of your friends' heahh,
to print news of your own, to get married or divorced, to
advertise for a lost wife, for lost money, or for a lost
umbrella, you advertise in the newspapers — it is the Amer-
ican way." So he inserts in the newspapers an advertise-
ment, asking Jonathan Quentin, son of Auguste Quentin,
if living, to send his address to his uncle.
His cousin Claire consults him concerning the pretended
Montenegrin prince who is paying his addresses to Jenny;
she suggests that a stop be put to his visits. But Quentin,
imbued with American ideas, will not listen to it. " What,"
he cries, " treat my daughters as if I were a Turk ? Why
not put iron bars on the windows ? Don't talk that way to
a man who has just returned from a country where girls
go alone on journeys of three, six, or nine months; where
they receive whomever they please and when they please!
I want my daughters to grow up into resolute, self-confident,
strong-minded women, brought up in the English and
American fashion."
To show how sincere he is, Quentin has engaged for
his daughter an American governess, a Miss Deborah. He
introduces her to the family as " Doctress Deborah." She
has presided at three woman's meetings on the pressing
necessity of teaching women in New York descriptive
geometry. She has sacrificed family affection, health,
youth, and beauty to the grand cause of feminine education.
Under this lady's training, Quentin speedily learns that
his daughters are growing independent enough, for he
can never find where they are. What is more, he never
can be sure at what hour he will have his dinner. One is
out for a drive with a young man, and gets back half an
hour late. Another decides to dine elsewhere, and does
not send word that she is not coming.
While they are waiting for dinner, his brother-in-law.
272 THE SARDOU PLAYS
Toupart, comes in with a letter; from this they learn that
Jonathan William Quentin, son of the wealthy uncle, is
living at Stockton, California, where he is proprietor of
a large planing-mill, and that he intends to come to his
relatives' house in a few weeks. Toupart sincerely hopes
the young man will go to the bottom when crossing the
ocean, because, adds the frank Toupart, he will insist upon
dividing the inheritance, selling the mill, or making them
pay him six hundred and sixty-six thousand, six hundred
and sixty-six francs, and sixty-six centimes.
While they are discussing this unwelcome epistle, one
of the daughters of the house enters, in hunting costume,
with a very short skirt, gaiters, game-bag, and gun. She
brings a young man with her, to take pot-luck. Claire
discovers that both the girls have made plans for eloping
that night, and is much shocked.
In the midst of this situation suddenly appears Jona-
than. He carries a valise, swings a walking stick, and is
followed by a dog. He informs them that there are not
three heirs, as he is the only heir; there was a pre-nuptial
contract which annulled the will, and therefore their house
is now his.
Quentin sinks into his chair groaning : " We're ruined."
The strong-minded daughters faint upon sofas. Jonathan
carefully observes that the only one of the women who has
not been terrified at his avowal is Cousin Claire.
In the scenes which follow Quentin and Toupart en-
deavour to induce Jonathan to be less hard-hearted. They
try threats, pleadings, menaces of suits-at-law, but all are
fruitless. They find that the American is better versed
in the French code than they are, and they retire dis-
comfited.
Then the two strong-minded sisters, one after another,
try to exercise their charms on the young American, but
fail ignominiously. Quentin at last notifies the family
LES FEMMES FORTES 273
that they must vacate the premises. While Claire is pack-
ing up such of the personal effects as belong to them, Jona-
than finds that he has fallen in love with the penniless
gentlewoman, and prefers his suit. The lady listens to
him, but will consent to marry him only on condition that
he will permit Quentin and his family to remain in the
house. To this he at last consents, and the curtain falls
upon a reunited and presumably happy family.
18
L'ONCLE SAM
The play " L'Oncle Sam " was about to be produced
at the Fifth Avenue Theatre in New York in the month
of October, 1872, just at the time when that theatre was
burned to the ground. Sardou then determined to produce
the piece in Paris. But to his surprise the censorship for-
bade it. He endeavoured to have the ban of the prohibition
lifted, but without avail. The censors referred him to
President Thiers, who apparently was the person respon-
sible for the interdiction. In France the chief of state
interferes in everything. More than once Napoleon III.
lifted the interdiction from plays. M. Emile Augier's
" Les Eff routes " was first forbidden by the censorship and
then permitted by the Emperor. Sardou therefore appealed
directly to the chief magistrate. He sent his play to M.
Thiers with the following letter:
Paris, 20th January, 1873.
M. LE President:
Pardon the liberty I take in turning your attention for a
moment from the grave matters which occupy you, that I may lay
before you the following facts : I have written for the Vaudeville
Theatre a play entitled " L'Oncle Sam." This piece has been com-
mented upon favourably by the commission as offering nothing
objectionable to public order or morals. Nevertheless, and despite
this favourable report, my play has been interdicted by the censor-
ship. The reason of this has been alleged to be injurious references
in the play levelled at the institutions, the manners, and the morals
of the American Republic.
I protest against this judgment. My satire upon American
manners, however pungent it may be, has by no means the objection-
able character imputed to it. The play in no instance crosses the
limit accorded at all epochs to the stage. And if the play makes
for the superiority of French manners and morals over the morals
and manners of the New World, surely that cannot be accounted
274
L'ONCLE SAM 275
a crime against them. Let a single word really painful to Amer-
icans be pointed out to me and I will at once cancel it.
Let me cite in support of my contention the opinion of the
younger Mr. Washburn (son of the American Minister), who, hav-
ing seen and read the play, declares to me that he has found nothing
in it of a nature to wound his national susceptibility.
Therefore we must seek in vain the motives for so harsh an
interdiction, and in the name of the managers of the Vaudeville
Theatre, and in my own, I appeal to your sense of fairness and beg
you to reverse the judgment of the censorship.
Receive, etc.,
ViCTORIEN SARDOU.
After some time M. Thiers addressed to the playwright
the following letter:
Versailles, 12th February, 1873.
Monsieur :
I have received the letter which you sent me and the MS.
which accompanied it. I hope that my delay in replying will not
surprise you if you will be good enough to consider the many
grave affairs which take up my time.
I regret to announce to you that after a second and careful
examination of your play (an examination made by competent and
unprejudiced judges) I cannot reverse the decision of which you
complain. The piece would deeply offend a friendly nation whose
citizens frequent our country and cause much material well-being
by their presence. For the rights of talent I have the respect that
those rights deserve, but it is impossible to sacrifice to them the
public interests.
Receive, etc.,
A. Thiers.
It is rather remarkable that the President should have
been so solicitous about wounding American susceptibilities,
when Sardou had played havoc with the feelings of his own
countrymen. The piece is very largely "La Famille
Benoiton" transplanted to America. The decline of a
French family is paralleled by the corruption of an
276 THE SARDOU PLAYS
American family. Generally speaking, the French play-
wrights have been anything but gentle toward their
countrymen. Adultery is the stock in trade of contem-
poraneous French dramas. In the successful French
melodrama Paris is a lair of brigands, pickpockets, burglars,
and harlots. When a married woman appears it is gener-
ally to deceive her husband or to conspire with her par-
amour to assassinate him. It is not unamusing therefore,
to contemplate the perturbation of the French President
over wounding the susceptibilities of another nation. At
the close of the Franco-Prussian War, when there was
much bitter feeling between the two nations, an enterpris-
ing German got out a book entitled " The French Painted
by Themselves." It was made up entirely of extracts
written by Frenchmen, and it said worse things of French
men and women than ever were said by Germans.
An amusing sequel to this official interdiction of
" L'Oncle Sam " remains to be recorded. Six weeks after
the fire the Fifth Avenue Theatre was rebuilt in New York
of wood. Manager Daly determined to put on "L'Oncle
Sam." Manager Carvalho told Sardou that the produc-
tion of the play in America would certainly cause the
authorities to permit it to be presented in Paris. Sardou
made a new appeal to the President and received a letter
from his secretary which said:
"The President would regard as very unfortunate the effect
that your play would produce on the Americans in Paris. The
Americans may laugh at themselves but- from a foreign people
professing friendship such things would not be taken in the same
spirit."
Such is the curious history of a French play which was
forbidden in Paris and played in New York. Thus the
French people in New York were enabled to see in America
L'ONCLE SAM 277
a play written by a Frenchman satirising American man-
ners, which had been forbidden in France.
In order to give a comic turn to this comedy of politics
it remained only for the French government to turn a
somersault. The 24th of May, 1873, brought about a
change of government. Under the presidency of M. Thiers
the play was considered dangerous to the public order.
Under the presidency of Marshal Macmahon it was per-
fectly innocuous, and was put on the stage.
It was at the Grand Opera House that Augustin Daly
put on " L'Oncle Sam," and the American people laughed
good-humoredly at its satire without showing any resent-
ment. Daly advertised the fact of its suppression freely.
His programmes said:
" This comedy has been prohibited by the French Government
for fear it might wound the feelings of Americans. But Mr. Daly,
relying upon the intelligence of the people of New York, produced
the play without suppressing a single word. He knew that the
American people feel no resentment toward foreign writers who
satirize our ridiculous sides — from the ' American Notes ' of Dickens
down to our days, and that an American audience would rather
laugh over a satire on America than yawn over an apotheosis of
the great Republic."
A curious phase of this curious affair was that the
Parisian audiences took a harsher view of Sardou's satire
on America than did the Americans themselves. A French
audience is rarely interested in foreign plays and foreign
manners. It was shocked rather than amused at the some-
what coarse flirtation scene in the second act of " L'Oncle
Sam," and the remark was heard, " It is impossible that
such things can take place in decent circles in America."
Yet the same audience would smile indulgently over the
extremely free and easy manners of the Benoiton misses
in the satire on a parvenu French family.
278 THE SARDOU PLAYS
The first scene takes place in the grand saloon of one
of the steamboats running between Albany and New York,
on the Hudson River. It is a floating town. One of the
leading personages is a French woman, Mrs. Bellamy, who
has come to the United States for a legacy to which she
has fallen heir. There is another French tourist, the
Marquis Robert de Rochemore. His principal task at
present is to follow a charming American girl, whose name
he does not know. Thanks to Mrs. Bellamy, the acquaint-
ance is soon made. She presents the young and rich
Marquis to Miss Sarah Tapplebot. The young lady is
the niece of Samuel Tapplebot — hence " Uncle Sam."
Among the other passengers on board are Mrs. Belle
Nathaniel and Miss Angela, cousins of Sarah; also the two
husbands of Mrs. Nathaniel, the first being Mr. Elliott,
a newspaper man, and the second Colonel Nathaniel, who
still enjoys the honour of being the lady's husband. Another
traveller is lawyer Fairfax, who is an aspirant for the hand
of Sarah, and the Rev. Jedediah Buxton, who is the min-
ister of a new religion, and urges its dogmas, while at the
same time singing the praises of a new spirituous liquor of
his own invention.
These strange figures are framed in the sumptuous
fittings of a magnificent steamboat saloon, through which
stream darkies, carrying trays covered with "American
drinks," while a brass band blares away and endeavours
to make its music heard over the demoniacal yells of the
darkies, the banging of the boat's bell, and the shrieking
of its steam siren. This tableau strikes the key-note of the
piece.
In the second act we are transported to one of the lead-
ing hotels on Fifth Avenue, New York, where all the per-
sonages of the play seem to have assembled. Even the
young ladies are there, likewise " Uncle Sam " Tapplebot,
who lives, for the most part, permanently at the hotel.
L'ONCLE SAM 279
To Mrs. Bellamy, " Uncle Sam " and his son-in-law,
Colonel Nathaniel, have sold at a very high price some
swamp lands in the West, where they have laid out a boom
town. She has come to beg " Uncle Sam " to sell her some
more at the same price. This extraordinary demand com-
pletely upsets the wily " Uncle Sam." He scrutinises the
French woman; seeing that she has by no means the air
of a simpleton, he scents some new discovery of which he
is not aware. He is morally convinced that she has struck
either coal or gold. So he puts the lady off for the present,
in order to gain time, and sends Colonel Nathaniel out to
his boom town, in order to make explorations on the spot.
The Marquis de Rochemore has been introduced into
her uncle's hotel home by Sarah herself, who (according
to Yankee usage, as Sardou put it) is engaged in fishing
for a husband and a fortune. In this act there is an even-
ing party, attended by a number of very young girls. In
this scene the French audience was shocked by the " Amer-
ican customs." The manner in which the playwright had
represented the extreme freedom of manners which he
believed to be common in America, did not amuse the
French audience, but disgusted it. His attempt to represent
what he believed to be "American flirtation," at times
brought forth hisses.
A type of this is the conduct of Sarah toward the Mar-
quis de Rochemore. She is very much taken with the
handsome face, the title, and the fortune of Robert, and she
enters into a conversation with him, which is partly flirta-
tion and partly a keen lookout for number one. When she
learns that Robert is the eldest son, that he has an income
of 80,000 francs a year, and that he possesses landed estates,
she gives him a melting look and makes him write on her
ball programme, " I adore Miss Sarah Tapplebot with a
view to marriage."
The poor Marquis had been warned by Mrs. Bellamy
280 THE SARDOU PLAYS
of the dangers of American flirtation, but what man ever
thinks of the counsel of wisdom when gazing into melting
eyes? Furthermore, the Marquis has entirely misappre-
hended the conduct of Sarah. Her extreme freedom had
led him to believe that it was not marriage that she desired.
In the third act we are taken to the Tapplebot country
house, where " Uncle Sam," his family, and his friends,
are enjoying the freedom of a Puritan Sunday, by drinking
large quantities of frapped champagne. The Marquis
presents himself unexpectedly. The careless young man
of the first act would scarcely be recognised — ^passion has
changed him. After three days passed in the most familiar
intercourse with Sarah, without the young girl permitting
him to infringe upon her self-respect in the least degree,
she suddenly disappears without a word of farewell to
Robert. She returns to her uncle's house; she also, like
Robert, seems pale and troubled. An explanation is soon
sought for between these two troubled hearts, who have
been separated by a misunderstanding, which forms the
clue to the play. What has happened? It is this: Sarah
in the midst of her frivolity has suddenly felt within her
something weaken, something give way, which hitherto had
permitted her to play her part. She discovers that she loves
Robert, and her love has opened her eyes. She learns that
Robert has never seriously thought of making her his wife ;
that his love was not an honourable love. Yet her passion
for him is so great that if she remains near him another
day, she is lost, so she has fled from danger.
This is what Robert has learned in his turn : It is that
he has no longer before him a young woman, sensual, sor-
did, calculating, who is legitimate prey for his passions, but
a spirited young girl, proud, yet trembling, chaste and
dignified, worthy of being loved for herself. He throws
himself at her feet and swears that she must be his. This
scene greatly moved the French audience, which during
L'ONCLE SAM 281
the first two acts had not been amused but rather irritated
by the satire on American manners. At the end of the
second act, the piece was in peril; at the end of the third
act, it seemed to have won the day.
A new complication changes the complexion of afifairs.
The two lovers fall into a snare. " Uncle Sam," accom-
panied by the Pastor Jedediah and two friends, the news-
paper man, Elliott, his former son-in-law, and Fairfax, the
disappointed lover of Sarah, present themselves at the door
of the drawing-room.
" Sir," he says to Robert, " the situation in which I
find you forces me to ask if you are ready to marry my
niece. Here is a clergyman and here are two witnesses."
Robert rises from his knees in great indignation. The
ambuscade is evident; the warnings of Mrs. Bellamy come
to his mind; the avowals which Sarah has just reluctantly
made were evidently nothing but a plot to lead him deeper
into the snare. He refuses.
" I suppose you know then," says " Uncle Sam," " we
shall make you pay damages?"
" I do not know at what price you estimate the honour
of a young girl in America," replies the Marquis, " but send
the bill and I will pay it."
Then he goes out, leaving Sarah fainting on the floor.
The last act takes us back to the Fifth Avenue Hotel.
We are in the parlour, which is at the foot of the grand
staircase, at the back of the stage. Colonel Nathaniel has
returned from his excavations in the boom town of Tapple-
bot. He has brought back from there nothing but a fever
and ague, which makes his teeth rattle. He has found
nothing. Nevertheless, Mrs. Bellamy renews her offers.
She wishes to buy all the land there is for sale, not at the
price she paid originally, but at double that sum; finally
she oflFers even triple that amount, and offers to pay cash.
" Uncle Sam " is completely hoodwinked by this persistence.
THE SARDOU PLAYS
He not only refuses to sell a foot more of the precious land,
but he points out to her a clause in the deed to the land
she already has, which empowers him, under certain condi-
tions, to annul the sale already made. He formally annuls
the sale and offers her the money. The wily Frenchwoman
sighs, but pretends to be resigned, and snaps into her pocket-
book the bank-notes which " Uncle Sam " hands to her.
" Now that we have settled our affair," says the vener-
able "Uncle Sam," "tell me what you have found in the
land?"
" Nothing at all, Mr. Tapplebot," replies the lady, " ex-
cept my money, which I have got back, and I am very glad
to get it."
" Uncle Sam," who is at first stupefied, finally becomes
so struck with admiration for the cunning Mrs. Bellamy
that he offers her his hand. The lady, however, informs him
frankly that she would prefer no further dealings with him
after the land' purchase.
Affairs must be regulated between Sarah and Robert.
Mrs. Bellamy wishes to get her countryman out of the
claws of these adventurers; she comes to them to demon-
strate that he could not be held because there is no promise
of marriage.
"You are mistaken," says Sarah, who enters unper-
ceived ; " here is his promise of marriage on my ball pro-
gramme." Turning to Robert she says, " But I will not
hold you to it. I would spare you the humiliation of seeing
you, a French gentleman, deny your own signature before
American judges. I will tear your promise," and she tears
it in two and throws it at his feet. " It is I who have re-
leased you. Go. I never wish to see you more."
Robert in despair determines to be revenged on Fair-
fax, the disappointed lover, who, in order to win the hand
of Sarah, has devised the trap in which Robert is caught.
Robert provokes him and pursues him into the saloon of
L'ONCLE SAM 283
the hotel, where he insults him publicly. What the play-
wright calls "an American duel " then follows. Fairfax
seizes his revolver; the two adversaries begin firing on the
grand staircase. Fairfax fires at Robert, whom he misses;
the bullet shatters a large mirror on the first floor. Sarah
throws herself upon Robert, shields him with her body, and
pushes him into her own room. Fairfax, on the other hand,
is pushed into her room by Mrs. Bellamy, who locks the
door, and only releases him under condition of disarma-
ment.
Robert finally marries Sarah, and takes her back to
France. Mrs. Bellamy accompanies them, only too happy to
take back'to Europe the money she got back from the boom
town. As for Colonel Nathaniel, Belle leaves him, saying
he is "no good," gets a divorce, and remarries Elliott, her
first husband.
ODETTE
In speaking of Sardou's Villa at Nice M. Jules Claretie
says that in "Odette," when produced at the Vaudeville,
the playwright introduced a part of the magnificent pan-
orama seen from the rock of Monthuron, on which his
villa stands. Like Sardou, the Parisian audience looked
on the blue Mediterranean, and they, too, saw the magnifi-
cent Corniche Road winding among the olive trees, with
which, as well as with villas, the flanks of the hills are cov-
ered. It is curious, as showing Sardou's passion for accu-
rate detail, that he had a number of photographs taken in
and around his villa in order to reproduce accurately this
bit of the Riviera on the Vaudeville stage at Paris. While
" Odette " was being thus carefully placed on the stage,
" Divorgons " had just turned its three hundredth night
and the Academy was electing Sardou to one of its forty
chairs.
Sardou's love for Nice, his winter home, was natural.
His infancy and childhood were passed there. There still
exists a little dam built by him as a boy in a garden owned
near Nice by one of his aunts. And he was fond of telling,
how, once, when he was nine years old, he rode behind his
grandfather, a veteran in the wane of the Republic and the
Empire, through a vast marsh across which dimly twinkled
the lights of a little town. This little town on the farther
side of the marsh was Nice. The horse sunk so deeply into
the marsh that the child's feet dragged on the ground as he
clung to his grandfather's belt. This marsh to-day is the
new or modern part of Nice — ^the Nice of wealth, of luxury,
of fine boulevards like the Champs-Elysees — the Nice of
queer princesses, of doubtful generals, of apochryphal am-
bassadors — in short, the Nice of " Odette."
284
ODETTE 285
The play begins with an unpleasant discovery by the
Count de Clermont-Latour. He has made a love-match
with a woman much younger than himself, a young lady
whose first name is Odette, but whose last name no one
seems to know — that is, her paternal name. The young
lady's mother has a reputation for not having any repu-
tation in particular, but, in opposition to the advice of his
elder brother, the General, the Count has taken the impru-
dent step of wedding the daughter, a young woman who
is coquettish, a spendthrift, and without principle. The
inevitable happens. The Count returns unexpectedly to his
Chateau Bretigny at midnight. He surprises young Mon-
sieur Cardaillan introducing himself clandestinely into the
Countess's boudoir with a key. The facts are clear and
unmistakable. The Count does not hesitate as to his course.
He immediately summons the governess of his three-year-
old daughter Berangere.
" Take away my child," he tells her, " and conduct her
at once to my brother, the General."
As soon as the child is safely away with her governess,
the Count summons his wife Odette. " You are a miser-
able wretch," he cries, " leave my house at once."
Odette does not defend herself as a woman, but as a
mother she resists. She demands that he shall not separate
her from her daughter. But the Count remains inflexible,
and Odette at last yields and departs, hurling as a fare-
well word at her husband the epithet " coward 1 "
With the opening of the second act, fourteen years have
elapsed. The Count has reared his daughter with the most
touching solicitude. He has assumed toward her almost
the place of mother. She has been told that her mother was
drowned while boating at Trouville.
The young girl Berangere is on the eve of wedding a
young man whom she loves, M. de Meyran. But an obstacle
to this match arises, which Berangere did not look for. If
THE SARDOU PLAYS
her mother is dead to her world, she is by no means dead
to the world of Paris. On the contrary, for those who
know the giddy circles of that city, she is very much alive.
Madame de Meyran, the grandmother of the young
girl's lover, hesitates to give her consent, or rather she
makes it conditional. She demands that if she consents to
the marriage the Countess Odette will enter into an agree-
ment never to return to Paris, and to lay aside forever
the name of Countess de Clermont.
Although this demand may seem harsh, it is, in reality,
moderate when it is known what Odette has become.
After the judicial separation which deprives her of the
care of her daughter, the Countess had lived some time with
her seducer, Cardaillan. After this, she became the mis-
tress of the Prince Reuss-Graetz, and led with him a lux-
urious existence in Vienna. From Vienna and the young
Prince Reuss-Graetz, Odette went to Naples to live with
the old Prince Rospoli. After the death of her old Prince
she fell into the arms of an adventurer who passed under
the name of the Viscount de Frontenac. It is, therefore,
not remarkable that Madame de Meyran should not be
overjoyed at the prospect of presenting her grandson with
such a mother-in-law as the Countess Odette.
The piece, therefore, turns upon the question whether
Odette will consent to lay aside the title of Countess de
Clermont in order to assure the happiness of her daughter
Berangere, whom she has not seen for fourteen years.
The Count, his daughter, and her lover, M. de Meyran,
have gone to Nice for the camivaL Chance leads to the
same city the Countess Odette and hei- lover. They be-
come the guests of a charlatan, one Oliva, who calls himself
a doctor, but whose genuine profession is to keep a swell
gambling house. The Countess Odette acts as hostess in
this gilded den, where young lambs, the sons of rich man-
ODETTE 287
ufacturing fathers, allow themselves to be sheared closely
by gentlemen " of industry."
One of these, her partner Frontenac, is so clumsy as to
allow himself to be detected in cheating at baccarat. Odette
is at first terrified and then furious at this discovery;
hurling the playing cards into the face of Frontenac, she
drives him from the room, calling him a thief. Then, when
the " guests " have departed from this embarrassing scene,
she bursts into tears and cries :
" To think of a woman like myself sinking into this
pool of iniquity ! Yet who will give me a helping hand ? "
" I will, if you will permit me," replies a voice. It is
Count Clermont, who has come to pay a visit to his ex-
wife.
It is not a pleasant meeting. The Count offers to pay
Odette's debts and to double her allowance if she complies
with the conditions required by Madame de Mfeyran. But
Odette refuses to lay aside the name which she has borne
since her marriage. It is all that remains to her, she in-
sists, and she will keep it. When the Count endeavours to
move her by appealing to her maternal love, Odette replies :
"My daughter? I do not know her, since you have
stolen her from me, but I love her still. I wish to see her,
to speak with her, to have her know her mother's face."
" You shall not ! I defy you ! " he replies.
This scene between the husband and his former wife,
while painful, is a powerful one. The Count at last is de-
feated, and in order to prevent a scandal, yields to the
wishes of Odette. She is presented to her daughter as a
lady who was a friend of the late Countess Clermont.
In the interview between the degraded Odette and the
innocent daughter, the young girl does not suspect that
the woman before her is her mother. Berangere shows to
the strange lady little relics of her dead mother — a lock of
hair, a ball programme, and some trinkets. She weeps as
288 THE SARDOU PLAYS
she tells the strange lady of the many virtues of her mother,
of whom the Count has always spoken as the best and most
amiable of women.
This touching proof of the paternal delicaqr of the
Count de Clermont begins to disturb the heart of the wicked
Odette. She has come to reveal herself and to claim her
maternal rights from her daughter, but now she hesitates.
" There are separations more cruel than death," she
falters. " I know in this city a lady who for many years
has lived apart from her husband and her daughter. The
law has separated them."
" She must be a bad woman, then," cries Berangere.
" She is unfortunate rather than bad," replies Odette.
"Has she never tried to see her husband again?" asks
Berangere.
" She does not wish to see him."
"And her child?"
" Her child has been taken from her by the law."
" Then," says Berangere, " the law believes she is not a
good mother."
" The law is in error."
" But if she did nothing to recover her child, and if the
law took the father's side, she must have been wrong. But
let us not talk of this bad woman — let us speak of my dear
mother."
" No ! " cries Odette, breaking into violent weeping,
" let us speak no more of her. She is dead."
After this painful interview, Odette, despairing of any
happiness in life, drowns herself.
LES VIEUX GARgONS
The play begins in the chateau of the de Chavenays, a
couple who have been married only a year and a half. Vis-
iting them are the du Bourgs and the de Troenes, also
newly married couples. The three ladies are deploring the
neglect of their husbands, one of whom is fond of shooting,
another of gambling, and another of actresses. As the
matrons are mutually condoling, Antoinette de Chavenay,
an unmarried sister of the master of the house, enters.
She listens in astonishment to their attacks upon marriage,
which are interrupted by the entrance of a servant with the
card of a certain M. de Mortemer. The married ladies
look at one another significantly. He is an elderly bachelor,
who has had many affairs with ladies of the best society.
He is not acquainted with the mistress of the house. None
the less, she decides to admit him, as there must be some
special reason for his visit.
Mortemer enters. He introduces himself as a country
neighbour, the possessor of the adjacent chateau, and tells
a moving tale to explain his visit. Some poor peasants
have had their cottage burned, and lost their little all. He
is getting up a subscription among the rich families of the
neighbourhood, and all he asks is the assistance of these
ladies. They accede to his wishes, and intrust to the char-
itable Mortemer their gifts for the poor family. Mortemer
does not leave at once, but remains for a quarter of an hour ;
he dazzles and fascinates them all by his wit, his brilliancy,
his charm — from the most worldly matron to the innocent
ingenue, Antoinette.
But the men are returning from their shooting. The
first two to arrive are Clavieres, another elderly bachelor,
and de Nantya, a young man who takes a deep interest in
19 289
290 THE SARDOU PLAYS
Antoinette. Clavieres, who is an old crony of Mortemer's,
is surprised to see him at the de Chavenays', and asks him
how he comes to be there.
" I am getting up a subscription for a poor family who
have been burned out — a sick father and four children,"
replies Mortemer modestly. "I hope you will give some-
thing, Qavieres." And as Clavieres hesitates, Mortemer
goes on : " Four children, I tell you, and the wife is in an
interesting condition."
" Come, come," interrupts Qavieres, " here's your
money. Take it quick or there'll be twins in a minute."
Then sotto voce he adds, " See here, old man, you have
got to give this back. I take no stock in your fake fires."
But de Nantya is even more incredulous than Clavieres,
who is a Parisian. De Nantya lives in the neighbourhood.
He interrogates Mortemer closely as to the name of the
family, their occupation, and where they live, much to the
discomfiture of that clever gentleman. But Mortemer suc-
ceeds in evading detailed answers, and goes out with
Qavieres and Veaucourtois, who with him make up the
trio of Vieux Gargons.
When the three bachelors are together, Mbrtemer in-
terrogates Clavieres closely about the three couples, all of
them lately married, it would seem. The questioning is of
a most pointed nature, and the bachelors frankly express
a desire to encroach upon the marital preserves of their
neighbours — ^with the exception, that is, of Veaucourtois,
who is represented as a wreck. They decide that they will
wait until the ladies return to Paris for the winter season.
It is already the end of autumn.
In the next act, we are in Paris. De Nantya has come
up from the provinces, and calls upon de Chavenay to de-
mand the hand of his sister Antoinette. De Chavenay re-
ceives his suit most cordially. De Nantya, however, tells
him he has an avowal to make — it is that the name of
LES VIEUX GARQONS 291
Nantya is only the name of his estate. His mother had
left him, with her large fortune, this estate, which bore
her maiden name. It was all the name she left him, as he
was an illegitimate son, and she would not tell him who
his father was. He makes this avowal with much embar-
rassment, but De Chavenay reassures him, and tells him
that an honourable man can do honour to any name.
When this interview is over they go to the salon, where
the three matrons are again assembled. The ladies are
discussing Mortemer, who has become a valued friend to
all, it would appear. For Mme. du Bourg, he has induced
the Prefect of Paris to cut down a tree, which obstructed
the view from her window. For Mme. de Chavenay he has
secured a famous Indian stuff which she had sought for
vainly in all the shops of Paris. He has found a rare por-
trait for du Bourg, who is an enthusiastic collector. He
has discovered a profitable coal-mine for de Chavenay, who
is an ardent speculator. While they are talking of this in-
valuable friend, he enters, and is greeted most cordially by
all. But the brilliant Mortemer is discomfited by the sight
of de Nantya, of whom he has no pleasant recollection. He
is so silent that it excites general wonder.
"What is the matter?" asks Mme. de Chavenay.
" No new stories ? " cries Mme. de Troenes.
" No new gossip ? " demands Mme. du Bourg.
" And no new — er — ^fires ? " asks M. de Nantya.
Mortemer looks at him with a disagreeable expression,
but does not reply. As the conversation continues, de
Nantya more than once interrupts Mortemer in a manner
which shows that there is bad blood between the two men.
The three bachelors, who occupy apartments in the same
house, have a large salon, which they use in common for a
reception-room. The following morning, Mortemer, going
from his chamber into the salon, there meets Clavieres, who
is coming in covered with snow, and in an execrable temper.
THE SARDOU PLAYS
He informs Mortemer, who is surprised at his early prome-
nade, that he has been waiting for Mme. du Bourg in the
Luxembourg Garden, where she had made an appointment
with him at that unearthly hour. He had begun an affair
with her, and she had written him two letters; but she
had suddenly become alarmed, and was making appoint-
ments with him all over Paris, demanding that he return
her letters. This morning's appointment she has failed to
keep. Clavieres intimates that he is growing weary of the
lady, and will endeavour to terminate his flirtation.
Veaucourtois, the senile bachelor, enters at this moment,
and informs Clavieres that in order to get one of the hus-
bands out of the way the night before, he had inveigled him
to a supper with some actresses; there, the truant, de
Troenes, got so tipsy that Veaucourtois was afraid to take
him home, and therefore brought him to their quarters.
De Troenes is still there asleep, and has been so for many
hours ; hence, Veaucourtois had been obliged to leave word
with Mme. de Troenes where her husband was, for fear
she should think some ill had befallen him.
A servant announces a gentleman and two ladies. It
is Mme. de Chavenay and Mme. du Bourg, accompanied
by de Nantya. They have come to inquire after de Troenes,
and are informed that he is still asleep. They depart,
agreeing to send some clothing for him by the hands of de
Nantya, in order to prevent the servants from learning his
condition. De Nantya is shown a back staircase, by which
he may enter and thus attract less attention with his bundle
of clothing.
Scarcely has this group gone, when Clavieres receives a
card which causes him to ask his friends to vacate the
salon — which they do. It is the card of Mme. du Bourg,
who speedily enters. She is in a state of great agitation,
and tells Clavieres she had written him a letter to say she
could not keep her appointment at the Luxembourg. He
LES VIEUX GARQONS 293
shivers at the thought of the snowy rendezvous. She goes
on to say that she had just carefully addressed and sealed
this letter when Antoinette de Chavenay called in her sis-
ter's carriage to take Mme. du Bourg shopping, they having
agreed to go together. They went from the " Bon Marche,"
she remembers, to the "Louvre," from the "Louvre" to
the " Printemps." There she suddenly remembered that
she had not yet posted her letter. She hunted for it — it
was gone! She ransacked the carriage fruitlessly; she
went back to her house; there her maid told her she had
seen M. du Bourg take a letter from her desk ; her husband
gazed at it suspiciously for a long time, then frowned, put
it in his pocket, and went out. Mme. du Bourg hyster-
ically tells Clavieres that all is lost, their affair is dis-
covered, and nothing is left for them but to die together.
At this point she presents him with a small bottle of lau-
danum, which he tosses into the fire. He tells her that she
is probably mistaken — ^the letter must have been lost in one
of the large shops, and if they will hasten there, he is cer-
tain they will find it in one of them. He urges her to
accompany him at once by the rear exit.
" But," she tells him, " Antoinette is waiting for me in
the carriage below; she thinks I am visiting my physician
here."
" Very well," responds Clavieres, " I will send my ser-
vant to tell her to wait for you no longer."
As they go out together, Mortemer suddenly emerges
from his chamber, and bids the servant, instead of giving
this message, to say to the lady in the carriage, " Will
madame please come up, as Mme. du Bourg is waiting for
her upstairs ? "
In a few moments Antoinette enters, and tranquilly
greets Mortemer. She asks for Mme. du Bourg. Morte-
mer replies that she is still with her physician, and will
join Antoinette in a few moments. He then attempts with
294 THE SARDOU PLAYS
devilish art to arouse the young girl's curiosity concerning
the forbidden side of Paris life. It is evident from his
conversation that he doubts her innocence. Her answers
only bring from him hidden sneers, and as he talks to her
of matters which to her are utterly incomprehensible, the
frank gaze of her innocent eyes is mistaken by him for
boldness. He asks her whether she has heard the married
women speak of him as a roue ; she admits she does not
know what a roue may be, and asks him what it means.
She tells him the married women call him a bad man, but
as he is so kind and fatherly to her, she cannot believe that
he is bad. When the innocent Antoinette thus receives his
evil approaches, the veteran libertine is disarmed ; he grows
heartily ashamed of himself.
"So you have looked upon me as a father?" he says.
" Then I shall look upon you as a daughter. Go, my child,
go — leave this place at once."
As she goes out the sound of a struggle is heard, and
the door bursts open. It is de Nantya struggling with
Qavieres, who is endeavouring to prevent him from enter-
ing. With much excitement de Nantya informs Mortemer
that he has learned of Mademoiselle de Chavenay's presence
in the room, and that she must have just left it.
Mortemer coldly replies : " I do not know, sir, by what
right you claim to interrogate me."
De Nantya hesitates. "Only declare to me on your
honour that Mademoiselle de Chavenay has not been here,"
he says, " and I will interrogate you no further."
To this Mortemer replies : " In view of your excited
condition, sir, I will so far humour you as to assure you
that I was alone."
As he speaks a servant enters, saying: "The young
lady forgot her veil, sir." Seeing it on a chair he picks it
up and hurries out.
" Ah, scoundrel," cries de Nantya, " you have lied to me,
LES VIEUX GARgONS 896
but I shall kill you for this," and with a cry of rage he
hastens after Antoinette.
In the next scene we find Mortemer in his apartment.
It is daybreak. The light of a lamp falls on papers and
letters in confusion, scattered over the large table. The
clock strikes. He looks up. " What, five o'clock already ! "
He throws some papers in the fire. " No matter how often
a man fights," he muses, " the night before is never a calm
one. Talk as we may of our dashing ancestors, who drew
sword on the instant and fell to fighting under a dim
street lamp. That was easier than the strain on the nerves
caused by reflecting over a duel the night before. Clavieres
is right — we are growing old. The last time I fought, four
years ago, I did not take so much trouble over my papers.
But why do I now? I have no heirs. No brother, no sis-
ter, no child. And if I come back in a few hours, with a
sword- wound, who will weep at my bedside if I die? No
one. Ah, Mortemer, the life you have led has been a
merry one, but it is having a melancholy ending. And of
all your loves there remain only six drawers full of yel-
lowing letters." He picks up one at random and reads it :
" Will you ever know, my dea/r one, how deep my love
for you has been? Perhaps some day you may, when it is
ended, and when you shall seek for a name at the end of
this letter without remembering her who wrote it."
He stops, and looks at the end of the letter. " She is
right. I do not remember, but there is neither name nor
date." He goes on reading : " / knew all this in advance.
My reason told it me. Yet I love you so dearly that I far-
get it when I see you, and when I remember it I only love
you the more."
" Poor woman ! I wonder who she was ? No name.
Nothing but this seal." He is closely inspecting the seal by
the lamplight, when he is interrupted by Clavieres, who
comes to tell him that the seconds have been unable to bring
296 THE SARDOU PLAYS
about any arrangement, and the duel is to take place;
De Nantya's seconds are du Bourg and de Chavenay.
Although de Chavenay is the brother of Antoinette, he is
ignorant of the cause of the duel, and de Nantya, in a note,
begs Mortemer to keep it a secret. The pretext is a quarrel
over a bet.
Mortemer starts as he looks at de Nantya's letter. The
seal is the same as that upon the old love-letter lying on
the table. He shows it to Clavieres. They are both aston-
ished : the seals are identical, the arms are the same.
The servant announces de Chavenay and du Bourg.
They have come to say that the duel must take place at
another rendezvous, as the first chosen is the scene of a
hunt that day. They are ready to start at once, as de
Nantya is waiting for them in a carriage below. But Mor-
temer detains de Chavenay — ^he asks to know de Nantya's
real name. De Chavenay for a long time evades replying,
till finally Mortemer says that he shall insist upon knowing
whom he fights. De Chavenay sneers at these scruples on
the eve of the duel. Mortemer recalls to him that a man
who has already fought six times need not fear an accusa-
tion of cowardice. Here de Chavenay, in a tone of warn-
ing, points out that a refusal to fight with his principal
reflects upon him. Mortemer replies that he will be more
than happy to cross swords with M. de Chavenay, but that
he must refuse to fight M. de Chavenay's principal until he
learns his name.
De Chavenay withdraws for a moment to consult with
du Bourg. They decide that they must tell the truth.
They inform Mortemer that de Nantya is the name of their
principal's estate, for he has no legal name, as he is illegiti-
mate; his mother had steadfastly refused to reveal to him
his father's name; her own name was de Rilly. Mortemer
staggers as if shot.
LES VIEUX GARQONS 297
Just as this avowal has been made to him, the door
opens, and de Nantya, weary of waiting, appears. He
cross-questions his seconds, and they tell him what they
have done. He approves of their action.
"And now, gentlemen, as everything is to your satis-
faction," says de Nantya, " let us leave for the field." To
the stupefaction of everyone, Mortemer says calmly : " I
refuse." His seconds, Clavieres and Veaucourtois, plead
with him, but he is obdurate. The other seconds confer
with them, but Mortemer will listen to no one. De Nantya
is with difficulty restrained from attacking Mortemer. He
has even lifted his hand to slap Mortemer's face, when his
own seconds bear him back. Foaming with rage, de Nan-
tya is forced from the room by his seconds, denouncing
Mortemer, and shouting at him: "Coward! coward! —
coward with women, coward with men ! "
As the door closes between them, Clavieres cries, " What
can be the matter? How can you submit to such insults?
Are you mad ? "
To which the unhappy Mortemer replies: " Mad? No,
I wish I were. My punishment is not madness, it is another
cross. That young man is my son ! "
In the last act matters are arranged between the peni-
tent husband de Troenes and his wife. He has had enough
of actresses' suppers, and swears never to wander from the
conjugal hearth again. Mme. du Bourg, who has been
much exercised over her lost letter, is also relieved from
her mental travail. The husbands and wives are again as-
sembled in the salon of the de Chavenays. M. du Bourg
takes a paper from his pocketbook, and says to Clavieres,
gazing significantly at his wife:
" I have something for you."
Mme. du Bourg turns pale.
" For me ? " says Clavieres in a faltering voice.
" Yes," says du Bourg, " a letter."
THE SARDOU PLAYS
" Great Heavens ! " murmurs Mme. du Bourg, trembling,
" I am lost."
" Yes," says du Bourg, " I found it on my wife's desk,
where she had forgotten it. It bears your name."
" Then, sir," says Clavieres, " since it is evident that
you know what it is "
" Of course I do," says du Bourg. " It is some of those
charity concert tickets. She's always sending them to her
friends. I've kept it for two days, and thus saved you
fifty francs, for the concerts are now over. Take it, my
boy." And as he hands it to Clavieres, both that dangerous
bachelor and the giddy matron breathe more freely.
At this point de Nantya enters, and asks permission to
speak privately with Antoinette. He asks her what took
place at her interview with Mortemer. She tells him
frankly. While they are still conversing, Mortemer is
announced. He asks to speak with the lovers ; they tell him
they are about to wed. He wishes them a happy wedded
life, and then he puts a hypothetical case before them. It
is that of a father who had abandoned his child and aban-
doned its mother. He asks if there could be any possible
pardon for such a man. De Nantya shakes his head. Mor-
temer says, in a low voice : " I am condemned," and turns
to go. But Antoinette is more tender-hearted than de
Nantya. She pleads for the unknown father who deserted
his child. Her eloquence finally moves de Nantya, who
remembers that the last words of his dying mother were,
" Always forgive." " Feeling as I do now, I could pardon
such a man," he adds, " even were he my father."
" Then you can pardon me," says Mortemer in a broken
voice, " for you are my son."
ANDREA
The scene is laid in Vienna, one of the gayest of con-
tinental capitals. The first act introduces us to the Count
and Countess von Toeplitz. They are young, handsome,
and rich. What more is needed to make them happy ? The
Countess Andrea adores her husband. The Count Stephan
seems infatuated with his Countess. Nevertheless, the two
spouses live almost separate lives. The Countess Andrea
goes ever into the world of gaiety, where she shines without
apparently arousing the jealousy of the Count. On his
side, Count Stephan acts as if he were a bachelor, and
passes his evenings at the opera or at the club. This life he
finds extremely agreeable — it has all the charms of mar-
riage without its burdens. The young Countess sighs at
times over their divergent ways, but nothing has yet come
to disturb her happiness.
Suddenly a bolt drops from the blue. One Birschmann,
a jeweller, calls, and is anxious to speak to the Count. As
it is her birthday, Andrea is convinced that her husband
is preparing a surprise for her. Yielding to her curiosity,
she persuades the jeweller to show her a certain mysterious
object which he has in a jewel-case. The indiscreet Birsch-
mann yields. It is a magnificent bracelet with an intricate
design in diamonds — an " S " crowned with a star.
What can this " S " mean, when the Countess is called
Andrea? What does the star symbolise? The luckless
jeweller is much embarrassed, but remembers that the
Count told him the star was an allusion to a Latin word.
There are dictionaries on the shelves of the library, and
the Countess feverishly searches for the Latin word for
" star." She finds that it is Stella. So her rival is called
" Stella."
299
300 THE SARDOU PLAYS
Who is Stella? She is indeed a star. Stella is the lead-
ing dancer of the opera at Vienna. Andrea quickly divines
that her husband is false to her. She determines to learn
to what extent. The dancer's dress-maker is a sister of
the jeweller. Thanks to these minor relationships, the
Countess shall see her enemy face to face.
In the next scene we are in the dressing-room of the
ballet-dancer. " Behind the Scenes " is a favourite scene
with dramatists. Stella's dressing-room is continually in-
vaded by young men of fashion, call-boys, prompters, stage-
managers, and maids. In the midst of them all sits Mon-
sieur Rabnum, an American manager with a long beard.
From in front are heard thunders of applause; the specta-
tors are recalling their divinity. Finally, in comes Stella,
in her ballet costume, to receive the homage of her little
court.
Into the dressing-room penetrates the young Countess
Andrea, who is disguised as an assistant sent by Stella's
dress-maker. But poor Andrea does not know what she is
to encounter. Judge of her emotion when she hears her
husband's voice without; he is knocking at Stella's door.
Despite his supplications, the ballet-dancer bids him be off,
as she is busy. She suddenly notices that the little dress-
maker is pale and apparently fainting. Stella is filled with
sympathy, and interrogates her. She finds that the little
dress-maker is mad with jealousy over a recreant lover. So
Stella gives her some ballet-dancer's philosophy, bidding
her have no confidence in any man. " Why, that fellow
who has just been knocking at the door, and whom I sent
away, is a rich nobleman. He has a charming wife, and
yet he swears to me that he would leave her at once on a
word from me. Come, I'll call him back, just to show you
what creatures men are." So she conceals the poor little
weeping Countess behind a screen.
Count Stephan enters. He vows his undying love; he
ANDREA 301
laments Stella's coldness. As she is about leaving for
Bucharest, he swears he will follow her — that very night,
at three hours after midnight, he will join her on the
Danube steamer. The Countess, dazed by such perfidy, is
possessed of but one thought — ^that of preventing at all
costs the flight of her Stephan.
In the next scene the Baron de Kaulben, minister of
police, has just returned to his house after leaving the
opera. This high personage exercises his delicate functions
with much urbanity and humour. As he is about to seek
the repose needful after a laborious day, a veiled lady pre-
sents herself on urgent business. It is the Baroness Thecle,
a friend of Andrea. The Baroness fears blackmail by a
pretended General Cracovero, half Peruvian and half
Greek. He is an adventurer, a swindler, and at times a
police spy. He holds some compromising letters written by
her. The minister of police reassures her, for General
Cracovero is not only in the police Service, but in the meshes
of the police as well. The minister promises the Baroness
that she shall have her letters, and in a transport of joy
she fairly hugs the minister for his trouble.
In the scene which follows, the Countess Andrea seeks
his aid. The gallant Baron is much moved by the appeal
of the Countess, but he is obliged to tell her that the law
does nothing for ladies whose husbands desert the con-
jugal roof with pretty actresses. Still, an idea occurs to the
good-hearted minister. " Your husband," says he, " is act-
ing like a madman, and I shall treat him as such. He is
about to return home to make his preparations for flight.
It is now your business to keep him there. If you do not
succeed, flash a light out over the portal. My detectives
will be posted there, and your husband will be detained for
some hours — long enough to let Stella leave for Bucharest
— and alone."
302 THE SARDOU PLAYS
In the next act, the Countess Andrea, rendered even
more charming by excitement and jealousy, endeavours to
keep Count Stephan from leaving her. The Count strug-
gles desperately. He heaps lie upon lie. He devises a
duel, he pleads a headache, he contrives a business journey.
As the Countess refuses to believe any of these stories, he
simply escapes into the night. At first she cannot believe
that he would thus leave her, but the advice of the minister
of police occurs to her, and she displays a light from the
window.
In the next scene we find the dashing Count Stephan
fretting like a caged beast in an asylum for lunatics. Not
in the least understanding his misadventure, he writes to
all his friends. One of them, Balthazar, comes to the
asylum to see him. Balthazar had been present the night
before at a farewell supper given to Stella, whence, being
flushed with wine, he had walked home with Stephan. In
his intoxication he saw, or thought he saw, a man furtively
getting into Stephan's house, and he relates to Stephan his
nocturnal vision. This plunges the Count into a condition
very like genuine madness. He thinks no more of Stella,
but only of Andrea. Can it be possible that his little wife
is unfaithful ? In the twinkling of an eye he seizes the hat
and long winter cloak of Balthazar, and thrusting that
young man into his cell, goes forth into the street.
The last scene it is easy to guess. Stephan's unfounded
jealousy leads to explanations, to repentance, to a recon-
ciliation, and the curtain falls on a reunited couple.
NOS INTIMES^
It was in " Nos Intimes " that Sardou presented, for
the first time, his favourite character — ^that of a man of
middle age, sometimes a professor, frequently a physician;
a man who knows everything, sees everything, betrays
nothing; who is a marvel of tact and discretion; who re-
unites the embroiled husband and wife ; who brings together
the quarrelling lovers; who destroys the tell-tale letter —
who, in a word, performs all the acts which the ancient
dramatists entrusted to a deus ex machina. In " Nos In-
times " this Admirable Crichton is Dr. Tholosan.
Caussade is a wealthy retired Parisian, living in a fine
country-place, with a young wife who is but little older
than his daughter Ben j amine. Maurice, a handsome young
man, is spending some time at Caussade's place, convales-
cing from an illness. He utilises his leisure by falling in
love with Cecile, the wife of his friend, Caussade. This
lady takes a romantic interest in him, but has not yet real-
ised the danger of being interested in good-looking young
men convalescing from fevers.
In the first act there is a sentimental scene between
Cecile and Maurice, which that young man craftily works
up to a dramatic finish by feigning to faint. Fortunately,
Dr. Tholosan is at hand, and comes in response to Cecile's
cries for help. He at once sends her to his room for a
restorative medicine, and he is left alone with the uncon-
scious lover:
Tholosan [taking Maurice's glass of lemonade] — Now, if you
please, open the right eye. . . . [He drinks the lemonade.'] And then
the left. . . . [He drinks.] And now, get up and walk. . . .
* Best-known English versions, "Bosom Friends," "Friends or
Foes," "Boon Companions," "Peril," "A Wife's Peril."
303
THE SARDOU PLAYS
Maurice [opening his ck*]— Tholosan, I assure you . . .
[He jumps up.]
Tholosan [emptying the glass] — There, that's the movement I
want.
Maurice — You demon of a doctor, you. It is no joke to be ill
with you around. But, nevertheless, I assure you, it was a genuine
fainting spell — on my word of honour, it was !
Tholosan — Really? [Puts on his eye-glass and inspects
Maurice carefully.]
Maurice — The heat of the sun, you know, when a man is just
up from a sick-bed. Well, what are you looking at me for ? Don't
you know that I am just recovering from an illness?
Tholosan — Yes. [He continues to sip the lemonade.]
Maurice — And that my illness was caused by a love affair? To
prove it, let me tell you that I have a dreadful chill which seizes me
every other day at noon, and which lasts until five o'clock, the hour
at which we used to have our rendezvous. It is the fever of regret —
the fever of love.
Tholosan — Nonsense! It's fever and ague.
Maurice — Fever and ague I No. It is an affection of the heart
caused by disappointment in love.
Tholosan — Pooh ! It's nothing but a mild case of chills and
fever caught on the marshes of the River Marne while fishing.
Maurice — Go to the devil!
Tholosan [patting him on the shoulder] — My dear Maurice,
you are a very nice young chap, but you have one great fault. It
is to take Dr. Tholosan for an ass. Now, I am not an ass. I used
to be an animal, of course, in my previous existence, as all men were.
Maurice — Ah, there's your fad.
Tholosan — But that existence has left no trace upon my present
individuality, and I defy you to decide by the examination of my
skull what species of animal I may have been.
Maurice — Well, I don't know what you used to be, but what
you are
Tholosan [taking Maurice's head and turning it in profile] —
While, as for you, it is only necessary to measure with a practiced
glance this brain, rounded at the vertex and over-developed at the
occiput, this keen, round eye, this nose solidly set upon the face by
the broad expanse of the nostrils — it is only necessary for me to
discern in your present humanity all the characteristics of your
former animality.
NOS INTIMES 305
Maurice — Indeed? I would not be sorry to know what I used
to be.
Tholosan — ^Very well, then, you shall know. You used to be a
sparrow.
Maurice— A sparrow?
Tholosan — Yes, a sparrow. That is to say, a creature which is
greedy, keen-witted, impudent, bold, thievish, and lascivious.
Maurice — ^Thank you.
Tholosan — I said lascivious.
Maurice — Yes, I heard you.
Tholosan — ^As for the rest, one of the best creatures in the
world, if it were not for his odious habit of creeping into the other
birds' nests.
Maurice — I don't know what you mean when you talk about
sparrows.
Tholosan — It is because you have never studied the habits of
birds, my boy. All you have to do, however, is to look around this
house. You will find here a nest of swallows into which has
squeezed himself a travelling sparrow. He came on a stormy night,
sick, tired, and with a broken wing. The swallows treated him
hospitably, made room for him, gave him for his bed the softest
down and for his nourishment the most delicate grains. While
the hospitable male swallow goes forth into the field to look for
seeds, the convalescing sparrow, fat and hearty, relates to the lady
swallow his trials and his tribulations. The lady swallow has a soft
heart. She pities him. The sparrow weeps. Tenderly, with her
little claw, she wipes his eyes. His tears flow more freely. She
wipes them with the tip of her wing. The crafty fellow faints. She
doesn't know what to do. She fears he is going to die. She timidly
extends first her claw, then her wing, at last her beak.
Maurice — Well, what does all this mean?
Tholosan — Mean? Why. nothing, of course.
Maurice — ^Well, where did you learn all this you are telling me?
Where did you see it?
Tholosan — In this lemonade. It is the adorable privilege of
woman always to do things better for a lover than for a husband.
Did you ever notice the difference in the slippers made for the
husband and the other? Now, this lemonade, made for Sparrow, is
delicious. It is exactly right. Just enough sugar, just enough
lemon-juice, not a single lemon-pip in the bottom. Yet, if it were
made for Caussade, he might have choked himself with lemon-pips.
20
306 THE SARDOU PLAYS
Maurice — Some one has been talking to you — talking about her
and me. I insist on knowing who it is.
Tholosan — Who? Why, certainly. She.
Maurice — She?
Tholosan — Yes; and you.
Maurice — I? What have I said?
Tholosan — Why, you have been babbling for a quarter of an
hour, and you have told me all I wanted to know. Does that
astonish you? Were you so unsuspecting? Why, my dear fellow,
there are three kinds of confessors — ^the priest, the judge, and the
physician. The priest never knows all, precisely because people tell
him all, and there is a fashion of telling things which minimises
them. The judge knows a little more, because people lie to him,
and he has only to assume the exact opposite of what thQr tell him
to divine all that they do not tell him. As to the doctor, my boy,
... he comes in, takes out his watch, looks at your tongue, punches
you in the midriff, and talks to you about neuralgia, gastralgia, and
all that sort of thing, and you reply to him, talking about fatigue,
ennui, misery, debauch, and that tired feeling. And when he puts
his watch back in his pocket, he knows all, because you tried to tell
him nothing, and in trying to tell him nothing you succeeded in
concealing nothing.
Maurice [sneeringly] — Indeed !
Tholosan — ^And now do you wish me to feel the pulse of your
fever and tell you where you stand?
Maurice [still sneeringly] — ^Yes; where are we, sorcerer?
Tholosan — ^At the third period.
Maurice — ^Already ?
Tholosan — Yes, already. At the First Period, or Sympathetic
Period, there are sweet and melting glances; reciprocal and in-
stinctive quests for one another; pressures of the hand slightly
prolonged; temperature normal This period manifests itself, say,
about Monday evening in reading together a romance, and may last
up to, say, Wednesday morning, when you will have entered into the
Second Period, or Magnetic Period: in this the glances are much
more earnest, with a certain moisture about the eyes; tendency of
the heads to incline together ; a heightening of the colour is notice-
able; the hand-pressure now is humid, about the temperature of a
conservatory, at times slightly interrupted when the lady quickly
retires her fingers as if shocked by an electric battery. This new
state may prolong itself from Wednesday to Saturday morning,
which is to-day, when you have entered into the Third Period, or
NOS INTIMES 807
Angelic Period, characterised by shivers and shudders, genuine or
affected, solemn oaths to confine this attachment to a pure, dis-
interested, and angelic affection forever ; such phrases as " I will
be your sister," " You shall be my brother," and the abuse of the
words " friend," " friendly," " friendship," characterise this period.
It is now accompanied by glances whidh do not stop, and hand-
pressures at about the temperature of a boiled egg. This state will
probably be prolonged until to-morrow evening, when you will enter
into the Philosopho-ecstatico-mystico Period. Isn't that about it?
Maurice — You are the devil !
Tholosan — The devil 1 It is you who are the devil, you seducer
of married women ! I knew you in pre-historic times in the Garden
of Eden. In those days you were a serpent, and you were picking
apples with Mme. Caussade, who was a blonde lady. I was a mos-
quito, and I was biting the nose of Caussade, who was snoring. He
is the only one who has not changed. He is snoring still.
Tholosan, the middle-aged physician, is in love with
Caussade's eighteen-year-old daughter Benjamine. Tholo-
san is naturally interested in checking the sentimental pas-
sion of Cecile and Maurice, partly out of regard for his
friend, Caussade, partly because he loves the daughter.
He determines to protect Caussade's conjugal peace by
getting Maurice to leave. But Maurice refuses, and this
scene ensues:
Tholosan — I warn you, now, that I am a declared champion of
the husband.
Maurice [sneeringly] — As friend of the husband or of the wife?
Tholosan — Of neither. Caussade is not my friend, and there-
fore I am not making love to his wife. But as I am soon to enter
into matrimony I am naturally an ally of the state of matrimony.
Besides, Caussade is weak and good-natured, and his wife is weak
and foolish. She may be false to him. These are the reasons why
I enroll myself on his side.
Maurice— That means, I suppose, that you will warn him?
Tholosan — No, indeed ; it is the dear friends—" Nos Intimes " —
who do that, of whom I am not one. No, I will play fair. Here
comes Mme. Caussade. Be off.
[Tholosan pretends to be writing in a note-book as CiciLE ap-
proaches.]
308 THE SARDOU PLAYS
CficiLE — Doctor! [anxiously.] Doctor, are you writing a pre-
scriptioo ?
Tholosan — Exactly. A prescription.
CiciLE— For Maurice? I mean for Monsieur Maurice?
Tholosan — Yes, for Maurice.
CfciLE [anxiously] — Is he not doing well ? He looks very well,
doctor.
Tholosan [shaking his head]^Ah, poor fellow, he looks well,
but he is in a very dangerous condition. I have just been auscultat-
ing him, and I find that he has one of those frightfully abnormal
hearts. It is possible for him to live to be seventy or eighty if he is
careful, but he must avoid shocks and emotions. Above all, he must
avoid a declaration of love. Why, my dear madame, a sudden
movement to put his arm around a woman, to hurl himself on his
knees at her feet, to say, " I love you " — ^why, in his condition he
might never get up I It gives me goose-flesh to think of it.
CfciLE — Oh, doctor, this is horrible. Are you not mistaken?
Tholosan — Unfortunately, no. If he utters to a woman the
words, " I love you," it will be his death-warrant.
In the midst of this interesting and intriguing family
circle there descends a batch of Caussade's intimate friends.
Hence the name of the play, " Nos Intimes." Some of
them are cousins, others city acquaintances, college chums,
and the like. The first to come are Mme. and M. Vigneux,
who are poor, envious, and disagreeable. Next comes
Marecat, who brings his hobble-de-hoy of a boy, Raphael,
without being invited. Marecat objects to his room, and
Caussade asks Vigneux to give up the blue room, at which
Vigneux takes umbrage. "Is it because he is rich and I
am poor that I should give up to him my room?" The
next to appear is Abdallah Pasha, a Franco-Moor whom
Caussade had known in Algeria. He carries an arsenal of
weapons, and embraces Caussade, taking him to his bosom
like a brother in arms.
The unfortunate Caussade soon finds that his dear
friends are hard to please. They do not like his garden, his
horses, his table, or his wines, and they do not scruple to
NOS INTIMES 309
tell him so. If he shows dissatisfaction, they grow ofifended,
and ask him if he does not appreciate the frankness of
friendship. Some of them are discussing him in his garden :
ViGNEUX [with a sneer] — Regular country-house isn't it?
Mme. Vigneux — Yes; and a magnificent park.
ViGNEUX — ^A flower-garden, a vegetable-garden . . .
Mme. Vigneux — Yes, and a poultry-yard.
Vigneux — Nothing is lacking.
[Enter Tholosan.]
Mme. Vigneux — Ah, doctor! M. Vigneux and I are discussing
the famous park.
Tholosan — A fine property, Caussade's, is it not?
Vigneux — Yes; and proud enough he is of it.
Mme. Vigneux — Yes; and he has often enough urged us to
come and visit at his house.
Tholosan — Yes; he wants his friends to come and share his
good fortune with him.
Mme. Vigneux — Well, I don't see why he should all the time
be talking about it.
Tholosan — In fact, it is a little tiresome for those who are not
so fortunate.
Vigneux — If it were only tiresome, I should not mind. But it
is irritating. Nothing but my house, my garden, my horses. Bah!
Mme. Vigneux — Well, my dear, you know all purse-proud
people are like that.
Vigneux — If he were not a friend, now, I would not care; but
what cuts me is that he is my friend.
Tholosan — That your friend should be rich?
Vigneux — No; but that he should be so ostentatious with his
riches. For it is scarcely in good taste for him to bespatter us with
his luxury — ^we who are not rich.
Mme. Vigneux — Yes; and his wife, with her gorgeous toilets.
Dear me!
Vigneux— Yes; ifs petty, that's what it is. It's petty. It's
taking pleasure in humiliating those who are poorer than he.
Tholosan — But is it not well that he has his fortune, even if
you have not? — for he has often obliged you, has he not?
Vigneux — Oh, yes; but he does it in a kind of a way that I
don't like. He doesn't wait to be asked ; he always comes and offers
you his purse — offers you his assistance.
310 THE SARDOU PLAYS
Tholosan — ^I see. A good-hearted man would never offer
assistance to his friends. You are quite right. I understand you
perfectly.
ViGNEUx [aside to his wife] — I think this doctor is a fool. He
doesn't understand what we're talking about.
[Enter MARicAT, another dear friend.]
Tholosan — Good-morning, M. Marecat. How did you sleep?
Mar^cat — Didn't sleep at all.
Mme. Vigneux — These country beds are so hard.
ViGNEUx — I'll bet that yours was better than mine.
Makecat — No, indeed. And it wasn't the bed only. I'm getting
enough of the country. Animals and insects keep me from eating,
from drinking, and from sleeping. When we had lunch yesterday,
under the vine arbor, every moment I thought I would find a worm
in my glass or a spider on my fork. Ugh! When I walk in the
garden, the butterflies bump arcmnd my nose. If I sit down, the
flies buzz in my ears. When I go to bed, the mosquitoes sing and
bite me. Distant dogs bark and keep me awake. When I sink into
a troubled sleep toward morning the accursed cocks in the poultry-
yard wake me again. To the devil with the country!
Caussade [entering, vivacious and stniling] — Good-morning,
good-moming. How is everybody? Beautiful morning, isn't it?
Did you sleep well, Marecat?
Mas^cat — No. Couldn't sleep. Your poultry-yard chorus and
your dogs kept me awake.
Caussade [laughing gayly] — ^Too bad, too bad. But isn't it
beautiful this morning, Mme. Vigneux? How do you like the
country round about?
Mme. Vigneux — Not bad, but it lacks horizon.
Vigneux — I think it's a little damp, isn't it?
Caussade [somewhat disconcerted] — Damp?
Marecat — Of course it is. Even the bed-clothes are damp.
Vigneux — Yes, there's so much sts^nant water in the
neighbourhood.
Caussade — Stagnant water! Why, I did not know
Vigneux — You will know in a year or so.
Marecat — ^When you are all twisted with rheumatism.
Caussade — When I am twisted
Mme. Vigneux [sententiously] — There's nothing so dangerous
as living in houses near standing water.
MakScat — I wouldn't live here if you paid me to.
Mme. Vigneux — I think it must be malarial here, too.
NOS INTIMES 311
Mar£cat — ^Malarial ! Why, I knew a man who lived near here
for a few months some years ago and who caught malarial fever.
Caussade [disturbed]— Well?
Mar£cat— Lived right here, I say. I think it was the next
place to yours.
Caussade — Well, what happened to him?
MARfcATV-'Wiat happened to him? Why, he died. That's what
happened to him.
Caussade — Is it possible that this country is so deadly?
ViGNEux — ^This country! Why, you don't own the whole
country, do you?
Mar:6cat — ^Why, yes, of course he does. He's a great man —
Caussade.
Mme. Vigneux — But he doesn't seem to be at home on his
own place.
Mar^cat— Fact. He looks like his own gardener.
Mme. Vigneux — Yes, everybody says : " How did he ever
come to have such a place?"
Vigneux — When more deserving people have none at all.
Mar£cat — It is not his intelligence.
Vigneux — Nor his polish.
Mme. Vigneux — Nor his wit.
Caussade [protesting] — Come, come, my friends ; are you not a
little hard on me?
All [together] — See there! He can't stand a single frank and
friendly word.
Tholosan [who has watched the scene from one side] — M.
Caussade, it is possible for a man to have so many friends that
he has none.
Caussade — Come, come, doctor, you are too severe. All
friends are not alike.
Tholosan — Indeed they are not. Dear friends are divided into
many kinds. There is the Despotic Friend, who makes us execute
his commissions; the Witty Friend, who makes jokes about us
behind our backs; the Indiscreet Friend, who gives away our little
weaknesses and infirmities; the Parasitic Friend, who sponges upon
us; the Speculative Friend, who loses our money; and seventeen
different kinds of Borrowing Friends, from the one who borrows
your books and does not return them, to the one who borrows your
wife and does return her,
312 THE SARDOU PLAYS
Caussade's dear friends, with the ferocious Abdallah at
the head, embroil him in a duel with a neighbour, and refuse
to allow him to apologise. Then they inform him that his
wife is false to him, and that his friend, Maurice, has be-
trayed his friendship. Caussade refuses to believe their
accusations, and they insist that he shall pretend to leave
for Paris, return unexpectedly, and surprise the lovers. He
refuses, but they tell his wife that he is going, so he is
forced to consent. He does return, arriving just after the
critical moment of a passionate scene between his wife,
Cecile, and his friend, Maurice. . Maurice breaks the bell-
cord to prevent her ringing. Cecile is attempting desper-
ately to prevent Maurice from making a declaration of love.
Dr. Tholosan's warnings are still sounding in her ears — she
fears that an avowal will stretch Maurice lifeless at her
feet. Suddenly an idea flashes across her mind, and she
tells him some one is looking through the window, which
gives upon the balcony. He throws open the window and
leaps out on the balcony. She darts to the window, fastens
it, and falls breathless into a chair. At that moment she
hears the grating of a key in an unused door opening upon
the garden. It opens and her husband appears. He says,
under his breath : " Thank God ! They lied ! she is alone."
As is the way on the stage, all the intimate friends at
once enter and shake their heads significantly at Caussade.
One points to an overturned chair, another to the broken
bell-cord, but Dr. Tholosan, who has just entered, explains
that the Angel Boy, Raphael, has been smoking a cigar and
is violently sick ; that he overturned the chair in hurriedly
assisting him; that he broke the bell-cord in ringing for
help. And when Vigneux points to the open door leading
into Maurice's room, Tholosan explains that he opened it
to carry in the wretched and retching Raphael, who is lying
now on Maurice's bed. Caussade's face gradually brightens
as these suspicious circumstances are cleared away, and he
NOS INTIMES 313
goes to the balcony window to open it for air, which, poor
man, he sorely needs. It will not open. Cecile almost
faints as she whispers to Tholosan that Maurice is hiding
on the balcony. Like a flash the clever doctor at once
begins shouting: " Jump, jump ! "
"Who jump? What jump?" says Marecat.
" This cork," says the doctor, holding up a medicine-
bottle for Raphael. " It won't come out. Jump, jump,
you rascal ! " and he pries the cork out with a key.
The husband smiles and says : " The jump is made."
" Yes, indeed, it is," .says the doctor, significantly, to
Cecile, as the husband opens the window on the empty
balcony, and the curtain falls.
In the last act the indiscreet wife goes to her rescuer.
Dr. Tholosan, and tells him that her husband has remained
up all night seated at the window watching the garden;
that at daybreak he had suddenly descended to the garden
and she had not seen him since. She fears the worst. She
is convinced that he has gone forth to slay Maurice. The
doctor goes out to learn what he can and re-assures her.
The first person he meets is Maurice. Maurice tells him
he had leaped twenty feet from the balcony, falling on his
side with no injury but a sprain to his right wrist, but in his
fall he had struck a magnificent cactus and completely de-
stroyed it. When he came to himself he was about to
enter the house, but saw Caussade apparently watching
from the balcony, so he had remained hidden in the
shrubbery.
Tholosan and Maurice return to the house and there
meet Caussade. He greets them with a pre-occupied air.
Maurice says that he is suddenly summoned to Paris and
must at once make his adieux. Caussade abruptly asks
Maurice to write his Paris address for him in his own
hand. Maurice points at his sprained wrist to Tholosan,
who whispers : " You must do it." With the perspiration
314 THE SARDOU PLAYS
starting from his brow, the young man writes the address
with his sprained hand, and ahnost faints with pain. As he
bids farewell to Cecile and her husband, Caussade says to
him: "Why do you not shake hands?" Maurice me-
chanically extends his right hand, and Caussade gives it a
grip which makes him wince. While Tholosan is support-
ing M'aurice, as he goes out, Caussade rapidly leaves the
room. He returns at once, carrying a pistol. He also goes
out, following them. A shot is heard. Cecile utters a cry :
"My God, I have killed him!" Outside, the voice of
Caussade is heard : " Dead ! at last." In a moment Caus-
sade enters, in one hand a pistol, in the other a dead fox.
He explains that the animal had been preying upon his
garden, so he sat up all the previous night watching for
him ; the beast had ruined a magnificent cactus, but he had
just that moment spied him in the garden and killed him.
The intimate friends prepare to leave, disappointed at
having made so little mischief. But on rounding them up,
Raphael, the Angel Boy, is found to be missing. Marecat,
his agitated father, discovers that the young rascal has
eloped with Mme. Caussade's chambermaid. Marecat bit-
terly reproaches Caussade, and launches a formal curse on
him and his. " Be thou accursed, Lucien Caussade ! "
Having cursed Caussade, Marecat goes forth to seek his
Angel Boy.
Abdallah — Lucien Caussade! Do you call yourself Lucien?
Caussade — Why, yes.
Abdallah — Then you are not Evariste Caussade, non-com. in
the African army?
Caussade — Not at all.
Abdallah [heatedly]— This is a nice state of affairs. Then
what am I doing here, I'd like to know?
Caussade— That's what I'd like to know, too.
Abdallah [excitedly] — I'm not acquainted with you, sir. I
don't know you at all.
Caussade — And I've been wondering who the deuce you are.
NOS INTIMES 315
Abdallah — Why, confound it, I have been here for days, eat-
ing, drinking, amusing myself, just as if you were a friend' of mine.
I don't like this sort of thing!
Caussade— Well, how about me?
Abdallah [angrily] — Confound it, sir, I don't wish to be under
obligations to a total stranger. You're no friend of mine!
And with the rapid departure of Abdallah the last of
Caussade's " dear friends " drop out of the play.
There remains, however, one. But he is a son-in-law
rather than a dear friend, for Dr. Tholosan weds Caussade's
daughter Ben j amine.
FERREOL
In " Ferreol," Sardou made an incursion into the drama
of criminal procedure. It was said at the time that his play
had been taken from a novel by Jules Sandeau, entitled
" Un Debut dans la Magistrature." But if so it suffered
such a transformation that the plot was unrecognisable.
A dreadful crime has been committed in the vicinity of
Aix. Some peasants, on their way to work in the morn-
ing, have heard a gun-shot. They hasten to the spot, where
they discover the body of a dead man. Another man had
been leaning over the body, perhaps to finish his dreadful
task ; but when he saw the peasants he had fled, before they
could overtake or recognise him. They discover that
the murdered man is du Bouscal, a rascally usurer. The
dead man dealt in shady affairs, and had the reputation of
being a low libertine and a person of evil repute.
At the news of the murder, the servants, the peasantry,
and all that little world which makes up public opinion in a
country town, cry as with one voice, " D'Aigremont is the
murderer." This D'Aigremont, it seems, is the son of a
well-to-do family, but leads a rather irregular life. He is
something of a spendthrift, and what is generally called a
ne'er-do-well. He owed money to du Bouscal, and a note
for a considerable sum fell due on the day of the murder.
He went to request of the usurer that it should be renewed,
but du Bouscal refused, and the two men separated with
mutual menaces. An hour after the murder, the usurer's
pocketbook had been found in a straw heap by one Martial,
game-keeper to the Marquis de Boismartel, the President
of the Criminal Court of Aix. In the pocketbook are found
some bank-notes and several private papers belonging to the
dead man, but D'Aigremont's promissory note has disap-
316
FERREOL 317
peared. This last fact clearly establishes a circumstantial
case against D'Aigremont: He is arrested and taken before
the Criminal Court of Aix, presided over by de Boismartel.
At an evening reception in the upper circles of Aix, the
old city is in a flurry. Everybody takes sides for or against
the accused man. General astonishment is expressed that
so weak a youth should be guilty of so great a crime.
Although D'Aigremont's life had been dissipated, he had
never shown any signs of being a criminal. Pity is ex-
pressed for his young sister Therese, who is engaged to
marry Lieut. Ferreol, of the Army of Africa.
In the midst of all this agitation preliminary to the
criminal trial, Ferreol apparently arrives from Africa, on
a fortnight's furlough. He has learned from the news-
papers of the dreadful accusation which hangs over his
future brother-in-law, and he has hastened to defend
D'Aigremont, and to save him if he can.
But Ferreol, in a rendezvous with Madame de Bois-
martel, the wife of the President of the Court, discloses to
us that he has not just arrived from Africa, but has for
some days been hiding near Aix.
This interview also reveals to us the secret of the mur-
der. D'Aigremont is innocent. The usurer, du Bouscal,
was slain by a shot from the gun of the game-keeper. Mar-
tial, whose wife the usurer had debauched. Ferreol at this
early morning hour was leaving the chamber of Madame
de Boismartel; thus he was an involuntary witness of the
murder, at the moment he was about to leap the ditch
which separates the estate of the Marquis de Boismartel
from the highway.
Let us hasten to say that the nocturnal interview of
Madame de Boismartel with Ferreol, however culpable had
been its first intention, had terminated in the triumph of
honour and virtue. At the moment of receiving in her cham-
ber the friend of her childhood, whose wife she once had
318 THE SARDOU PLAYS
hoped to be, Madame de Boismartel was suddenly stricken
with remorse. Her little daughter's sudden illness had
come to her as a warning from heaven, and Ferreol had
found in her not a mistress, but a faithful wife and a devoted
mother. He withdrew, swearing that he would never
attempt to see her again.
But he must break his promise — ^it is to reveal to her
the secret which is weighing upon his conscience. Shall he
allow the unfortunate D'Aigremont to go to his death?
Yet if Ferreol shall speak, how can he explain his presence
at the scene of the murder, at a time when everyone be-
lieved him to be on his w;ay from Africa? Despite the
dreadful peril that menaces her reputation, Madame de
Boismartel understands that Ferreol must speak, and must
save an innocent man from a condemnation, all the more
infamous that the murder seems to be coupled with robbery.
For a time she has a respite — rumours from the court
soon reach her. She hears that the eloquent argument of
Lauriot, the celebrated Paris lawyer who defends D'Aigre-
mont, has so influenced the jurors that it is believed they
will acquit him. Why, then, should Ferreol speak? Why
should he expose her to danger? If she is compromised,
her justly offended husband could demand a separation, and
perhaps deprive her of her child. To this dreadful feeling
Madame de Boismartel feels herself giving way. She begs
Ferreol to be silent. But in the midst of their hesitation
and mental anguish, the solemn hour comes. The jury has
found D'Aigremont guilty. He is condemned to the gal-
leys for life.
It is as if a thunderbolt had fallen on Ferreol. He does
not wish to ruin the woman whom he has loved, but he can-
not suffer an innocent man to undergo a penalty more cruel
than death. He addresses himself, therefore, to the real
murderer. He promises to secure him a pardon, on condi-
tion that the man shall leave the country, first writing the
FERREOL 319
Magistrate a letter in which he shall avow his crime. But
Martial refuses. He loves the wife who has been unfaith-
ful to him — ^he will not accept an exile which would
take him from her side. Moreover, he has seen Ferreol
escaping from Madame de Boismartel's window. If they
denounce him, he will denounce them — ^he will cover themi
all with shame.
Ferreol, wild with desperation and remorse, takes the
frenzied resolution of giving himself up to the Magistrate
as the murderer. His declaration is received by the Magis-
trate, de Boismartel, with incredulity. Still, his assistant,
Lavardin, reminds him of the old maxim : " Search for the
woman." This they do, and it is under the direction of the
unsuspecting husband that this search is undertaken. At
last the officers of justice are on the right path. From the
self-accused Ferreol they come to Mkrtial,; from Martial
they are led directly to suspect Madame de Boismartel.
The unfortunate M'arquis is at once Magistrate and
husband. His heart is breaking, but he bids his assistant
interrogate Madame de Boismartel. The stricken woman
avows everything, and the truth is disclosed. But while
she is making her confession, news comes that the true
murderer, Martial, who is in prison, awaiting his examina-
tion, has hanged himself. There is no further reason to
pursue him. The dreadful task of the Magistrate is finished.
The husband opens his arms to his wife, and Lieut. Ferreol
weds Mademoiselle Therese D'Aigremont, whose brother
is set free.
SPIRITISME
The story begins with an exploit of Mme. Simone
d'Aubenas, a young matron of thirty. She is by no means
vicious, and does not detest her very worthy husband, but
she is bored with her quiet life. So, to pass the time, she
falls in love with a handsome Wallachian, Michael de
Stoudza. This very evening she is about to take the train
for her chateau in Poitou, where her husband is to join her
in a few days. She ostensibly goes to the railway station,
accompanied by her confidential friend, Thecla. On the
way, however, she leaves Thecla to go to the station alone,
while Simone herself repairs to a rendezvous where she is
awaited by her handsome Wallachian.
But a dreadful and unforeseen event occurs. The train
which Mme. Simone was to take has collided with a heavy
tank-train loaded with petroleum. The people on the pas-
senger train have all been burned to death in the wreck.
The little bag in which Mme. Simone carried her jewels has
been found on the skeleton of a woman. This causes M.
d'Aubenas to believe that the calcined body is that of his
wife. Maddened with grief, he bears back to his home these
dreadful remains.
The next morning Simone, who is with her handsome
Wallachian, learns these things. With what successive
stages of surprise, of terror, of despair they gradually pos-
sess her, one may easily imagine. After she has weakly
wrung her hands for a time, she asks herself what she shall
do. If she reveals herself to her Ijusband, it would be a
frank avowal of her sin. There is a simple solution of the
difficulty — since she is believed to be dead, she will profit by
320
SPIRITISME 321
it. She will go away with her handsome Michael to his
picturesque Wallachian fatherland, where they will spend
their lives together in blissful idleness, the world forget-
ting, by the world forgot.
But the handsome Michael does not grow enthusiastic
over the solution. If Simone is dead in the eyes of the
world, that means that Simone, being dead, possesses
nothing. She can take nothing with her to the other
world, or rather to the picturesque Wallachian fatherland.
What the gentleman prefers to Simone presumably dead
and in reality poor, is Simone certainly divorced and in
reality, rich. Beneath the handsome exterior of her lover,
Mme. Simone discovers his ignominious soul, and she spits
her contempt into his face.
There remains but one course for her to follow. It is to
avow all to her husband. But just at this moment there
comes through the open window from without the sound of
the monotonous voices of priests mumbling the prayers for
the dead. Looking forth from the window, Simone sees,
walking behind the bier, in which he believes her body lies,
her husband, pale, broken, shaking with sobs. The stage
scene is a strong one. The audience breathlessly waits,
hoping that she will cry out to her husband, and that his
joy at finding her will cause him to pardon her. But
Simone does not reveal herself yet. She leaves him for some
days in the most profound dejection, haunted with all sorts
of shadows from the other world. For M. d'Aubenas is a
believer in Spiritualism.
Simone takes into her confidence a cousin as counsellor,
who arranges a materialising seance. In the vast hall,
empty, dark, but finally flooded by the light of the rising
moon, Simone appears to her husband, who takes her for
a spirit. Their meeting is an affecting one. She confesses
21
THE SARDOU PLAYS
her fault to her husband, and d'Aubenas does not hesitate
to pardon her whom he believes to be dead. The spirit
asks : " But would you pardon the erring wife were she
living ?" By the vibrant ring in her voice, her sobs, and her
passion-shaken form, d'Aubenas perceives that it is not the
dead Simone who faces him, but a flesh-and-blood being —
Simone alive indeed. Although she is not a spirit, he
pardons her again, and husband and wife are reunited.
GISMONDA
Few well-read people — even those well-read in his-
tory — remember that there was once a feudal Greece. It
came between the two great sieges of Constantinople, the
one by the Crusaders, the other by the Turks. Not only
was there a feudal Greece, there was also a Duchy of
Athens. Sardou, who was in the habit of ransacking his-
tory's odd corners, was familiar with this forgotten fact.
Probably his imagination must have revelled in the his-
torical decorations to be placed in a play in setting it in that
twilight epoch — Christian barons cheek by jowl with pagan
gods and goddesses, mediaeval armour set in a background
of Athenian architecture. Shakespeare had a Duke of
Athens, and the period is alluded to by Chaucer, Dante,
and Boccaccio.
The first act of " Gismonda " begins with some ten
minutes' conversation, in which four noblemen favour the
audience with a course in Grecian history. If it be asked
why four noblemen, the answer is simple, because it gives
scope for that number of handsome costumes. If it be
asked why the ten-minute course in Grecian history, the
answer is equally simple — ^it is to enable the late-comers in
the audience to seat themselves.
From the conversation of the noble four, we learn that
the Duchess Gismonda has been left a widow with a six-
year-old boy, Francesco. These four noblemen are paying
their court to her. A fifth suitor arrives in the person of
Zaccaria. This Zaccaria has some vague claim to the
Duchy of Athens, as the son of a former- duke who has been
dispossessed. He is a man of uncertain antecedents, for he
has been several years at the Court of the Sultan Mourad,
and he is suspected of having denied the Christian faith
323
S24 THE SARDOU PLAYS
and of entertaining impious and immoral doctrines. His
scheme is not only to wed Gismonda, but to make away with
the lawful heir. These schemes he cautiously suggests to
the ex-bravo Gregoras, his trusted confidant, who is now
acting as Chamberlain to the Duchess.
An Asiatic Prince has sent a gift to Gismonda, a tiger,
which for the nonce is confined in the bottom of a cistern.
The cunning Gregoras leads the boy Francesco to look at
the fierce beast, and apparently by accident, lets the child
fall into the pit. Gismonda cries in her agony to the four
noblemen, " I swear before God that my person and my
Duchy shall go to the man who saves my son." The boy is
saved, not by one of the four noblemen, but by the falconer
Almerio, illegitimate son of a Venetian noble and an
Athenian maid-servant. When the Duchess made her vow
she had no thought of this poor falconer, who happens to be
a tall handsome fellow. She wavers — she does not wish to
keep her vow. " I will cover you with wealth and heap
riches upon you," she tells him. But he replies : " The
only recompense I ask is that which you have promised
me." And the Bishop Sophron says gravely, " Your High-
ness, you must keep the oath you have sworn."
In the next act we find Gismonda in a convent, whither
she has gone to withdraw for a time from the world. She
has besought the Pope to release her from her vow, but
Bishop Sophron brings her the refusal of the Holy Father.
The Pontiff sees no way for her to extricate herself from
her dilemma, unless she turns nun, in which event the Holy
Father will kindly charge himself with the regency of her
little Duchy. Gismonda does not seem pleased with his
decision. She points out the case of Queen Johanna of
Naples, who, having killed her husband and wedded her
lover, was absolved by the Pope, who thus acquired Avig-
non at a low price. She is absolutely lacking in respect for
GISMONDA &25
the head of the Christian world, but she finishes by submit-
ting, through fear of excommunication.
The Duchess has promised the District of Sula to the
man who shall rid it of the Catalan pirates installed at
Marathon. Almerio quickly assembles a band of dare-
devil companions, and brings back the head of the Pirate
Chief slung to his saddle-bow. The Athenian people love
him for his heroism, and because he is born of a daughter
of their people; they surround the convent where Gis-
monda has taken refuge, shouting for Almerio and giving
signs of revolt. Almerio succeeds in pacifying them, but
makes his way to Gismonda, and again demands his recom-
pense. The four noblemen and the traitor Zaccaria accuse
him of rebellion, and demand his death. The Duchess lis-
tens ; her pride is as yet tmconquered, but she cannot forget
that this handsome plebeian has saved her son's life and
delivered her land from foreign pirates. Although base-
born, he is nobler in her eyes than the noblemen who so
bitterly strive to compass his destruction. Therefore, wish-
ing to save his life, she has him placed in the semblance of
a prison.
In the third act, Gismonda is troubled by the thought of
her prisoner. She sends for him, and has speech with him
alone. She says to him that she is grateful for what he has
done; she will add to the province of Sula, which she has
already given him, other lands and other castles; further,
she will give him in marriage the richest and fairest of her
maids of honour; all this on condition that he release her
from her vow. But Almerio firmly refuses. Then she
turns upon him, reproaching him bitterly for his greed. She
tells him that to have so rapacious a soul he must be half
Venetian and half Greek — ^that what he craves is all her
Duchy and all her riches.
"You are mistaken," replies Almerio. "What I desire
326 THE SARDOU PLAYS
and what I will have is yourself, Duchess. I care nothing
for your Duchy."
This comes upon the Duchess as a revelation. Then
it would seem that this half-savage warrior really loves her
for herself.
" If I should become your mistress would you release
me?"
" Yes."
" Swear it."
" I swear it."
" Swear that, if I yield myself to you, you will never
betray me."
" I swear."
" Swear also that you will publicly release me from my
vow."
Almerio hesitates, but at last he mutters : " I swear."
Then she turns upon him with bitter scorn, crying:
" You are a lackey, a stable boy, a slave ! Go back to your
hut — ^but — leave your door open to-night."
That night Gismonda, accompanied by her trusted maid,
is leaving the cabin of Almerio, which is near the ruins of
a Temple of Venus. The women see two cloaked forms in
the darkness, and hurriedly conceal themselves behind a
tree. The two strangers pause and converse in low tones.
It is Zaccaria and Gregoras. Zaccaria, after spying through
the window of Almerio's hut, says to the ruffian :
" He is asleep. Enter, and drive your dagger into his
heart."
But the bravo hesitates.
" Why so many airs ?" sneers Zaccaria. " You did not
hesitate at dropping the boy Francesco into the tiger's den."
Gismonda, from her hiding-place behind the tree, has
heard this avowal. She rapidly reaches the door of the
hut at the moment that Zaccaria is about to enter, and with
an axe which stands there, she cleaves his skull.
GISMONDA 327
In the next scene, which takes place in a Byzantine
Church, there is an episcopal procession, with prelates and
priests wearing the gorgeous vestments of the Greek
clergy. After the celebration of the mass, Almerio pre-
sents himself, and declares publicly that he releases the
Duchess from her vow. But a messenger enters, who an-
nounces to Gismonda that they have discovered, near the
Temple of Venus, the dead body of Zaccaria.
Here Gregoras enters, crying, "Almerio is the mur-
derer."
Almerio replies briefly, " It is true."
Gismonda takes him aside, saying : " Do you not know
that they will put you to the torture?"
" I know it," replies the generous youth, " but I have
sworn that no one shall ever know what you have done
for me. Since I saved you, and since my night of happiness
with you, I die content."
Gismonda suddenly orders her archers to seize and bind
Gregoras.
" This wretch," cries she, " assisted by Zaccaria, let fall
my son into the tiger's den, and Zaccaria would have mur-
dered Almerio in his sleep had not I, with my own hand,
cloven the traitor's skull. I was leaving Almerio's hut,
whither I had gone to be his mistress, as a bribe to force
him to release me from my vow. I confess it thus publicly,
for my punis'hment." And kneeling before Almerio she
says, " I loved you secretly, now I love you before God and
man. I will keep my vow and wed you. Good Archbishop,
if it pleases you, bless our nuptials." And in the midst of
the brilliantly lighted church, with the gorgeously vestured
ecclesiastics surrounding them, the Duchess and the Fal-
coner are made man and wife.
LES GENS NERVEUX
The play begins with the appearance of Tiburce, a
post-office employee, who has come to seek the hand of
Marion, the adopted daughter of Marteau, a neurasthenic
capitalist. Living in the same house are Bergerin, also a
rich neurasthenic bachelor, and Tuffier, another wealthy
neurasthenic, with a nervous son. When the astonished
Tiburce learns into what sort of a place he has fallen, he
remarks :
" Well, this is a nice place. Bergerin a neurasthenic, old man
Tuffier a neurasthenic, young Tuffier a neurasthenic, and old man
Marteau a neurasthenic. Why, the very house must have epilepsy."
Louis here enters in a rage at the servants, for not an-
swering his bell. He begins pounding on the table and
yelling at the top of his voice for the servants until Tiburce,
frightened, escapes.
This new neurasthenic is in love with Marion, whose
hand Tiburce has come to seek. Louis loves the lady
madly, but his irritable nerves so upset her that in the
opening of the play they have a violent quarrel, and she
vows never to see him again. At the crisis of this quarrel
M. Tuffier comes in, and the nervous father remarks to the
nervous son:
"What, you again? I thought I told you to keep out of
my sight. You know you are so nervous you always put me
in a nervous state, and to-day the weather is changing so that
my nerves are all on edge.''
Here Mme. Tuffier enters ; she is a French Mrs. Toodles,
and she rambles on until she drives her nervous husband
half mad :
328
LES GENS NERVEUX 329
Louis — Come, come, father, the weather will not upset you.
Don't be so fearful.
TuFFiER — Me, fearful! Why, you rascal, I'm not fearful.
I was in the militia for eighteen months, and I was never afraid.
Why, I was in camp at St. Germain.
Mme. Tuffier [who holds her fancy-work in her hand, and
never hears anything but the last word of a sentence"] — So you are
talking of St. Germain.
Tuffier— Well !
Mme. Tuffier — So you still intend to go and visit the La-
combe family at St. Germain.
Tuffier — Mme. Tuffier, I have told you a hundred times that
you have a mania for getting things mixed.
Mme. Tuffier — Mania! I knew perfectly well that you would
insist on this mania of yours for going to St. Germain, and I con-
sider it absolutely ridiculous, because
Tuffier — Good heavens ! Now she's wound up.
Mme. Tuffier — Because you know perfectly well the La-
combes do not expect us until late in the summer. Do they,
Louis ?
Tuffier — O Lord! {.Groans dismally.']
Mme. Tuffier — Besides, you know perfectly well the La-
combes are not rich — ^not that I condemn them for that — ^pov-
erty is no crime. But they are -not rolling in wealth, and it
would upset them a great deal if we were to drop in on them
without warning.
Tuffier — Mme. Tuffier, will you let me speak?
Mme. Tuffier — Besides, it is three miles from the station
to the Lacombes' house, and you know perfectly well in your
condition of health you have no business to make that drive.
Tuffier and Louis [shouting together] — Dry up ! Dry up I
" Stop ! for heaven's sake, stop ! " he cries, as he falls into a
chair and shakes his fist at his wife. As Bergerin enters, he
explains : " It's Mme. Tuffier. She will kill me, Bergerin," and
as Mme. Tuffier again begins to talk, he shrieks : " Take her away !
Take her away ! "
Louis unfastens his father's cravat, and says : " Come and
help me to restore him, M. Bergerin."
But Bergerin turns his back, and hastily replies: "Oh, no,
indeed, Louis, I could not stand it. I break down even at seeing
an animal suffer. I would not look at Tuffier suffering for anything
in the world. Why, the mere thought of it almost gives me a ner-
330 THE SARDOU PLAYS
vous attack. I must sit down." He carefully turns his back on
Tuffier, sits down, and goes on : " Oh, my dear young man, I'm
nothing but a bundle of nerves. The least emotion, the least
opposition, the least contrariety, upsets me, even a change in the
weather. Why, take to-day. A harsh, cold wind is beginning to
blow from the north."
Tuffier here suddenly recovers and interrupts: "It isn't!
It's a moist wind, and it's blowing from the south."
But Bergerin waves Tuffier aside and ignores him. He goes
on : " Ah, if you knew what a strict regime I am forced to
follow! I am obliged to lead a calm and measured life. I must
take pleasant walks, I am forced to confine myself to the best
of cooking, I must go to the theatre often, and only to see
pleasant spectacles. I am obliged to have a most comfortable
chamber, with rich hangings and thick carpets, I must avoid
all painful impressions, I must not gaze upon suffering and
misery. For this reason, I am condemned to a life of celibacy.
I am deprived of the society of lovely woman. Love, love
quarrels, jealousy — all these things would agitate my unfortunate
nerves. If it is difficult to get along with a wife, think of children.
A child cries at night. It suffers while teething. I would have
to get up at night and go for the doctor. Do you think I could
see my infant suffer? No, no, poor little one! I would be obliged
to leave my wife with the baby, and go to the country."
Here the chief neurasthenic enters. It is Marteau.
He has his hands behind his back, his head inclined upon
his breast with a most lugubrious air. Every one receives
him in silence. He shakes Tuffier's hand without looking
at him, and passes on in silence. He salutes Bergerin in
the same silent way. He reaches Tiburce, whom he does
not know, but Marteau takes his hand without looking at
him, begins shaking it, stops, looks at him in astonishment,
drops his hand, and walks away:
Bergerin — Feeling bad to-day?
Marteau — ^Yes.
Bergerin — Nerves ?
Marteau — Yes.
Tuffier — Change in the wind?
Marteau — Yes.
LES GENS NERVEUX 331
Bergerin — ^That's what I said. North wind.
TuFFiER — No, south wind.
Makteau — Yes.
Bergerin — Have you tried those electric belts ?
[Marteau unfolds a newspaper and hands it to Tuffier.]
TuFFiER — Shall I read it?
[Marteau points out the place, nods his head, and sinks back
in his chair.]
Tuffier [reading] — ■" Ten thousand francs reward to any
person who can cure a chronic nervous affection. Address No. 35
Church Street. Monsieur M. " M. Is that you, Marteau?
[Marteau nods his head.]
Tuffier — Did any one answer it?
[Marteau holds up ten Angers.]
Bergerin — Quacks ?
[Marteau nods his head.]
Tuffier — Where are they?
[Marteau makes a kick.]
Tuffier — Fired out?
[Marteau nods his head.]
Tiburce here interrupts with some suggestion concern-
ing the quacks, which leads Marteau to ask who he is.
Bergerin presents him, and announces that he is employed
in the post-office, at a salary of twelve hundred francs,
that he has ten thousand francs of his own, and that he
has come to solicit the hand of Marteau's adopted daughter,
Marion :
Marteau [exploding] — How is this for luck? My dinner
went wrong; the roast was raw; the chicken was burned; the
coffee was cold, and my stomach is out of order to-night. This
is all that is necessary to upset it completely. [He walks feverishly
up and down.] How can I know the good qualities or defects of
this gentleman, because the temperament of a son-in-law is a vital
point. [Addressing Bergerin.] Is his temperament nervous?
Tiburce — No, sir. No.
Marteau [Still walking up and down and not noticing Ti-
burce] — Sanguine ?
Tiburce — No.
Marteau — Bilious ?
THE SARDOU PLAYS
TiBUKCE — No.
Marteau — Bilioso-sanguine ?
TiBUECE — No.
Marteau — Nervoso-sanguine ?
TiBURCE— No.
Marteau — Nervoso-bilioso^sanguine ?
TiBURCE — No, no!
Marteau [stopping in front of Bergerin] — Then he has
absolutely no temperament at all. If no temperament, then no
character.
TiBURCE [in a weak tone] — Is it absolutely necessary that
I must have some temperament? Well, then, I think I am in-
clined to be sanguine.
Marteau — Sanguine? Ah, predisposed to congestion, to
apoplexy. He would be dangerous to his wife, his children,
to his father-in-law. Black-balled!
TiBURCE — No, I didn't mean sanguine. Bilious is what I
meant — bilious.
Marteau — Bilious? Then this means predisposition to melan-
cholia; to gloom, to madness — dangerous to his wife, to his
children, to his father-in-law. Black-balled!
TiBURCE — Excuse me, but I remember now that I am not
bilious, I think I am nervous.
Marteau, Bergerin, and Tuffier [all shouting together] —
Nervous !
TiBURCE — That is, a little nervous.
Marteau — Then that would settle you. A nervous son-in-
law would be all that is lacldng to drive me crazy. But if,
on the other hand, you are of a cheerful temperament, always
thoughtful, easy to get along with, I would consider your claims.
But if you always choose such disagreeable subjects of conversa-
tion; if you can not laugh without laughing too loudly, nor blow
your nose without making a noise; if you can not agree to remain
absolutely motionless, and above all, if yooi continue to use that
smelly pomade on your hair, and to wear such loud waistcoats and
shrieking neckties, you are unanimously black-balled.
TiBURCE — But
Marteau — Don't interrupt me. I have sworn that my two
daughters shall marry no matter whom, so that he be not nervous.
Do you understand?
TiBURCE — Ah, sir, I am exactly your man, then. There is not
the slightest trace of nervousness about me.
LES GENS NERVEUX
Marteau — That's an easy thing to say, we'll see about that.
[He comes behind Tiburce, and while Tiburce is not observing
he hits him a tremendous blow on the shoulder, suddenly seizes
his wrist, takes out his watch, and begins to count his pulse.]
Tiburce [surprised^ — Ouch! You nearly dislocated my
shoulder.
Marteau [calmly counting] — That's nothing. His pulse is
even, steady, very good; let's try another test. [Going to the sofa.]
Come here, young man [making the motion of scratching the horse-
hair sofa], let's see if you can do this with your nails.
Tiburce — That's easy. [He scratches the horse-hair violently
with his nails.]
Bergerin, Tuffier, and Marteau [all three put their lingers
in their ears] — Enough, enough, for heaven's sake stop !
Tiburce — Is that all?
Marteau — Not yet. [He gives him a cork and a knife.]
Now, let's see you cut this cork. [Tiburce cuts the cork, which
squeaks loudly.]
Tuffier, Bergerin, and Marteau [grind their teeth and
shout together] — Enough, enough, stop ! [Tuffier snatches the
knife and cork from Tiburce's hands.]
Marteau [solemnly, to Tiburce] — Young man, you' have
passed all the tests — you are not nervous. You feel nothing.
You are simply a machine. You have no nerves. I permit you
to make application for the hand of Marion.
Louis [entering suddenly] — ^What, Marion?
Marteau [firmly] — Yes, Marion.
Louis — I forbid him to marry Marion.
Marteau — Leave, monsieur.
Louis [screaming] — If he marries her I will kill him.
Tiburce — Kill me?
Louis [tearing his hair] — Yes, and I shall set fire to the
house.
[Tiburce, Tuffier, Bergerin, and Marteau all rush to the
window and shout "Fire! Fire!"]
At this moment Caesar, Marteau's nephew, enters and
demands to know where the fire is, but the entire gathering
informs him it is " nothing but nerves." TVTarteau suddenly
bethinks himself, and says to Csesar: "Why, you rascal,
did I not drive you from here with my malediction?" To
THE SAKDOU PLAYS
which Caesar replies : " Yes, uncle, but I brought it back.
I couldn't borrow a thing on it." "What, then," asks
Marteau, " brings you under my roof?" " I have come for
ten thousand francs," replies Caesar, taking out a news-
paper, and beginning to read : " Ten thousand francs re-
ward to the person who can cure a chronic, inveterate,
nervous affection." The exasperated Marteau takes a cane
to chastise his nephew, and the ne'er-do-well escapes just
in time.
We next find Lucie playing scales on the piano. Marion
is setting the clock. Marteau is seated in a reclining-chair,
wrapped from head to foot in electro-medical chains. The
clock is striking nine o'clock, half-past nine, ten o'clock,
half-past ten, and so on. The maid, Placide, is dusting the
outer room. Marteau suddenly explodes, and shouts:
" For God's sake, Marion ! "
" What is it, papa ? " replies Marion, continuing to turn the
hands.
Marteau suddenly changes to the utmost mildness. "No," he
mutters, " I must not fly into a rage with the electro-magnetic
chains on me. With these powerful currents, you never can tell
with electricity what may happen." Then, addressing Marion in
honeyed tones : " Do you think you'll soon be finished, my dearest
child?"
"But, papa," replies Marion, "I must make it strike on the
hour."
"Don't you think you could skip a few?" asks Marteau.
"What an idea, papa! Why, it would strike all wrong. I'll
soon be finished, I'm nearly at half-past eleven— and it's half-
past twelve now."
"I verily believe," mutters Marteau, "that those machines
were invented to drive people crazy. Whenever I try to wind
them the hand is always on one of the key-holes. I never knew
it to fail." As the clock strikes twelve, Marteau bawls: "Jump-
ing Jehosephat, they'll drive me crazy! Lucie!"
" Yes, papa," says 'Lucie, without stopping her scales.
"I mustn't get. angry," says Marteau, and mildly asks:
"Lucie, my chjld, is it absolutely necessary for you to do that?"
LES GENS NERVEUX 335
" Why, yes, papa," replies Lucie, " I must practice my music."
He rings the bell, and the maid answers.
"If my nephew, Caesar," he roars, "dares to present himself
here, shut the door in his face. Do you hear?"
"Yes, but I won't though," replies the maid.
"What, you impudent thing— you won't?" roars the master.
"Ifs lucky for you that I have on these electric chains, and that
I don't dare to fly into a passion. I discharge you."
" Discharge, indeed ! " replies the maid. " The same as yester-
day and the day before, I suppose?"
" No ! " shouts the furious Marteau, " for good this time."
And he begins tearing his chains from him and hurling
them in pieces at Placide. Marion and Lucie push her out
of the door, and urge him to be calm. He grows calmer,
and bids them go to the piano and do their scales. They
place themselves at the piano and begin to play four-handed
scales. Marteau writhes. " To think," says he, " that I
should be in these chains since seven o'clock this morning
with this result." The four-handed scales continue more
loudly than ever. Marteau grinds his teeth. A violent
pounding is heard on the ceiling. It develops that the other
neurasthenics on the floor above object to the music. They
are testifying their displeasure by pounding on the floor,
Bergerin with the tongs, and Tuffier with a cane.
There follows an interview between the three rich neu-
rasthenics and Tiburce, the suitor for the hand of Marion.
Marteau tells him that some fifteen years before, an old
friend had died leaving forty thousand francs to him
(Marteau), twelve thousand francs to Bergerin, and thir-
teen thousand francs to Tuffier. They had just left the
lawyer's office after settling up this succession, when, turn-
ing the corner of a street, they saw an infant lying on the
sidewalk wrapped in a rug. It was evidently a foundling.
No one knew anything about it. The pitiful plight of the
little one so moved Marteau that he proposed to the others
that he should adopt it, and that all three of them should
336 THE SARDOU PLAYS
contribute toward the little girl's dot; that they should
purchase a coffer, in which all three should put, year in
and year out, what they had to spare. Marteau shows to
Tiburce this coffer, and tells him that the dot of Marion is
within. Tiburce desires that it be opened, but Caesar sud-
denly enters, and demands to know whether Tiburce wishes
to wed the young lady or the dot. Tiburce is somewhat
embarrassed, and is finally given two hours to decide
whether he will marry the lady without opening the coffer.
Each one of the three fathers has a key to the coffer. In
the meantime, Louis, the neurasthenic son of Tuffier, ap-
pears, and first threatens to drown himself, when he hears
that Marion is to marry Tiburce, and when he encounters
that gentleman, changes his mind and determines to kill
him. At the end of the second act, Tiburce is fleeing, with
Louis in hot pursuit.
The three fathers and Tiburce and Louis are assembled,
Louis's appearance causing some little alarm to Tiburce.
The coffer is about to be opened, and Tiburce announces
that he is willing to sign the marriage contract before the
opening. Both Bergerin and Tuffier show great reluctance
to give up their keys. They make all sorts of demands,
until finally Marteau, in disgust, orders the notary to draw
up the contract, giving the coffer to the newly married
couple locked. But such is the wrangling involved by the
proposition that Tiburce finally renounces the lady. Mar-
teau then gives her to Louis, with the contents of the coffer,
which he, finally securing the keys, opens. All look in.
It contains nothing. All three of the adoptive fathers have
failed to put anything into the savings-bank. But Marteau
had foreseen this end. He takes out a pocketbook contain-
ing fifty thousand francs, which, in expectation of the empty
coffer, he had brought with him, and he gives this to Marion
for her dower when she weds Louis.
MAISON NEUVE ^
In the title " Maison Neuve " there is a play upon
words. Maison — in French, as in English — ^means not
only " house " or " building," but mercantile " house " or
" firm " as well. The play is concerned with the fortunes
of the firm of Genevoix & Pillerat, which for many years
has done business at the sign of " The Old Cockade " in
the Old House. But the younger members of the firm
sigh for more modern quarters, in a new street, in a new
establishment, and under a new name — in short, a New
House. Hence " Maison Neuve."
In the opening of the play, we are in the old home of
the firm. It is the typical establishment of a lesser whole-
sale dealer in Paris. The firm handles ribbons, laces, veil-
ings, and similar feminine fripperies en gros, or wholesale.
On the ground floor and in the basement are the salesrooms.
On the floor above, live the family.
Uncle Genevoix, an old bachelor, is the head of the
firm; Rene Pillerat, his nephew, is his partner; and Claire,
Rene's wife, acts as bookkeeper. Gabrielle, a younger sis-
ter of Rene, has just returned from boarding-school, where
she has "finished her education." It happens also to be
the birthday of Claire, likewise the tenth anniversary of her
marriage with Rene. She has no children.
A lady has come to " The Old Cockade " to match some
silk, which she could not find at the retailer's. She sees
Qaire, and is deUghted at the meeting. They are school-
girl friends. The newcomer, Theodosie, has not seen Claire
since eleven years before, when they were at school. Since
that time she has married the Baron de Laverdec, by whom
she had one child; the Baron died, leaving a very small
' Best-known English versions, "Vanity," "Mayfair."
22 337
THE SAKDOU PLAYS
fortune for his daughter, of whom Theodosie was made the
guardian. But if she remarries, she loses all share in in-
come and principal. Hence, as she discontentedly explains,
there is no chance for her to marry again, so she spends
her time as well as she can on her modest income, amusing
herself by "taking a flyer on the stock market when she
can get a tip from some financier." Having told her story,
she asks Claire to give some account of herself.
Claire replies that her story is soon told. " I am here
in the Rue Thevenot in the morning, in the Rue Thevenot
in the evening — ^that is my life. Is is not melancholy? My
father was in trade, and I was intended for a tradesman's
wife. But I was sent to a grand boarding-school in the
Champs-Elysees, where my school-fellows were the daugh-
ters of noblemen and bankers. I was taught to dance, to
sing, to paint, to play the piano. In short, I was given
what is called a brilliant education. But one day our old
friend, M. Genevoix, came to me in tears. My poor father
had been stricken by apoplexy. His death left his affairs
much involved. While his assets were large, his liabilities
were larger, and the first use to which I was forced to put
my brilliant education was the keeping of accounts, some-
thing they had not taught me at boarding-school. I found
that my life was not to consist of watercolor painting, riding
on horseback, and playing the piano, but of adding up
columns of figures. When everything was settled, there
remained out of the wreck only 40,000 francs for my dot.
With terror, I found myself doomed to be an old maid, or
perhaps married to some petty shopkeeper. When Rene
Pillerat appeared as a suitor, he pleased me; besides, it
meant that I would not be condemned to a horrible little
shop. To marry him meant to be the wife of a wholesale
dealer, in an old and solid establishment, with comfort at
once, and with wealth some day, perhaps. So I said yes —
without enthusiasm, but without regret."
MAISON NEUVE 339
The complaints of Claire to her sympathetic friend
mirror the life, of a French woman of the Petite Bour-
geoisie, or upper shopkeeper class. Theodosie asks her
how she passes her time.
"My time?" replies Claire, bitterly. "It passes rap-
idly enough. I am at my desk at eight o'clock. My hours
are crowded with writing business letters, making out state-
ments of account, entries, and bills of lading. My busiest
time is in the morning. We take our midday dinner when
and how we can. These office duties occupy me until three
o'clock, when the cashier relieves me. I can go out then,
but where can I go? In winter it is almost dark at four.
In summer, the pleasant part of Paris is too far away. So
I go up to my bedroom, where I read novels. When supper
time comes, my husband and my uncle discuss exchange
on London or the crisis in cotton. In summer I go after
supper to my garden, which is twelve feet square, sur-
rounded by high walls. In winter, I sit by the fireside and
read the papers, while my husband and uncle play dominoes.
At ten o'clock I go to bed, and the next day it is the same
routine all over again. Such, my dear, has been my life
for ten years, with absolutely no incidents except an occa-
sional cold in the head, the yearly stock-taking, and perhaps
the chimney catching fire."
"And you — a true Parisian — graceful, pretty, chic, to
lead such a life ! " cries the sympathetic Theodosie. " And
do you never sigh for anything better than this? "
"Indeed, indeed, I do," replies Claire. "Although we
are in Paris, it seems as if I were buried in the country.
Everything here is old and faded. My uncle is good, but
he is an antique. Our old servant is good, but she wearies
me. The furniture is good, but it is old-fashioned. Yet
only a hundred yards away is the new Paris — ^the brilliant,
throbbing, feverish, dazzling Paris of the great boulevard.
Whiffs of its incense are borne to me by the winds. There
340 THE SARDOU PLAYS
is the new Paris, here is the old. All around us buildings
are being demolished and other merchants going to newer
quarters. All save us. Here we remain."
Theodosie suggests that they should go into the new
quarter and open a brilliant establishment there. But Claire
shakes her head. She says that her uncle would not listen
to any such suggestion ; the affairs of the firm are prosper-
ing, and he would not leave a certain present for an un-
certain future. " Our partnership articles expire to-day,"
she says, " and they will be renewed. For our part, we, my
husband and I, have made not less than 5cx),oc)0 francs, net."
While they are speaking, a note is brought from another
shopkeeper's wife, who has left the old quarter and opened
an establishment on the boulevard. She sends her valet de
chambre — in her carriage with her monogram on the panel —
to match some goods. Claire is secretly much incensed
at this display by her former neighbour.
Uncle Genevoix appears. He is a typical French
bourgeois — kind-hearted, not very refined, devoted to his
business and to his family. He is delighted at the return
of his niece Gabrielle. He brings in some of the trusted
employees of the Old House, who had known her when she
was a little child playing around the court-yard. Among
them is Andre, who, although young, is a trusted clerk.
Gabrielle looks at him with interested eyes. Another is
old Gudin, the veteran cashier. Her uncle tells her that
in the crisis of 1848 the firm was on the point of going
under, but old Gudin brought the savings of thirty years
and put them in her father's hands, thus rescuing the firm.
Her uncle shows her the big easy-chair where her father
used to doze every evening; the very desk in which her
grandfather locked up the first money he made in his
little fancy-goods shop. Genevoix tells her that they are
rich enough to replace all these things, but that he loves
them, and he hopes she will love them too. They go out
MAISON NEUVE 34)1
into the dining-room to see the table spread for the family
feast.
Rene returns. He tells Claire that he has a present for
her, and she asks to see it. Looking around cautiously, Rene
says : " This is your present — an entirely new establish-
ment: basement, ground floor, and entresol for the sales-
rooms and storerooms ; the first floor for your living-rooms ;
a new building on the new Boulevard Malesherbes ; a lease
for a term of years; everything complete; your apartments
fully furnished; your salon hung in blue silk and your
boudoir in rose pink."
Claire is overcome with joy. " To think that I should
have both a boudoir and a salon ! " she cries. " Let us go
and see the place at once."
But Rene restrains her. Uncle Genevoix would be much
hurt at the mere thought of their failing to renew their
articles of partnership with him and quitting the Old House
for a new one. But if Uncle Genevoix is daref ully managed,
Rene thinks he might accompany them to the New House,
sign new articles, and lease the Old House for what they
could get.
As they are discussing this subject, Uncle Genevoix
enters. With much trepidation the young couple suggest
moving to new and modern quarters on the boulevard. He
listens to them — at first with surprise, and then with ill-con-
cealed vexation. He endeavours to dissuade them from any
such move. He tells them that their modest fortune will be
swallowed up by the enormous expenses of the new build-
ings on the boulevard; that if they remain where they are
in the Old House for five years more, he will then have one
hundred thousand francs income. They too will have a
handsome income, and they may all retire ; he will then pur-
chase a fine place in the country, and all his fortune will be
divided between them after his death. As Uncle Genevoix
is earnestly begging them not to abandon the Old House,
S4.a THE SARDOU PLAYS
he is called by Gabrielle to the dining-room, and leaves them
for a moment.
Such is the profound chagrin of the old man over the
mere contemplation of their new step that Rene and Qaire
are afraid to break to him the truth — ^that they have already
taken that step and leased the New House. So they leave a
note, telling him in writing what they dared not tell him
face to face, and ignominiously flee. The note is presented
to Uncle Genevoix just as he is about to sit down to the
family feast to which he had looked forward with so much
anticipation. Old Genevoix is heart-broken. Rene and
Claire are gone. There remain of the family only himself
and Gabrielle.
In the second act, we are in the New House of 'Rene
and Claire. Everything is very elegant, but very new.
There is a new vcdet de chambre, who calls himself a
maHtre d'hotel; there is also a new femme de chambre. They
exchange confidences concerning their new master and
mistress. The valet tells the maid of the magnificent ban-
quet with which the New House was inaugurated some
weeks before ; of the paid puflFs concerning it in the boule-
vard journals. When asked as to the occupants of the
house, he replies:
" We are a little mixed. In the basement, on the ground
floor and the entresol, we have our store-rooms. Here, on
the first floor we have seven windows looking on the boule-
vard with a balcony. This is our apartment. The seven
adjoining windows belong to our neighbour, M. de
Marsille, a very lively club-man. On the second floor, we
have Mile. Mandarine, a very lively lady with orange-
coloured hair. On the third floor is the Baroness de Laver-
dec, a friend of Madame. Lastly, in a small bedroom on the
same floor, is M. de Pontarme, a friend of Monsieur."
" And has Madame any lovers yet ? " inquires the maid.
" Not yet," replied the lackey, " but Monsieur de Mar-
MAISON NEUVE 343
sille is making eyes at her. Then, you see, his windows
open on the same balcony, which is quite promising."
Uncle Genevoix comes in to see his relatives. He is
still on friendly terms with them, although their paths have
diverged. He is amazed at the fine-lady airs of the maid,
and amused at the mock-gentleman airs of the lackey.
While he is waiting for Claire, who is dressing, Pontarme
enters, accompanied by Gaspard. They are talking of the
night before at the club. The elegant Gaspard, who wears
a single eye-glass and a gardenia in his buttonhole, tells
Pontarme of his winning a hundred louis on the race
course the day before, but adds that he went to a little
supper party with some actresses and lost all his money at
cards after supper. He leaves some letters for Rene, and
then goes out to purchase some favours for the cotillion,
which he is to lead that evening. Genevoix asks who this
fashionable gentleman may be, and to his amazement is
told that Gaspard is the cashier of the New House.
Rene at last returns, and is frankly glad to see his
uncle. Genevoix says he is waiting for Qaire, but the maid
tells him she never is dressed at so early an hour. It iis
now five in the afternoon. Rene assents, saying that he
never sees her himself in the morning. They have separate
apartments, and he goes out every morning for his canter.
Back from his ride at eleven o'clock he breakfasts at the
club, looks over the papers, smokes a cigar, goes to the
stock exchange for a while, and then comes home.
" But how about the business ? " asks the uncle.
" The business ! " replies Rene, " oh, it goes by itself
in the New House."
Rene then rapidly sketches a long list of dinners, teas,
suppers, theatre-parties, and drives to the races which take
up all of his and Claire's time, both night and day. To this
recital Uncle Genevoix listens with growing disgust, and
344 THE SARDOU PLAYS
finally departs, saying that he will call again to see Claire
when she is up, and " when it is not so early."
After the departure of Uncle Genevoix, Rene entrusts
a letter to Pontarme. It seems that this valued friend of
the family is acting as a bearer of billet-doux between Rene
and Mile. Mandarine, the lady upstairs with the orange
hair.
Their discussion of. this intrigue is interrupted by the
arrival of Claire and Theodosie. Claire tells Rene that
she will not dine at home, as she and Theodoise are going
to dine at the restaurant ; from there they go to the theatre,
where Theodosie has a box. Claire picks up the evening
paper to see what the performance is, and to her delight
finds something of interest there. She cries : " Why, Rene,
what do you think I have found? Here are our names —
yours and mine — in the paper ! It says : ' Among those
present at the Brazilian Ambassador's ball was the charm-
ing Mme. Pillerat attired in a dainty costume as a Summer
Mist, which showed her beautiful figure to extreme advatir
tage. M. Pillerat, one of our leading comnierdal gentle-
men, wore the costum,e of a lobster.' "
Rene is as delighted as is Claire at this evidence of their
social advancement.
On the heels of this agreeable discovery the Comte de
Marsille is announced, rather to Claire's surprise, as she
does not know that gentleman. He comes to say that the
concierge informs him of his neighbours' desire that the
board partition on the balcony be removed, as it obstructs
the view from Madame's window.
" But," interrupts Claire, somewhat curtly, " I made no
such request."
" It was I, my dear," said Rene. " Don't you remember
you told me it interrupted your view of the boulevard ? "
" Really, Rene," replies Claire, " it was only a passing
remark. I cannot think of asking this gentleman to remove
MAISON NEUVE 345
the partition; on second thought, I do not desire it
removed."
"I beg of you, Madame," interrupts M. de Marsille,
" to say no more about it." And he enters into so subtle a
protestation, in which he affects to believe that Claire de-
sires the partition removed, but does not wish to trouble
him to remove it, that the yotmg woman finally grows con-
fused. She is not used to the deferential manner, the
polished flattery, of a man of the world like de Marsille.
He is gazing at her with bold eyes, while he protests his
desire to consult her wishes in the matter, yet at the same
time forcing her to accede to his own. He is aided by her
foolish husband, who is so delighted at having a nobleman
under his roof that he can scarcely contain himself. When
de Marsille takes his departure it is understood that the
partition on the balcony between his apartment and Claire's
is to be removed.
In the third act, the salon of the New House is being
prepared by workmen for a grand ball. Rene and Claire
have had some twenty-five " intimate " friends at dinner,
and their dear five hundred friends are bidden to the ball
which is to follow the dinner. Pontarme is advising Rene
about the arrangement of the decorations. These, it would
appear, have been hired for the night — hangings, rugs,
tapestries, jardinieres, plants, silver, crystal, and candelabra.
Pontarme asks about the price, which Rene tells him; he
also confides to Pontarme that he is a little pinched for
money, and must meet a note for sixty thousand francs the
following day, as Mile. Mandarine is costing him a good
deal of money. He suggests that Pontarme should lend
him thirty or forty thousand francs. Pontarme replies that
he has no money at all, and lives by dining with his friends,
getting commissions on their clothes from tailors, on their
horses from horse-dealers, and on their pictures from pict-
ure-dealers. Rene suggests that Pontarme must have got
346 THE SARDOU PLAYS
a commissiort on the horses he sold to him. Whereat Pont-
arme grins, and admits that he did.
They are interrupted by Claire, who has left her guests
to confer with Rene about the cotillion, which is to be led
by Gaspard, the cashier of the New House. Gaspard comes
in with some favours.
Pontarme says to him in a low voice : " I hear you have
been hit pretty hard in the stock market, old man."
" Yes, yes," replies Gaspard, hastily. " I have had a
little bad luck."
" Bad luck, eh? " continues the pitiless Pontarme, " Is
that why you sold all your pictures and your horses at
auction this morning? "
"So you have heard that?" says Gaspard. "Hush,
don't say anything about it." And he turns with his cotil-
lion favours to confer with Claire.
Claire can hardly keep her eyes open in talking with
him, and dismisses him in a few moments. She tells her
Uncle Genevoix, who is concerned about her appearance,
that she has been suffering lately from sleeplessness. Her
doctor had prescribed a sleeping potion ; as she felt so tired
that afternoon, she had taken a few drops, but it was more
powerful than she had expected, and she was irresistibly
impelled to sleep. Genevoix advises her to go to her
boudoir for a little sleep, if only for a few moments. But
at this moment, M. de Marsille enters, offers her his arm,
and saluting Genevoix, they go toward the ball-room.
Uncle Genevoix is looking for Rene. He has heard of
his nephew's financial embarrassment. He wants to know
the figure of his debts. Poor Rene is obliged to make a
clean breast of it. It is necessary, for the hard-hearted
uncle apparently knows all, even about the expensive lady
with the bleached hair. He strikes a rapid balance, and
shows Rene that he must without fail have one hundred
and fifty thousand francs on hand in the morning. Rene's
MAISON NEUVE 347
countenance falls, but it suddenly lights up as he says:
"I can surely borrow at least half of that among the
friends I have here to-night." Uncle Genevoix shakes his
head with a sardonic smile as Rene starts out upon his
quest.
As they leave the room, Claire and M. de Marsille
enter. Claire's head is still in a whirl, partly from the
waltz and partly from the drug she has taken. She tells
de Marsille of her somnolent condition, seats herself, and
asks him to stand in front of her and shield her from view
as if he were talking to her, while she endeavours to snatch
a few moments' sleep. De Marsille immediately seizes the
opportunity and presses his suit. He tells her that she is
worthy of a more brilliant sphere in life than to be the wife
of a shop-keeper. He sneers at Rene. He paints a picture
of Claire with him in a palace at Venice, decked with
diamonds, attended like a queen.
" Hush ! you know I am sleeping," she murmurs
drowsily.
He becomes bolder with her lack of resistance, and
declares he will come to her window that evening, by way
of the balcony.
" Stop ! " she says, warningly. " I am waking."
But the fiery de Marsille will not be repulsed. He vows
he will come to her window, and will enter if she leaves it
unfastened.
" Monsieur," says Claire, rising suddenly, " I told you
that I was waking. Now I am awake. Go, sir ! "
De Marsille attempts to make peace with the oifended
beauty, but they are interrupted by Gaspard, who has come
to claim a dance; as she gives Gaspard her arm, Rene
excitedly enters.
" Let this dance go," says Rene. " How much money
have you on hand, Gaspard ? "
THE SARDOU PLAYS
The cashier looks at him with ill-concealed terror.
" About ninety thousand francs," he replies.
" And how much do you collect to-morrow ? "
" Twenty-seven thousand."
" And how much is there to pay? "
" One hundred and twelve thousand four hundred and
thirty-two francs."
"Then you think we have enough?" asks Rene.
" Oh, yes, Monsieur, I think so."
" Nevertheless," replies Rene, " let us go over the cash-
book and count the cash on hand. Go down at once to the
office, light up, and open the safe."
Gaspard turns a ghastly colour. Qaire asks him if he
is ill.
" No, Madame," he replies, " I am a little dizzy from
the waltzing and the heated air. I will go to my room and
get the key of the safe."
Theodosie enters. She has just Come from the opera,
and she brings news from the ministry of foreign affairs
which will send up the stock market with a bound on the
following day.
Rene groans. "Just my luck again,", he exclaims. "I
have been selling stocks short for a fall, and if the market
goes up five points I stand to lose 400,000 francs."
Claire is frightened at his pallor, and bids Gabrielle
go for Gaspard, telling her that he is in the office of the New
House, counting the cash.
Gabrielle returns in a few moments, saying, " He is not
there."
" But he must be there ! " cries Rene.
" No," replies Gabrielle, " he is not there. The oflSce
is lighted, the books are scattered over the desk, the safe
is open, but Gaspard is gone."
They hasten to the office, and they find that Gabrielle
has spoken only too truly. Not only is Gaspard gone, but
MAISON NEUVE 349
with him there is gone all the money that was in the safe
to meet to-morrow's indebtedness.
By this time the agitation of the family has communi-
cated itself to the guests. They catch a word here and
there — debts, accounts, flight of the cashier, losses on the
stock exchange. Soon, a rumour runs around that Gaspard
has fled; that he has stolen 500,000 francs. It speedily
becomes 800,000. In five minutes it has risen to 900,000,
and one agitated guest says that the officers of the law
are already on the way to seize everything in the house for
protested drafts. The head workmen and stewards in charge
of ornaments, table service, and decorations become alarmed.
They are responsible for their employer's goods. Speedily
the waiters and the extra lackeys are set at work, and in
a few moments the amazed guests see workmen on ladders
taking down portieres, others rolling up tapestries, and
waiters packing up silver and glass. Soon the musicians
are seen folding up their music, packing up their instru-
ments, and silently filing out. The lights begin to go out,
the candelabra to disappear. Qaire's insolent maid and
valet de chambre demand their wages, and when Claire,
weeping with wounded pride, tells them she has no money
and offers her diamonds as security to the maid, the insolent
creature says : " Why, they're no good. You know as well
as I do they're paste ! "
To this dialogue two cynical guests listen as they are
going out. Says one to the other : " Probably a pretty bad
failure." To which the other replies : " Must be a fraud-
ulent bankruptcy, I think. Have you got a cigar, old man ?
Thanks." And they light their cigars in the vestibule and
go out into the night.
In the fourth act, Claire is in her chamber with
Gabrielle, who has learned that they need 50,000 francs in
the morning; this is exactly her dot, and as she wishes to
help Claire and Rene, she will give them her little fortune
350 THE SARDOU PLAYS
to save the honour of the Old House. Claire is overcome
with emotion; she refuses, but finally yields, saying she
will accept only on condition that Uncle Genevoix approves.
As Gabrielle goes out, Claire muses: "What a dear
little creature! And to think I shall never see her again!
For now that I have learned of Rene's faithlessness, I have
left my window open. De Marsille will see the light on
my balcony, and when he comes I shall not remain another
hour in this vile house. To think that I am under the same
roof with that creature! I should have known that there
was a woman in the case. Rene could not spend so much
money in any other way. It was not for me, it was for her,
and I never guessed it, fool that I was. Twenty times I
have met that creature swishing her laces by me on the
stair, and wearing lingerie paid for by me. I should have
guessed it by her insolent smile. Yet while I was repulsing
the advances of a lover on this floor, my husband on the
floor above was making love to this vile woman." She
begins throwing objects of apparel and toilet articles into
a travelling bag. Taking up one she says : " Here is my
sleeping potion. It means sleep. Taking enough of it
might mean death." She starts. "What is that noise?
It is he!"
It is indeed de Marsille. He has a vinous laugh, a
flushed face, a confident smile. He closes the window be-
hind him as he enters. But he sees by her face that some-
thing has happened, and asks her what it is. She tells
him briefly that disaster has followed disaster ; her husband
has lost 300,000 francs in the stock market, and the cashier,
having stolen all that remained, has fled. But worse than
all, she has discovered her husband's intrigue with the
woman. Mandarine, on the floor above. De Marsille makes
vague attempts at consolation, but his thickly uttered plati-
tudes at last attract the attention of the -semi-hysterical
Claire.- She listens, at first uncomprehendingly, to his
MAISON NEUVE 351
chatter, and at last a dim suspicion steals into her mind.
She approaches him, and looks into his eyes.
" You have just left table? " she asks.
"Yes, I have been to a little supper. Why do you
ask?"
" Because it is easily to be seen," replies Claire, coldly,
" you are not sober."
De Marsille protests in a thick utterance that he has had
only a little wine, but Claire looks at him with cold eyes.
"And it is for this," she bitterly reflects, "that I am
throwing my honour away ! This is what they call romantic
and guilty love! But this creature with the filmy eyes and
the stupid laugh — can this be a romantic lover? This is
not passion, it is vice. This is not love, it is debauchery.
This is not intoxication, it is drunkenness. Be off, you
sot, leave me ! "
But Claire finds that it is difiicult to manage a drunken
man. De Marsille tipsily protests — first, that he will not go ;
next, that he will not go unless she accompanies him; flien
that he will not go unless she gives him something to drink.
And as he, in his mixture of amorousness and drunken
persistence, seizes her and will not let her go, she suddenly
conceives the idea of giving him some of her sleeping potion,
telling him it is a cordial that will sober him. She pours
a few drops into a glass of water and bids him take it ; she
assures him, with feminine cajolery, that as soon as he is
sobered she will listen to his suit. He drinks the potion,
but looking at her, after a moment, with a silly laugh, he
says:
" That doesn't sober me. I have not had enough — give
me some more ! " Before she can check him, he seizes
the vial and drains it to the last drop. As he does so, he
looks at her strangely.
"What is that stuif?" he says, thickly. "What a
devilish queer taste! It's bitter; it tastes like opium. I
352 THE SARDOU PLAYS
wonder if it is opium? Oh, my head! My God! What
is happening to me? I cannot see! Air! Air! Give me
air!"
With these words he falls at full length on the floor
between the door of her bedroom and the sofa.
Claire is overcome with horror. She throws herself
upon the limp body and strives to bring it back to life.
She is about to call for help, but reflects that she dare not
call. What could she say? How could she account for de
Marsille's presence in her room? How could she explain
away two damning facts — ^the vial of poison in his hand
and a letter from her in his pocket? She feels his heart.
It does not beat.
" He is dead ! " she moans. " But, even if it be robbing
a corpse, I must have this vial and I must have my letter."
She begins hurriedly to search his pockets with one
hand, while she strives with the other to force open the
cold hand which holds the vial.
While she is thus engaged, loud knocks are heard at the
door. Claire is shaking with fear and horror. She hears
a voice from without. It is the voice of Rene calling to
her. He cries : " Open, Claire ! It is I. I am here with
the Commissary of Police."
Claire bounds toward the body, and rolls it over two or
three times, dragging the sofa before it. Then, when it is
half concealed, she opens the door.
The Commissary of Police enters with Rene, and apolo-
gises for the lateness of his visit. He has just been to the
office examining the safe, and has made a formal statement
of the condition of affairs, which he wishes her and Rene
to sign. Rene says he will go to her bedroom for ink and
pen. If he does so, reflects Claire, he will pass the sofa
and surely see the body. With a wild shriek Claire re-
strains him, and points to ink and pens on a table in the
corner. He looks at her in astonishment, and goes to get
MAISON NEUVE S53
them there. As he is about to present the pen to her, the
Conunissary of Police walks round the table to put the
paper before her. Thus he almost comes within view of
the body of de Marsille. With another scream, Claire
almost forces him and Rene to seat themselves on the sofa,
the very sofa behind which lies the body of de Marsille.
The officer also looks at her in astonishment, but she signs
her name, and they both go out with the papers, leaving
her in her chamber alone with the body.
In the last act we find ourselves in the Old House at
the sign of the " Old Cockade." Rene, Uncle Gtnevoix,
and Gabrielle are there, and Rene, with tears in his eyes,
is explaining to Gabrielle why he cannot accept the offer
of her dot to save the firm. But Uncle Genevoix, whose
eyes are also moist, says :
" Come, come, this is no time for talking ; it is seven
o'clock. The banking hour is ten, and we have three hours
in which to find 50,000 francs."
" But," timidly interposes Gabrielle, " I have the 50,000
francs. I can't see why you won't take my money."
Both Rene and Uncle Genevoix smile, and tell her that
she "doesn't understand business." Genevoix then rapidly
produces papers for Rene to sign with him before the
notary; thus they will raise on their notes 60,000 francs,
and Genevoix has raised on his own notes 40,000 francs,
which leaves them only 50,000 short. But Rene's counten-
ance brightens when Genevoix explains that L'Aubepin,
an old friend of the Old House, a plain, retired clerk, is
coming with 50,000 francs to help Rene out. Rene turns
crimson, as he explains to his uncle that L'Aubepin had
once called to see them at the famous New House at dinner-
time, and had sent in word that he would take pot-luck
with them ; but they had Count de Marsille and some other
swells with them, and Rene was obliged to turn L'Aubepin
away. He fears that he cannot accept a favour from an
23
354 THE SARDOU PLAYS
old friend whom they had treated so shabbily. But
L'Aubepin enters in the midst of this shamefaced con-
fession, slaps him on the back, and thrusts into his hand
a bundle of banknotes, saying: "Pshaw, Rene, it was
all my fault. I ought not to have come when you had a
dinner-party on hand. You'll forgive me, won't you ? "
Genevoix here brings in Gudin, the faithful veteran
who has served the Old House as cashier for forty years,
and who once in a financial panic pulled them through with
his savings of a lifetime. Gudin is given the accounts of
the elegant cashier Gaspard, is informed how matters
stand, and he starts for the desk of the fugitive. He is
confident that with the 6o,cxx) francs on hand he can tide
over the more urgent creditors and pay slowly until they
get in money enough to carry them through the fateful day.
iRene accompanies the veteran cashier from the Old House
to the New.
Uncle Genevoix remains behind to meet the notary
with the papers. But he is surprised by the entrance of
Claire, who has just come from the New House to the Old,
bareheaded and excited. Her uncle bids her be calm,
for matters are so arranged that the obligations will be met
and the firm pulled through. But Claire pays little heed to
his remarks, and goes on in a half hysterical way to tell
him that she is in fear of arrest. When he asks her why,
she shudderingly replies that she has killed a man. Gene-
voix thinks that she is mad, but when he interrogates her
she tells him a man came to her room at night by way of the
balcony; that he is still in her room, and she believes him
to be dead. When Genevoix asks her if it is " her lover,
de Marsille," she repudiates with indignation the accusa-
tion, and says de Marsille never was her lover. She tells
Genevoix that de Marsille came to her room by the balcony
and would not leave; she had been weak enough to write
him a letter which he refused to return to her; he was not
MAISON NEUVE 355
sober, and seizing a sleeping potion, which she had there,
drank it at a gulp, and fell to the floor a corpse. Claire
tells how she tried to take the letter from his person, but
was interrupted; and fearing discovery by the Commissary
of Police, who was in the building, she had fled; she had
been roaming the streets like a mad woman ever since, and
finally had come to the Old House,
Here Pontarme enters, much excited, and tells them
that he has just come from the New House, where the body
of de Marsille has been found in Claire's room; it was be-
lieyed there were traces of life, and they sent for the doc-
tor ; Rene, who was there, would be back at the Old House
almost immediately. Pontarme adds that when Rene was
leaving the room where de Marsille lay, he had expressed a
violent desire to see Claire.
Even as he is speaking, Rene enters, and Claire trembles.
Rene is waving a telegram. He says that while he was at
the bedside of de Marsille, over whom the doctors were
working, a telegram was brought to him, saying that the
cashier, Gaspard, had been arrested on the frontier with
all the funds upon him that he had taken from Rene's safe.
" While I was reading it," says Rene, " poor de Marsille,
upon whom the doctor had been working so long, opened
his eyes. He looked at me with a singular expression, utter-
ing indistinct words, which sounded something like ' the
letter, the letter.' At first nobody knew what letter he
meant, but, on looking around, both the doctor and I
noticed a piece of paper on the floor twisted into a wad.
The doctor picked it up, and unrolled it as if to read it.
But I saw poor de Marsille's face so contorted with anguish,
and his hands so trembling with nervousness, that I could
not contain myself ; and tearing the letter from the doctor's
hands I cried : ' Stop — he does not want it read,' and I tore
it into a thousand pieces."
Genevoix looks at Claire with an encouraging smile,
THE SARDOU PLAYS
and she bursts into tears and throws her arms around her
husband's neck.
Genevoix receives a note announcing that the run on
the house of Pillerat has ceased, as cashier Gudin has met
all obligations promptly. But none the less they decide
that instead of leasing the Old House and occupying the
New, they will leave the New House and occupy the Old.
Fresh articles of partnership are thereupon signed, with
Gabrielle and the young clerk Andre, her lover, as addi-
tional partners, under the name and style of the " Old
Cockade."
LES MERVEILLEUSES
Those who reproach Sardou with lack of originality are
obviously in the wrong. There are few who have succeeded
in putting upon the stage so many environments new to the
stage. It may be at times that his plays or parts of his
plays resemble those of other writers, but who can deny
that before the eyes of audiences he has placed detached
bits of our nineteenth century life, hitherto unknown upon
the stage ? Take the rebuilding of Paris, by Baron Hauss-
mann, in " Maison Neuve." Take the opening up of the
provinces to railways in " Les Ganaches." Take the ex-
ploitation of gambling-houses in " Fernande " ; of diplomatic
intrigue as in " Dora " ; of the winter life of the idle rich
at Nice as in " Odette," or the hysterical gaiety of the days
of the Directory, as in " Les Merveilleuses."
The plot of the piece is of the lightest. The young and
beautiful lUyrine has secured a divorce, in those easy days
of divorce, from her husband, Dorlis. But Dorlis returns
from the army of Italy, crowned with laurels, on the very
day that Illyrine is consoling herself for her wrecked life
with citizen St. Amour, Secretary of Director Barras. She
suddenly sees that she has been mistaken, that she loves only
Dorlis, and she marries him all over again, under the name
of Dorival.
Such is the light plot, as light and diaphanous as the
gauzy textures in which the beautiful Directory maids and
matrons of the time were costumed, for the piece fairly
riots in costume. It was indeed a picturesque time. There
were, of course, not wanting those who accused Sardou
of borrowing from other writers. In this particular case,
they said that he had been made envious by the great suc-
cess of the opera of " Madame Angot." Apart from the
357
368 THE SARDOU PLAYS
fact that both pieces are laid in the time of the Directory,
there is no resemblance. There is a book by Jules Claretie
entitled " Les Muscadins," the scene of which is also laid
in the Directory time, and which has the same colour as
Sardou's play ; in fact, the two phrases, " Les Muscadins,"
and " Les Merveilleuses," mean the same thing. Both are
slang terms for the young dandies, male and female, of the
period of the Directory, probably the most picturesque time,
in point of costume, since the world began. Sardou took
the handsome actresses through whom he introduced the
roles, and had them make up after famous portraits by
Boilly, D'Isabey, Vernet, and St. Aubin. By entrusting
this department to the able hands of Eugene La Coste, he
was able to place on the stage a series of most brilliant
tableaux. Sardou's subtle taste in the matter of bric-a-
brac is well known, and it found in this piece a congenial
field for its display, for the dramatist always felt specially
at home in the picturesque period of the Directory.
The period indeed was not only a picturesque, but a
strange one. Life seemed made up of dancing, drinking,
flirting, and riotous living. The most gorgeous luxury;
the most shameful corruption in government bureaus; the
most shameless vice in social circles; mad festivals going
on in the city; platoons of soldiers being shot down on
the plains outside the city; political exiles being deported
to the poisonous shores of Cayenne; the Paris streets filled
with material filth, due to the neglect of unpaid government
employees; the stenches of physical and moral filth dis-
guised by the perfume of musk and millefleurs, — such was
the decadent society which General Bonaparte crushed when
he overturned the Directory, and such this striking epoch
which Sardou chose for the framework of his play " Les
Merveilleuses."
FERNANDE
As in the case of many of his plays, Sardou was accused
of borrowing the plot of " Fernande " from earlier writers.
In this case it was said that he took the plot from a romance
by Diderot, in which a gentlewoman, abandoned by her
lover, avenges herself by inveigling him into a marriage
with a lost woman. But there are others who claim that
they detect the influence of Alexandre Dumas, rather than
that of Diderot, in " Fernande." If these critics differ so
radically, it is possible that Sardou may have taken it from
both, from another source, or from none. It would seem
that the resemblance to the modern playwright is simply
in the choice of environment, for Sardou in " Fernande "
has chosen for a setting what Dumas called in his plays
" the demi-monde."
The first act of " Fernande " takes place in one of the
luxurious gambling hells which have always been common
in the French capital. There is nothing exactly like them
elsewhere. They are generally kept by a woman, who
passes herself off as the widow of a general or a diplomat,
and who may or may not have been a lady. She is usually
a person of education, and clever enough to be dangerous.
She surrounds herself with a circle of adventurers and
adventuresses, card sharpers and worse, and this gang of
harpies prey upon whatever luckless scion of a wealthy
family or rich stranger may fall into their clutches. The
pretence is kept up that the establishment is a private house.
Hence, the police, as a rule, are powerless. But these
establishments are closely watched, and on the first indica-
tion of an obviously criminal act, they are broken up, and
the principals arrested, if possible. Usually, however, such
an outcry is raised over " invasion of a private domicile,"
359
360 THE SARDOU PLAYS
that this, together with the silence of the plucked pigeon,
leads to the defeat of the law. The police rarely accomplish
anything more than closing the house.
The establishment in which the first act of " Fernande "
takes place is kept by Madame Senechal. There is with
her a beautiful girl, Fernande, one of those unfortunate
"flowers of the pavement," of which Paris is so full; of
a good heart despite her evil training, but devoted to vice
almost from her infancy ; led astray — ^abused — ^perhaps out-
raged — even that is hinted at in the play. There is a certain
Marquis who frequents the gambling house of Madame
Senechal. The Marquis is represented as being a conceited
fop, but handsome enough to win the admiring glances of
many women. A lady of position and wealth, Madame
Clotilde, has fallen in love with him, and he has promised
to marry her, but he is such a fatuous Lovelace that he
wrings her heart and humiliates her pride every day by
his gross flirtations. He even relates to her his adventures
as he follows shop girls, or ogles actresses in the minor
theatres. He makes her his confidant concerning all his
amorous affairs. At last he awakens within her such a
sentiment of anger that she determines to be revenged upon
him for his insults, and her revenge takes the form of
entrapping him into a marriage with Fernande. The un-
fortunate girl is led to believe that he knows of her past
and is marrying her with open eyes. After the marriage
has taken place, both of them learn the truth, he that she
is a lost woman, she that he believed she was an honest
woman.
LA PAPILLONNE
This piece was a failure when produced at the Coraedie-
Frangaise in 1862, but after Sardou had written "La
Famille Benoiton," " Rabagas," " La Haine," " Dora," " Les
Bourgeois de Pont-Arcy," and " Daniel Rochat," he deter-
mined to put on this early play again. It was reproduced
on October 2, 1880, at the Gymnase Theatre. This time
the piece was a great success.
The plot is simple. Monsieur de Champignac is a
newly married man, but although just become a benedict, he
is seized with that malady which sometimes attacks the
newly married man, and which Sardou calls " butterflying."
The meaning of the term is obvious. De Champignac is
one of those men who cannot be constant to any one
woman — particularly in her absence. For the moment he
is separated from his wife, who has gone to a country-house
at Melun, which she is engaged in preparing for their
occupancy. Her devoted husband, while she is thus en-
gaged, is leading a gay life in Paris. One afternoon he
sees a veiled lady — she has a beautiful figure, a trim ankle —
she takes his fancy. He follows her. She goes to the rail-
way station, she gets on the train. He gets on the same
train, in the same compartment. She descends at Melun
station; so does he. She drives to a handsome country
house; so does he. He succeeds in accosting a modestly
dressed woman, whom he takes for the stranger's maid.
With her he arranges a rendezvous with the veiled lady,
and he is conducted within the handsome country house
with bandaged eyes. The meeting takes place with the
veiled lady. Another is in the room, although he does not
know it. The lady speaks with a strong Italian accent, and
he kisses her hands with passion, and when the unfortunate
361
362 THE SARDOU PLAYS
man has thoroughly committed himself, she lifts the bandage
from his eyes, and he finds that he is in his own country
house, and making love to his own wife.
It was said that when the piece was originally produced
at the Comedie-Franqaise, it was considered too much in
the vein of the Palais-Royal; further, that if it had been
played at the Palais-Royal, it would have been considered
too much in the style of the Comedie-Frangaise. However,
a play lying between these two extremes seemed to be
admirably placed at the Gymnase, and there it was very
successful.
LES GANACHES
The plot of " Les Ganaches" presents a contrast between
the ancient regime and the modern world ; between the aris-
tocracy and the mercantile spirit; it discusses the fusion of
classes brought about by conventional marriages. These
themes have largely furnished plots for plays ever since
the end of the French Revolution. Nevertheless, Sardou
has been accused of borrowing his plot from two plays,
" Mademoiselle de Seigliere," by Jules Sandeau, and " Par
Droit de Conquete," by E. Legouve. There is not much
resemblance between " Les Ganaches " and the supposed
models. In the case of Sardou's play, the hero, is the
grandson of a nobleman's steward, and in Sandeau's play
he is the son of a farmer on a nobleman's estate. Legouve
in his play was one of the first to utilise engineers as
dramatic characters in a play. Sardou has done the same
in this piece, but certainly the role of the engineer can
scarcely be considered as patented by his predecessors.
Sardou introduced the character to good advantage. His
engineer. Marcel Cavalier, represents in the fossilised home
at Quimperle modern science, steam, and electricity, and
the contrast between these powerful agents of modern life
and the mouldy ruins of aristocratic superstition, found in
the ancient family there, is a striking one.
The play may be sketched in few words. The Marquis
de la Rochepeans is the head of the fossil family. He
represents in his person everything that is reactionary,
everything that is opposed to modern progress. He pushes
his conservatism so far in the play that he moves heaven
and earth to prevent his little village of Quimperle from
obtaining a railway, which the engineer. Marcel Cavalier,
is about to run through the place. When this play was pro-
363
THE SARDOU PLAYS
duced the critics mocked at such a ridiculous instance of
conservatism. But Sardou — ^always a fighter — ^proved that
not many years before, the city of Beauvais, when threat-
ened with the passage of one of the great Northern railways
through its precincts, set on foot against it the most power-
ful influences at its command. When it succeeded, and the
joyful tidings were brought that the ancient city was not to
be desecrated by the modem vandals of the railway, bon-
fires were lighted on the street corners, and the entire city
was illuminated.
Of course, there is a love-story in the piece, and the
prejudices of the ancient regime are overturned by the
energy of the younger element. Sardou's favourite charac-
ter — materialist, atheist, good-natured, philosophical —
appears in this play under the name of Vauclin. He serves
as an excellent foil for the reactionary Marquis.
LA SORCIERE
In "La Sorciere" the scene is laid at Toledo in 1507,
the very year in which Cardinal Ximenes de Cisneros was
appointed Grand Inquisitor of Castille. His entry upon
that office was signalised by an outburst of fanaticism.
The persecution of the Jews and Moors waxed ever fiercer
and fiercer. The cruelty born of bigotry, racial and re-
ligious animosities, and the love story, form the ground-
work.
In describing his heroine, Zoraya, Sardou recalled to a
friend how more than fifty years before when he was a
young man he "dabbled" in medicine, and became keenly
interested in the phenomena of what we now call hypnotic
suggestion. " Little by little," he said, " as the study of
it developed into a science, it occurred to me that hypnotism
explained all that the Middle Ages believed to be sorcery.
There were no sorcerers or sorceresses. Those that declared
they were such and those that hunted and condemned them
were equally absurd. There was only hypnotic suggestion."
The first act of "La Sorciere" is set in a beautiful
ravine near Toledo. Don Enrique de Palacios, Captain of
Crossbowmen, enters with a troop of his men. One Kalem
had been hanged for breaking the law which forbade love
or marriage between Christian and Infidel. The body had
been cut down and buried, and it was to investigate this
act of defiance that Don Enrique came. He suspects the
Moorish girl Zoraya of the offence, and his neighbours when
questioned lay the blame on the Sorceress, as she is called,
from the occult knowledge which she had inherited with her
wealth from her father, a Moorish physician. Zoraya ap-
pears on the scene, and at first Don Enrique treats her
366 THE SARDOU PLAYS
roughly, but soon becomes more gentle in his manner,
checks the archer who wishes to shoot the infidel down, and
ends by falling violently in love with his beautiful visitor.
The second act introduces us into Zoraya's sumptuous
home in the outskirts of Toledo. Here it is that Don En-
rique visits his lady love every evening, and now, after an
unexplained absence of two days, he comes to see her once
again. Zoraya's original purpose was merely to inveigle
her Christian lover as a means of taking vengeance on one
of the- persecutors of her race. She, too, finally falls in
love, and Don Enrique reciprocates her passion, though
there are serious dangers to be encountered, for the house
is watched by the spies of the Inquisition.
Here it is that one day Zoraya receives a visit from one
Fatoum, a Moorish convert, who is now the duena in charge
of Juana, the daughter of Don Lopez de Padilla, the Gov-
ernor of Toledo. Juana, who is to be married that very
day to Don Enrique, suffers from somnambulism, and it is
to effect a cure that Fatoum brings her to Zoraya's house.
The latter sends Juana into an hypnotic sleep, and promises
to go to the Governor's palace to complete the cure. On the
way Zoraya hears a joyous pealing of bells, and on inquir-
ing the cause learns that it is for the wedding of Don
Enrique and Juana. She utters a cry of rage and despair.
In the third act we have the celebration of the nuptials.
The inner courtyard of Don Enrique's house is crowded with
wedding guests, and other visitors, including some famil-
iars of the Inquisition, rejoiced at the prospective resump-
tion of auto-da-fes. Anxious on Zora)ra's behalf, Don En-
rique goes to his nuptial chamber and finds her on the
threshold. She had just hypnotised Juana into a profound
sleep. Zoraya demands from Don Enrique an account of
his supposed betrayal. Mutual explanations are soon
made, but the meeting is interrupted by Cardenos, a familiar
sent by the Holy Office to arrest Zoraya on a charge of
LA SORCIERE 367
witchcraft and poisoning. Don Enrique defends her. A
terrible struggle ensues; Cardenos is strangled and his
corpse left lying on the ground. The two lovers then fly
through the town, pursued by the bigoted rabble.
In the fourth act, Zoraya and Don Enrique, who had
been arrested by the mob, are brought into the Grand Hall
of the Palace of the Inquisition. Don Enrique is a good
Catholic and the Governor's son-in-law. Cardinal Ximenes,
the president of the Court, therefore is bent on finding him
innocent, though he has confessed to his intercourse with
Zoraya, his projected flight, and the murder of the familiar.
Zoraya foils all attempts of Ximenes to entangle her,
and stoutly denies her intercourse with Satan. But the
crafty Cardinal finds means to browbeat two witnesses into
supporting the charge of witchcraft, and by holding out a
prospect of safety for Don Enrique, induces Zoraya to
make a supreme sacrifice. She performs a sudden volte-
face, and with passionate exaltation proclaims herself a
witch. She is forthwith condemned to die by fire.
The scene in the fifth act represents a street in Toledo
near the Cathedral. The dirge of the exorcists is heard as
they endeavour to rouse Juana from her cataleptic sleep. In
the square stands the stake all ready for Zoraya's execu-
tion. Don Enrique has arranged with the executioner to
shorten her torments, and Fatoum has given her a deadly
poison. The denoument is delayed. Zoraya alone can
waken Juana, and the Governor promises to pardon her if
she will perform that miracle. Juana is roused from her
coma, and Zoraya is about to fly with her lover, who at last
realises her devotion, when the fanatical populace, stirred
up by the monks, intercept their flight and pin them against
the cathedral doors.
The two lovers have now no resource left but suicide.
Locked in a last embrace, they crush, as their lips meet,
the vial of poison, and death delivers them from the flames.
ROBESPIERRE
The opening scene of " Robespierre " is laid in the
forest of Montmorency. The play begins with a meeting
between Mr. Vaughan, a Whig member of the House of
Commons, who had been sent to France with peace pro-
posals, and a Madame de Mauluson, with whose family he
was on intimate terms, M. de Mauluson, who had recently
died in London, had fought in the Vendee against the
Republic, and his whole family was suspected of disaflfection.
Mme, Clarisse de Mauluson has a niece, Marie Therese,
and a son, Olivier, whose real father was Robespierre him-
self, when he was still a young lawyer and secretary to a
Counsellor of the Parlement of Paris.
Vaughan has his appointed interview with Robespierre,
who declines his proposals. The Dictator is at the height
of his power, and the recent passage of Couthon's Law of
Prairial on June lo, 1794, had made the Reign of Terror
more violent than ever. Vaughan had also taken the op-
portunity to request for Madame de Mauluson and her
son and niece a passport to quit France. Toward the end
of the act, Le Bas, the member of the Convention, and
Cabinet-maker Duplay, with all his family, drive up, and
invite Robespierre to breakfast 0/ fresco.
In the second act young Olivier is searching for his
mother and cousin Marie Therese, of whose arrest he is
aware, and finds them at the Bourbe prison. A vivid scene
describes life in the prison and the calling over of the names
picked by the Revolutionary Tribunal for the next batch of
victims. The hatred of Olivier for Robespierre is whetted
to an extreme pitch.
On the next day, while Robespierre is attending the
fete of the " Supreme Being," a voice from the crowd
868
ROBESPIERRE 369
shouts : " Down with the tyrant ! down with the guillo-
tine!" It is Olivier, who is forthwith arrested by order of
Robespierre.
The third act represents a domestic scene at the house
of the Duplay family. Robespierre is there, enjoying the
quiet of domesticity. Suddenly the music is interrupted by
the entrance of Olivier, who is brought in as a prisoner to
be questioned by Robespierre. One of the papers taken
from him proves to be in the handwriting of the Counsellor
whose secretary he had been and whose daughter Clarisse
he had seduced before she became Madame de Mauluson.
In fact, Olivier is his own son.
Robespierre is deeply agitated, and in spite of the in-
sults heaped upon him by the young man, resolves to effect
his rescue and save him from the guillotine. But he is
afraid to do so too openly, as the disturbance at the fete of
the Supreme Being was too notorious.
A letter from Mme. de Mauluson at the Bourbe is
handed to Robespierre, and Olivier, wrongly inferring from
a remark dropped by the Dictator that his mother is doomed,
faints away, and is conveyed to prison by Robespierre's
orders.
In the fourth act Madame de Mauluson and her niece,
released from the Bourbe by Robespierre, are hiding in the
Rue de Martray, when Clarisse has an interview with her
former lover. She is naturally anxious about the fate of
her son Olivier, but Robespierre tries to reassure her.
Clarisse reproaches Robespierre with his murderous activ-
ity, but he defends his conduct by an appeal to the idealism
of his aims. At this moment noises are heard in the streets.
It is an array of tumbrils passing with a batch of victims.
Clarisse appeals to him to stop the bloodshed.
Soon afterwards Le Bas returns from La Force prison
to report that Olivier has been removed. He must be in
that batch on the way to the guillotine. Robespierre turns
24
S70 THE SARDOU PLAYS
pale at the thought, and resolves to brave any peril to save
him.
But Olivier is no longer a prisoner. The Committee of
Public Safety, knowing his hatred of the Dictator, have
released Olivier and commissioned him to slay Robespierre
if the accusation they are drawing up against the Dictator
should fail.
The play concludes with the fall of Robespierre and his
flight from the Convention Hall to the Commune, where
he shoots himself in the jaw just as Olivier is about to cut
him down. Clarisse arrives in time to comfort the last
moments of the dying man.
"At last the child is saved," cries Robespierre, "and
you too. At least I have lived to receive your pardon."
DANTE
The spectacular drama " Dante " opens with a prologue
the scene of which is laid at Pisa. In the background is
seen " The Tower of Hunger," in which the fallen tyrant
Ugolino with his sons and grandsons are confined to die of
starvation. First Dante enters, and meets the mother of his
child Gemma, Pia dei Tolomei, the successor to Beatrice in
Dante's love. Then Helen of Swabia, Count Ugolino's
daughter-in-law, enters, and strives to obtain mercy from
the pitiless crowd, the jailors, and the ruthless archbishop
Ruggieri, but in vain. Dante then expostulates with the
archbishop, but is only excommunicated for his pains. The
poet replies with curses, and prophesies the downfall of Pisa.
The first act opens with a springtime festival at Flor-
ence ten years afterwards. Into this gay scene — which is
artistically devised to relieve the gloomy prologue — Dante
enters, disguised as a monk, but is recognised by his friend
Giotto, who is there working at his easel. Before long a
deed of blood is wrought: maddened by jealousy, Mala-
testa slays his wife Francesca da Rimini and her lover
Paolo. Meanwhile Dante has an interview with his natural
daughter Gemma, who is in great peril. Her mother Pia,
too, who has been wedded to Nello della Pietra, is confined
by her husband in his castle in the Maremma to die of
malaria and neglect. The pretended monk is summoned to
absolve the dying woman. One result of this interview is
the disclosure of the secret of Gemma's birth. Gemma ap-
pears, but before she can reach her father is hurried off by
Nello to some unknown destination.
In the second act Pia dies, and Dante, having discovered
the whereabouts of Gemma, goes to the convent of San
Pietro to rescue her. The abbess and nuns who are in
371
THE SARDOU PLAYS
league with Nello strive in vain to induce Gemma to take
the vows. But Nello and his supporters enter with drawn
swords, and when Dante attempts forcibly to carry off his
daughter to a place of safety, Nello lunges at the curtain,
and Dante is severely wounded in the breast and left for
dead on the floor.
But the poet was not dead. His friend Castella had
staunched his wounds and saved his life. In the third act
we find Dante, in obedience to the behest of the spirit of
Beatrice, daring the descent to Hades in the company of
Virgil. This part of the play is a triumph of spectacular
art. They pass through the dread portal with its awe-in-
spiring inscription. Charon, the City of Dis, the Fiery
Tombs, and the Circle of Ice, are all visited, and the spirits
of Ugolino, Ruggiero, Paolo, and Francesca parleyed with.
Then over the Bridge of Rocks they pass into the Valley
of Asphodels, and there amid the meads and flowers of
Purgatory they encounter the spirit of Pia dei Tolomei
with her attendant spirits.
The fourth act passes at the Papal Palace at Avignon,
whither Dante, as a result of his interview with Pia, has
gone in pursuit of Gemma. Cardinal Colonna is about to
burn Gemma and her lover Bernardino as heretics, but
Dante frightens the wicked Cardinal by a message from
Hades to the effect that his own hour is come. Colonna
falls down dead at the hour foretold, and Gemma and Ber-
nardino are saved from their impending fate.
PAMELA
The scene of " Pamela, Marchande de Frivolites," was
laid in Sardou's favourite period, the Directory. The
whole story of the play turns on the conspiracy to effect
the escape of the boy Louis XVII., which for dramatic pur-
poses the playwright assumes to have been successful.
In the opening of the piece we see Paul Frangois Barras
at work in his office. He is President of the Convention
and a leading spirit of the Directory. Police agents and
others call, and conduct their business, not without copious
libations; among his visitors is Pamela, the heroine of the
play, who merely comes to present a bill for payment on
account of his friend Josephine (later the wife of General
Bonaparte). Director Barras is aware that a conspiracy is
on foot to secure the release of the boy king, and when two
royalists are brought in on suspicion of favouring the escape
of Louis, Barras closely cross-examines them; but, failing
to bring the charge home to them, he lets them go.
Then follows one of the most striking scenes in the play.
Barras conducts a troupe of pretty women — merveilleuses
— to the Temple, to show them the little Louis XVII. in his
prison. The poor boy is brought from his apartment, and
the ladies gush and express their pity; but Louis, either
dazed or sullen, keeps silent. On their departure Pamela
is left alone with the child. She caresses him and wins his
confidence. He asks her for news of his mother, and on
learning of her death, bursts into tears and faints away.
The next scene is laid in the work-shop of a cabinet-
maker. The supposed workmen are conspirators in dis-
guise, who have dug an underground passage leading into
the yard of the prison. They have contrived to gain over
the wardens at the Temple prison, and the laundrywoman,
373
374 THE SARDOU PLAYS
who has agreed to smuggle the boy away in a basket of
linen. Her courage fails her at the last moment, however,
and she runs away, but the dauntless Pamela steps into the
breach, and volunteers to undertake the dangerous task.
Next follows a feast at Director Barras's house. He
informs Pamela that he knows everything, but entrusts to
her a master-key to give her access to the Temple at all
hours " on condition that the child shall be handed over to
me ;" for he may be useful in an emergency, and the pru-
dent Barras wishes to be on the safe side in the event of a
turn in the political wheel. Pamela then meets her patriot
lover Bergerin, who has his suspicions ; she confesses all to
him, thereby placing that staunch republican in a sore
dilemma.
Meanwhile the conspirators are just finishing their sub-
terranean passage. They strongly suspect that one of their
number is a traitor, though they are unable to identify him.
The mystery is soon solved, however. By preconcerted ar-
rangement a posse of sham police agents force their way
into the passage, and arrest all the conspirators, but the
traitor produces his policeman's warrant and is thus caught.
Then comes the enlevement, the second effective scene in
the play. On the very evening when he is to be removed,
Pamela's lover Bergerin discovers the little king in the
basket of linen going to the laundress. The boy, half
asleep, throws his arms around Bergerin's neck, who no
longer has the heart to do his duty as a citizen. He allows
Pamela to carry the little fellow away to the conspirators,
who are waiting for him at the entrance to the under-
ground passage.
Once safely out of the Temple the boy is not taken to
Barras, as arranged, but to an adjoining house. Barras
goes to find him, but is surrounded by a troop of angry
peasants armed with scythes. The pretended peasants,
PAMELA 876
making hay on the banks of the Seine, are, of course, the
conspirators bent on preventing the recapture of the young
King Louis. Barras, however, is equal to the occasion. He
asks permission to present his respects to his Majesty Louis
XVn., and when the child is brought in on a litter decked
with flowers and leaves, Barras respectfully kisses his hand,
time-server that he is, and assures him — all being well — of
his devotion.
LA TA VERNE DES ETUDIANTS
" La Taverne des Etudiants/' the disastrous failure
of which effectually closed the doors of all the Paris the-
atres to young Sardou, was first performed on Saturday,
April I, 1854. There was a triple bill that evening: "Le
Jeu de TAmour," "La Taverne des Etudiants," and "Le
Laquais." The other items on the bill achieved some meas-
ure of success, and even the first act of " La Taverne "
drew some signs of approval from the house. It was not
till the commencement of the second act that the situation
became critical, and the rest of the play was lost in a hub-
hub of catcalls.
A second performance was given on Monday, April 3,
but the management found it impossible to obtain a hearing
for the piece, which was forthwith withdrawn. Under
these circumstances the critics were working under diffi-
culties. Yet on the whole their tone was not unkindly.
They blamed the audience rather than the author. The
work was immature, it was true, but it was amusing, and the
verses ran smoothly enough, and so youthful a dramatist
should have been treated more sympathetically by the young
men of whom his audience mainly consisted.
The plot of " La Taverne des Etudiants " is of the sim-
plest description. Leo, a young student at a German uni-
versity, is found at the opening of the first act under the
balcony of Linda, his beloved, and is throwing pebbles to
attract his Juliet's attention. Linda promptly appears, to
save her windows from being broken. She is fair and
timorous, but deeply in love with Leo. Her father, M.
Wilier, unfortunately overhears the dialogue and the vows
of marriage exchanged without, his permission. The lovers
376
LA TAVERNE DES ETUDIANTS 377
part, on the understanding that the nuptial knot is to be
tied on the morrow.
Wilier is furious, and in a Roman Catholic country would
doubtless have sent his daughter to a convent. Just at that
moment M. Carloman, a bachelor friend of Wilier, calls,
and succeeds in bringing him to a more reasonable frame of
mind ; for, after all, Wilier wants his daughter to be happy,
and his bark is worse than his bite. He resolves to see for
himself whether this young man is worthy of his daughter.
Wilier and Carloman put their heads together, and form
a plan, in pursuance of which, in the disguise of university
students, they visit the taverne, which is chiefly fre-
quented by these young gentlemen. Here, Carloman
becomes fuddled with drink, and when he tries to ex-
plain the position of affairs to Leo the latter is led to believe
that Wilier, with whom he is personally unacquainted, is
some bourgeois anxious to marry him to his daughter. But
as Leo desires to wed Linda, and Linda only, he purposely
begins to rap out a few energetic oaths, and then to boast
of all manner of riotous living. Wilier is aghast at the
self-accused young desperado's language, transfers his
affection to Carloman's nephew Karl, who was with the
party, and in. his inmost heart determines to make him his
son-in-law. Leo takes advantage of this situation to slip
away, and when Wilier returns home he finds him tranquilly
watering Madame Willer's flowers and doing his best to
make himself agreeable to Linda and her mother. Wilier
is again furious, and turns Leo out of the house. However,
he soon learns that Karl is Carloman's nephew, and that
the young man is head over ears in debt. The result of
this discovery is that Wilier returns to his senses, a match
is arranged between Leo and Linda, and all ends happily
to the sound of wedding bells.
LE CROCODILE
IThe opening scene of the play is laid on board the S. S.
Crocodile, and the spectators are first of all introduced to
the twenty passengers and their various amusing character-
istics. They make the acquaintance of Peterbecque, the
orator of the party, with his interminable discussions; of
Chevrillac, the typical Parisian boulevardier ; of the shifty
Greek Strapoulos, the villain of the piece. Besides these,
there are the stewardess, Bertholin; Jimmy, the ship's doc-
tor, who is head over ears in love with Olivia; Richard
Kolb; Liliane; the Japanese prince, Nono-Miki; Baroness
Jordeans, and the English Miss Chipsick, who is "English
in France and French in England."
Scarcely have we made the acquaintance of the pas-
sengers when the alarm of fire is raised. All is terror and
turmoil; the boats are launched only just in time to save
every life before the Crocodile is engulfed in the waves.
The shipwrecked people safely land on an island of
wondrous tropical vegetation, the He des Paletuviers, or
" Mangrove Island." The first thing to do is to expbre
the island, and to take stock of their provisions and ammu-
nition. The sailors show signs of a mutinous spirit, and
are about to broach a keg of brandy, when Richard Kolb
compels them to desist. This incipient mutiny proves the
necessity of some form of government. A meeting is ac-
cordingly held, at which the women are allowed to vote,
and a chief with plenary powers is elected, to whom all
swear obedience. The choice falls on Richard Kolb. But
opposition springs up, headed by Peterbecque and Strap-
oulos, supported by the crew, still angry at the loss of their
brandy.
Meanwhile Kolb establishes the new society dreamed of
378
LE CROCODILE 379
in his last talk with Liliane. All distinctions of rank and
fortune are to be abolished, work to be provided for all, and
equality and fraternity to triumph.
In the third act the camp is shifted to a forest of banyan
trees in the interior of the island. When the curtain rises
the village encampment is seen to be en fete in honour of
the marriage of Dr. Jimmy to Miss Olivia, over whom the
Rev. Mr. Coppernick, one of the shipwrecked passengers,
is to pronounce the nuptial benediction. But the crew are
still in a rebellious state, and object to the manual labour
assigned to them. Strapoulos schemes with their aid to
seize all the arms and ammunition at the height of the fete,
and to capture and bind Richard Kolb. Their designs are
all carried out to the letter.
The fourth act shows the conspirators assembled in
council. To their alarm they find that the ammunition
boxes they have seized are empty and that they have only
six cartridges between them. Dr. Jimmy, whose marriage
had been so disagreeably interrupted, encounters them,
and Strapoulos and his gang demand the stock of ammu-
nition, in exchange for which they will release Richard
Kolb, who, however, refuses to accept his liberty on those
terms.
Liliane, in her anxiety about his fate, searches for Rich-
ard, and finds him as he is on the point of effecting his
escape. At that moment Strapoulos returns from a vain
quest after ammunition. Richard refuses to say where it is
hidden, and to the anguish of Liliane is dragged off to the
nearest baobab tree.
At this juncture a sail appears on the horizon. The rest
rush off to meet their deliverers, and leave Liliane in a faint
and Richard Kolb with a rope around his neck. The sup-
posed deliverers prove, however, to be Malay pirates, who
carry away the entire colony, with the exception of Richard
380 THE SARDOU PLAYS
and Liliane, whom they fail to discover. Richard manages
to find an axe, and frees himself from his bonds.
In the fifth act we see the primeval tropical forest.
Richard enters, bearing in his arms the swooning Liliane.
Their village has been destroyed. They are alone with
their love. But no — ^Richard does not speak of love. It
is a confession he is making of his brigand life, and that
he is none other than the redoubtable George Morgan.
Sardou's idea was to show his young friends that " any
fault, however trifling, brings eternal remorse." Richard
confesses that he had robbed his uncle under extenuating
circumstances, had acknowledged his crime by letter, and
expatriated himself to gain money and make restitution.
Liliane at any rate pardons Richard, and desires to live with
him henceforth on the deserted island.
But a ship arrives, with civilised men on board this time.
The pair of lovers are forced to go on board and are taken
to Batavia, where they find old friends, and learn that the
old uncle was dead and had pardoned Richard, leaving him
his sole heir. The play concludes with the marriage of
Richard and Liliane.
The absence of a love scene when Richard and Liliane
were left alone on the island was a feature that caused much
adverse criticism at the first production.
LA FILLE DE TABARIN
In the first act we find ourselves in the manor of Ta-
barin, the actor, who in the reign of Henry IV. and in the
succeeding reign had amassed wealth and retired to Poitou
to settle down as a country gentleman under the name of
the Baron de Beauval, under which title he was rich, gener-
ous, and respected by all; only his maidservant Nicole was
in possession of his secret.
Strangely enough, the newcomer, of whom so little was
known, became on intimate terms with the neighbouring
gentry, and his adopted daughter Diane was betrothed to
Roger, the son of the neighbouring Count de la Brede. The
objections raised by this gentleman are overcome, and the
betrothal is formally announced. While the company are
assembled at a gay supper to celebrate the event, voices are
heard. It is a carriage full of strolling comedians in dis-
tress. Beauval wishes to send them away, but Diane pleads
for them. Mondor, the leader of the troupe — who is none
other than Tabarin's old chief — asks and receives the hos-
pitality of the chateau.
A country fete is proceeding in the second act, and
while de la Brede reviews the archers Mondor gives a per-
formance, with small encouragement. Diane, leaning on
Roger's arm, goes through the fair, and consults a gypsy
woman, who foretells misfortune. With difficulty Mondor
persuades Beauval to allow a performance in the orangery
at the Chateau. Mondor recognises Tabarin, who admits
all, but Mondor promises to be discreet, and arrangements
are made for the performance.
The scene in the third act is Mondor's theatre in the
orangery. The piece is " Le Capitaine Mort et Ressuscite,"
a play in which Tabarin had once won many triumphs. He
381
THE SARDOU PLAYS
criticises Podel, who plays his old part, offers suggestions,
and ends by mounting the stage himself, and throwing him-
self enthusiastically into the part. Spectators drop in to
watch the rehearsal, among them the old Marquis de La-
roche-Posay, who recognises Tabarin by voice and gesture.
The secret is now out. The gentlemen will have no more to
do with the ex-actor. He has wrecked the future of Diane,
who, with Nicole, vainly tries to console him.
De la Brede is furious, and will not hear of the mar-
riage. Horns are heard, for a hunting party is about to
begin, and servants hand firearms to the gentlemen, among
others to Tabarin. No sooner have Diane and Nicole, fol-
lowed by Roger, returned to the house, than a shot is heard
outside. A cortege of huntsmen is seen bringing back Ta-
barin — dying, it is supposed, from the effect of an accident
while he was leaping a ditch. De la Brede alone guesses
the truth. He takes Tabarin's hand and consoles him with
the promise : " Your desire shall be accomplished ; your
daughter is my daughter." Tabarin has only time to mur-
mur his thanks when his head falls back and he is dead.
LES BARBARES
At the opening of this lyrical tragedy a horde of Ger-
mans is over-running the south of Gaul and laying siege to
Orange. The Roman consuls, Scaurus and Euryalus, offer
a desperate defence. Floria, the priestess of Vesta, gathers
around her the women and children and the Vestal Virgins
in the theatre which afforded a last stronghold to the
Romans, and there implores heaven for victory. With
her is Livia, the wife of Euryalus, who puts her faith in
Roman valour, while Floria trusts that the Germans will
respect the hearth of Vesta. A watcher announces the fall
of Euryalus, and soon afterward Scaurus brings in his
bleeding corpse and advises the women to fly while he and
his few heroes sell their lives as dearly as possible.
Livia thereupon vows vengeance, and swears to slay the
slayer of her husband with her own hand. Floria calms the
panic of the women, but the vain resistance of Scaurus is
beaten down, and Hildebrath's barbarians invade the the-
atre and rush at the Vestals. Marcomir their chief then
enters, and confirms the murderous purpose of Hildebrath.
Suddenly, at a gesture of Floria, the altar of Vesta
flames up, and the barbarians shrink back in terror, for they
worship Fire under the name of Thor. Marcomir is sub-
jugated by the proud beauty of Floria, converses with her,
and for the present drives his warriors from their spoils.
In the second act it is night. Livia, observing the influ-
ence of Floria over Marcomir, attributes their safety to the
intervention of Venus and not to Vesta. Scaurus enters,
wounded, and escaping to the theatre, offers to guide the
women to the Roman legions who are marching to the re-
lief from the Alps. Floria refuses to fly, and trusts Mar-
comir.
383
384 THE SAKDOU PLAYS
Scaurus is recognised and surrenders to Hildebrath, who
is about to slay him when Floria calls, not in vain, to Mar-
comir to save him. Marcomir now claims his reward from
Floria. She is alarmed and indignant, but after a severe
internal struggle consents to redeem the lives of the others
and save the town. The course of a conversation reveals
the innate magnanimity and delicacy of Marcomir to Floria.
She feels first gratitude and then love for the conqueror.
The opening of the third act sees the departure of the
Germans from Orange at daybreak, with their plunder, but
respecting the dwellings of the inhabitants. Scaurus or-
ganises sacrifices and festal games and dances, and the
people show their gratitude to Floria when they learn that
they owe their safety to her. It is arranged for Floria to
go with Marcomir. The Vestals desire to accompany her,
but she will only take Livia, who is still eager to discover
the slayer -of her husband. During the funeral Floria dis-
covers that it was Marcomir who had dealt the fatal blow.
She resolves to keep Livia away from him, and suddenly
refuses point-blank to take her. But Livia guesses it was
Marcomir, and resorts to a stratagem. She accuses him of
having treacherously slain the Consul by striking him in
the back.
" You lie, it was in the heart," cries the angry and un-
suspecting barbarian. " To the heart then," cries Livia,
and stabs him to the heart. Thus by the death of Marcomir
the outrage to the sanctity of Vesta and the death of Eury-
alus are avenged.
PART THIRD
THE SARDOU PLAYS IN THE
UNITED STATES
25
THE SARDOU PLAYS IN THE
UNITED STATES
A SCRAP OF PAPER
In the United States, as in London and Paris, Sardou's first
success was with " Les Pattes de Mouche." The version produced
in the United States was that entitled "A Scrap of Paper," the
work of J. Palgrave Simpson. This was the first Palgrave Simpson
version; it was written for Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Wigan, and was
played by them in England. It retained the French names and the
French setting of the original Sardou play. His second version
was written for the Kendals.
There seems to have been no production in the United States of
Charles Matthews's version entitled "The Adventures of aBilletDoux."
The Simpson version was first produced in New York City,
at Wallack's Theatre, on March lo, 1879. The cast included
Lester Wallack, as Prosper Couramont; John Gilbert, as'Brise-
mouche; and Rose Coghlan, as Suzanne. Others in the cast were
Charles Rockwell, N. S. Wood, C. E. Edwin, J. Peck, Stella Boni-
face, Effie Germon, Kate Bartlett, E. Blaisdell, Pearl Eytinge.
The play ran to large business for seven weeks; a good run
for those days.
The play was produced at the Brooklyn Park Theatre in Sep-
tember, 1879, with Ed. Lamb as Brisemouche, and Rosa Rand as
Suzanne.
It was revived at Wallack's Theatre, in Janua:ry, 1880, when
Tom Jeflferson (son of Joseph Jefferson) played Anatole, and
Suzanne was played by Ada Dyas.
At the Grand Opera House, New York City, it was given in
March, 1880, members of the company being N. S. Wood, J. W.
Shannon, W. H. Lytell, and Kate Meet, the latter playing Suzanne.
Another revival took place at Wallack's Theatre on February
29, 1881, when Rose Coghlan was again the Suzanne.
Yet again was the play revived at Wallack's Theatre on April 23,
1884, when the Suzanne was Louise Moodie. Again the Prosper was
Lester Wallack; it was his first appearance after a long illness, and
Louise Moodie's first appearance in the part; again the play was
highly successful.
At the Lyceum Theatre, New York City, in December, 1886,
387
388 THE SARDOU PLAYS
the play was produced with E. H. Sothern as Prosper, and Helen
Dauvray as Suzanne ; the lady was once known to the variety stage
as "Little Nell, the California Diamond." That E. H. Sothern
once played " Prosper " will not be remembered by many. A year
later at the same theatre the play was revived with Helen Dauvray
and others.
At the Fifth Avenue Theatre, New York, on October 7, 1889,
Mr. and Mrs. Kendal, and their English company, gave the second
Palgrave-Simpson version. " Colonel Blake " (who was Prosper
Couramont) was played by Mr. Kendal. " Susan Hartley " (ci-
devant Suzanne) by Mrs. Kendal.
The second Palgrave-Simpson version was made for Mr. and
Mrs. Kendal. In this version the French names were changed
to English, and the scene was set in an English country-house.
A little later, in i8go, at the Harlem Opera House, New York,
Mr. and Mrs. Kendal revived their version, and again at Palmer's
Theatre, New York, in 1891 and 1892; at the Star Theatre in 1892
and in 1894; and again at Abbey's Theatre, New York, in 1895.
Again they revived it at the Harlem Opera House some months
later. In all these seasons they were successful.
At the Garrick Theatre, New York, on October 23, 1905,
Henrietta Crosman presented "a new adaptation" of the play
entitled, "Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary." Miss Crosman played
the part of "Mary" (ci-devant Suzanne). The other members of
the company were Addison Pitt, Mirian Nesbitt, Louise Galloway,
Kate Jepson, John Marble, George Woodward, Ida Vernon, Walter
Thomas, Boyd Putnam, C. A. Chandos.
The critics did not seem to think highly of the "new adapta-
tion," which, they said, was merely "an adaptation of an adapta-
tion" — the old and well-known Simpson version. Furthermore,
they objected to the changing of the names and nationality of the
characters from French to English — as, for example. Prosper was
transformed from a gay French man of the world to an English
globe-trotter.
DIPLOMACY
The version of the Sardou play " Dora " called " Diplomacy "
(by Scott and Stephenson), was first played in the United States
at Wallack's Theatre, New York, on April i, 1878, with this cast:
Benry Beaudcrc Lester Walijick
Catt. Julian Beauderc H. J. Montague
Count Orloff Frbdbsic Robinson
Algie Fairfax W. R Llovd
IN THE UNITED STATES 389
Baron Stein J. W. Shannon
Morkham W. J. Leonard
Craven W. A. Eytinge
Shetpard C. E. Edwin
Antoine H. Ayling
Franfois J. Peak
Countess Zicka Rose Coghlan
Dora Maude Granger
Marquise de Rio Zares Madame Ponisi
Mion Pearl Eytinge
Lady Henry Fairfax Sara Stevens
This production was most successful, the " scene of the three
men," "Count OrloflF," "Henry Beauclerc," and "Baron Stein,"
being the talk of New York. Rose Coghlan's " Zicka " was greatly
admired, as was Shannon's " Baron Stein," whom he had made up
to resemble Bismarck, who is the deus ex machina of the original
play, although not named. The play ran to the end of the season,
seventy-seven performances.
At the close of this run a Wallack company was organised
to take the play to San Francisco, H. J. Montague replacing Wal-
lack as " Henry Beauclerc," and Miss Jeffreys Lewis replacing
Rose Coghlan as "Zicka." The play ran to large business at the
California Theatre, San Francisco, for several weeks, when its
run was interrupted by the sudden illness and death of H. J.
Montague.
A revival of "Diplomacy" took place at Wallack's New
Theatre, on March i6, 1885. There were some changes in the cast,
which now included the following:
Countess Zicka Rose Coghlan
Henry Beauclerc Lester Wallack
Catt. Julian Beauclerc Osmond Tearlb
Count Orloff Herbert Kelcey
Dora Annie Robe
Baron Stein Harry Edwards
Algie Fairfax J. C. Buckstone
The play was again revived at Wallack's New Theatre on April
22, 1885, when " Count Orloff " was played by Walter Reynolds.
Again " Diplomacy " was revived on October 24, 1892, when the
Star Theatre, New York, was opened by Rose Coghlan. In this
revival " Henry Beauclerc '' was played by Charles Coghlan, and
"Dora" by Sadie Martinet. Others in the cast were: John G.
Sullivan, Frederic Robinson, Sophie Von Troutmann, and Beatrice
Moreland.
At another revival at the Fifth Avenue Theatre in March,
1893, "Count Orloff" was played by Frederic de Belleville, and
still later, in April, 1893, at the same theatre, " Orloff " was played
390 THE SARDOU PLAYS
by Frederic Robinson. At the American Theatre, in 1894, Rose
Coghlan revived the play.
In 1898 at the Columbus Theatre it was produced by a stock
company. The same year at the Herald Square Theatre it was again
revived by another stock company.
After a lapse of several years, " Diplomacy " was produced
at the Empire Theatre, New York, on April 15, 1901, by the Empire
Stock Company. The cast follows:
Henry Beauclerc William Favershah
Catt. Julian Beauclerc Cbakles Richuan
Count Orloff Guy Standing
Dora Makgaret Anglin
Countess Zicka Jessie Millward
Lady Henry Fairfax Ethel Hornick
Marquise de Rio Zares Mrs. Thomas Whiffen
Baron Stein Edwin Stevens
Again after a period of years, the play was revived — ^this time
with a new version by George Pleydell. The production took place
at Maxine EUliott's Theatre, New York, on September 13, 1910,
with this cast:
Henry Beauclerc Charles Richhan
Julian Beauclerc Milton Sills
Count Orloff Thurlow Bergen
Algie Fairfax Effingham Pinto
Baron Stein Theodore Roberts
Markham Frederick Eshblton
Sheptard Leslie Bassett
AtUoine C. E. Harris
Countess Zicka Florence Roberts
Dora Chrtstal Hbarne
Marquise de Rio Zares Mrs. Le Motnb
Lady Fairfax Marion Ballou
Mion Jewell Power
The New York critics seemed to think that the earlier pro-
ductions were better played.
FEDORA
Among the Sardou plays most frequently produced in the
United States, "Fedora" stands near the head. It was produced
on circuit all over the Unitei States by the late Fanny Davenport.
The casts of all these productions are not given here, as they were
practically identical with those of her companies when she played
in New York, which will be found below.
" Fedora " was first played in America at Haverly's Theatre
(later the Fourteenth Street Theatre), on October 2, 1883, "Fe-
dora" being played by Fanny Davenport, and "Loris IpanofiF" by
IN THE UNITED STATES 391
Robert Mantell. Others in the cast were: Ada Monck, Helen
Bertram, and S. C. Dubois. On this first production "Fedora"
had a run of three months. It was revived at Haverly's Theatre
in November, 1884. Again the " Fedora " was Fanny Davenport
This time "Loris Ipanoff" was played by Henry Lee, and
" Countess Olga" by Blanche Weaver. It was revived at Niblo's
Theatre, New York, in January, 1885, " Fedora " again played by
Miss Davenport, and at the Grand Opera House in March, 1885,
with the same actress in the name part. Two years later at the
People's Theatre, New York, on December 27, 1887, Miss Daven-
port again produced the play. This time " Loris Ipanoff " was
played by J. H. Barnes, and " Countess Olga " by Genevieve
Lytton.
At another revival at the Star Theatre, New York, in April,
1887, Miss Davenport was again supported by R. B. Mantell as
" Ipanoff." Later in the same year she gave the play at the Grand
Opera House, New York; this time "Loris Ipanoff" was played
by Melbourne MacDowell, and " Countess Olga " by Judith Berolde.
Four years later she produced the play once more at the Broadway
Theatre, New York, on April 27, 1891.
The play was produced in Italian at the Fifth Avenue Theatre,
New York, on February 27, 1893, when " Fedora " was played
by Eleonora Duse, and "Loris Ipanoff" by Sig^nor Ando.
A week earlier, at the same theatre, on February 21, 1893, a
" special professional matinee " was given, at which Signora Duse
appeared as " Fedora " with her Italian company.
That, beside Fanny Davenport, only Eleonora Duse and Sarah
Bernhardt appeared in "Fedora" in the United States is due to
the fact that Miss Davenport had purchased the exclusive English
rights for this country from Sardou. She died in 1898, leaving
her plays to her husband, Melbourne MacDowell. In 1900 Mr.
MacDowell sold to Clarence M. Brune the rights which Miss
Davenport had owned in Sardou's plays of " Fedora," " Cleopatre,"
"La Tosca," and "Gismonda."
" Fedora " was produced by Sarah Bernhardt in America many
times.
LA TOSCA
" La Tosca " was first played in the United States in English on
February 27, 1888, at the Broadway Theatre, New York. The
cast was :
392 THE SARDOU PLAYS
Floria Tosca Fanny Davenport
BaronScarpia Frank Mordaunt
Mario Cavaraiossi Melbourne MacDowell
Cesare AngdoM Harry Davenport
Marquis Attavanti W. B. Murray
Eusche W. T. M. Harbby
Vicomie de Treveliac Archibald Coupsr
Catreola H. A. Carr
Trivulce Prank McDonald
Sciarrone J. Weldon
Prince d'Arragon J. H. Roberts
General Frederick Peters
Reine Marie Carolina Judith Beroldb
Princess Orlonia Eleanor Merron
Fanny Davenport was still playing " La Tosca " up to 1894,
when she was seen in it at the Grand Opera House, New York.
There were few changes in her company, the most important being
for a time F. McCoUough Ross to replace MacDowell in the role
of "Mario," and Eleanor Merron playing "Queen Marie Caroline,"
in place of Judith Berolde.
" La Tosca " was first played in French in the United States
on February 5, 1891, at the Garden Theatre, New York. The
cast was:
Floria Tosca Madame Bernhardt
Reine Marie Caroline Madame Mea
Le Baron Scarfia M. Duquesne
Mario Cavaradossi M. Flbury
Cesare Angelotli M. Angelo
Le Marquis Attavanti M. Munie
Madame Bernhardt also played " La Tosca " at the Standard
Theatre, New York, in the same year, and at many other theatres
throughout the country.
CLEOPATRE
" Cl^dpatre " was first played in French in the United States
at the Garden Theatre, New York, on February 9, 1891. The
cast was:
Cieopdtre Mme. Sarah Bernhardt
Octavie Mme. Mea
Charmiane Mhb. Simonson
Jras Mme. B. Gilbert
Marc Anioine M. Dakmont
Demetrius M. Duquesne
Some months later an English version, " Oeopatra,'' was pro-
duced at the Fifth Avenue Theatre, New York, on December
23, 1891. The cast was:
IN THE UNITED STATES
CUotatra Fannv Davenport
Octavia Ida Feohawk
Mark Antony Melbourne MacDowbll
Kephren Theodore Roberts
Thyscus George Osbournb
Charmian Blanche Moulton
Iras Lillian Burke
On March 21, 1892, and on December 12, 1893, Fanny Davenport
again appeared in " Cleopatra," at the Harlem Opera House, New
York. Miss Davenport appeared as " Cleopatra " many times in
various American cities up to l8g8.
GISMONDA
Fanny Davenport also produced " Gismonda " for the first
time in the United States, at the Fifth Avenue Theatre, New York,
on December 11, 1894. The cast was, in part:
Gismonda Fanny Davenport
Almerio Melbourne MacDowell
Zaccaria Theodore Roberts
Bishot Sothron Arthur Elliot
Thisbe Mary E. Barker
When Fanny Davenport presented " Gismonda " at the Boston
Theatre, on February 26, 1895, it ran for four weeks. The receipts
for the twenty-eight performances were $42,005.25; an average of
$1500 for each performance. " Gismonda " is one of the least
successful of the Sardou plays, which gives some idea of how much
money Miss Davenport must have made from her Sardou engage-
ments, which extended over a number of years.
THEODORA
" Theodora " was first played in the United States at Niblo's
Garden, New York, on September 13, 1886. This was the first
English translation, made by arrangement between Sardou and
Miss Lillian Olcott, who played "Theodora." Other members of
the cast were:
Andreas John H. Gilmorb
Justinian Hudson Liston
Antonina Carrie G. Vinton
Tamyris Laura L. Phillips
" Theodora " (in French) was played at the Star Theatre, New
York, in 1887, by Sarah Bernhardt.
THE SARDOU PLAYS
" Theodora " (in French) was played at the Standard Theatre,
New York, in November, 1891, and at the Metropolitan Opera
House, New York, in April, 1892, on Sarah Bernhardt's fourth
American tour, the part of the Empress being taken by Madame
Bernhardt.
BOSOM FRIENDS
One of Sardou's earliest successes was " Nos Intimes," several
versions of which have been played. The best-known is the version
by Horace Wigan, entitled in England, "Friends or Foes." This
version, under the title of " Bosom Friends," was produced at
Wallack's Theatre, New York, in October, 1863. The cast was :
Mr. Union Lbster Wallack
Dr. Bland Chasi.es Fishek
Mr. Yielding John Gilbert
Mr. Meauley A. W. Young
Mrs. Meauley Mrs. Vernon
Mrs. Union Mrs. Hoey
Ftvril W. B. Reynolds
Borrowell iiJ^HN Sefton
Donoghue W. H. Norton
This version was revived at Wallack's, on April 29, 1865, the
leading roles being thus cast:
Mr. Union Charles Fisher
Dr. Bland W. R. Floyd
Mrs. Union Madeline Heneiques
It was again revived at Wallack's on December 6, 1875, with •
a cast beginning thus:
Mr. Union Edward Arnott
Dr. Bland H. J. Montague
Mr. Yielding John Gilbert
Mrs. Union Ada Dyas
Another version of " Nos Intimes,'' by Scott and Sephenson,
entitled "Peril," was played by Mrs. Lily Langtry and her com-
pany, at Niblo's Garden, New York, in February, 1885, and at the
Fifth Avenue Theatre, on October 4, 1886. In January, 1894, " Nos
Intimes" was produced at Abbey's Theatre, with Coquelin and
Jane Hading in the leading roles.
AGNES
A Sardou play that was first produced in the United States
was billed as "Agnes, a five-act drama written expressly for Miss
Agnes Ethel, and played for the first time on any stage in New
York, on Tuesday, September 17, 1872." The original French
IN THE UNITED STATES S95
version was performed at the Paris Gymnase, on March 17, 1873,
under the title of "Andrea." Miss Ethel's version was produced
at the Union Square Theatre, New York, on September 17, 1872,
with the following cast:
Agnes, Viscountess de Tkomery Miss Agnes Ethel
Mile. Stella, Fremihre Danseuse at the Grand Opera
Miss Phillis Glover
The Baroness de Fautreille Miss Plessy Mordaunt
Mme. Grandiguard Miss Emily Mestaver
Delphine Miss Jenny Lee
Therese Miss Josephine Laurence
Dressmaker Miss Kate Holland
MilUner Miss Charlotte Cope
Stephen, Viscount de Thomery Mr. D. H. Hareins
Jean Bonnardi Mr. Mark Smith
Millefieur Mr. Ed. Lamb
Bienville Mr. Geo. Parker
Boby, Director of the Opera Mr. Welsh Edwards
Baroldi, Prefect of Police Mr. F. F. Mackay
Polydor Morant Mr. H. Montgomery
Dr. Coulisse Mr. W. B. Laurence
And nine minor characters on the programme, reporters, valets,
stage carpenters, etc.
DIVORCONS
An English version of " Divorgons " was presented at Abbey's
Park Theatre, New York, on March 14, 1882. " Cyprienne " was
played by Alice Dunning (Lingard), "M. Des Prunelles" by Fred-
eric Robinson, and " Adhemar de Gratignan " by C. B. Welles.
This was the first presentation of the play in the United States
in English. It was subsequently produced many times in various
versions and languages in England and America.
The best-known English version is "The Queen's Proctor,"
by Herman Merrivale, referred to elsewhere. " Divor?ons " was
first played in New York at Abbey's Park Theatre, on March 14,
1882, as set forth above. In May of the same year Grau's French
Opera Company presented it with Paola Marie as " Cyprienne."
Since then it has been played in New York by Marie Aimee in
1883, at the Fifth Avenue Theatre ; by Madame Judic at Wallack's
in 188s ; by Modjeska at Wallack's in 1886; by Frau Hedwing
Niemann-Raabe at Wallack's in 1888; by Re jane at Abbey's in
189s; by Duse at the Fifth Avenue in 1893 and 189S; by Arthur
Bourchier, at the Bijou in December, 1896; by Mrs. Fiske at the
Fifth Avenue in May, 1897; by Emily Raucker under the title of
"A Divorce Cure," at the Murray Hill in March, 1897; by Mrs.
Fiske again in 1898, at the Fifth Avenue, and later at the Man-
hattan. A new version by Margaret Mayo was produced by Grace
George, at Wallack's in April, 1907.
THE SARDOU PLAYS
A performance in Italian by Eleonora Duse and her company
was given at the Fifth Avenue Theatre, New York, on February
17. 1893. The cast follows:
Cyprienne Eleonora Duse
Des FruneUes F. Ando
Adhfmar A. Galliani
Clamgnac S. Bonivento
Madame de Brionne Signoea G. Magazzari
Madame de Valfontaine Signora E. Ropelo
Madame de Lusignan Signora C. Buffi
Mrs. Minnie Maddern Fiske produced a version of her own at
the Fifth Avenue Theatre, New York, on June 10, 1898. The cast
follows :
Cyprienne Minnie Maddern
Des Frunelles Frederic DE Belleville
AdhSmar Max Figman
Clavignac George Trader
Commissioner 0/ Police Wilfred North
The Waiter Nick Long
Madame de Brionne Sydney Cowell
Mdlle. de Lusignan Harriet Sterling
FERNANDE
" Feenande " was first played in New York on June 7, 1870,
at Daly's Fifth Avenue Theatre. The cast follows:
Marquis AndrS George Clarke
Philip Pomerol D. H. Harkins
Jarbi .James Lewis
Roqueville G. F. de Vere
Bracassin George Parkes
The Baron F. Chapman
Santa Cruz Mr. Pierce
Alfred H. Stewart
Frederic H. Bbbeman
Fernande Agnes Ethel
Countess Clotilde Fanny Morant
Georgette Fanny Davenport
Madame Seneschal Mrs. Gilbert
Madame de la Brienne Amy Ames
The Baroness Miss Rowland
Feachhlossom Roberta Norwood
Gibratia Fanny Reeves
Therese Emily Eiehl
" Fernande " was revived at Daly's Fifth Avenue Theatre, New
York, in November, 1870, with Linda Dietz as " Georgette '' ; again
in March, 1870, with Louis James as " Andre " ; at the Grand Opera
House on February 5, 1877, by Augustin Daly's company; and at
Daly's Theatre in November, 1879, with Ada Rehan as "Georg-
ette," others in the cast being John Drew, C. Leclercq, G. Parkes,
IN THE UNITED STATES 397
Miss Estelle Clayton, and Miss Mary Fielding. Again at Daly's
Theatre it was played three times in the spring season of 1880.
Another version of " Fernande," entitled " Qotilde," said to
be the work of David Belasco, was first played at the Union Square
Theatre, New York, on June 4, 1873. The cast follows :
Fernande Agnes Ethel
Countess Clotilde Mrs. E. L. Davenport
Georgette Kate Claxton
Madame Seneschal Emily Mestayer
Madame de la Brienne Josephine Laurens
Peackblossom Fanny Hayward
Cihratta Helen Forrest
The Baroness Charlotte Cave
Therese Kate Holland
Babelte Mrs. Wilder
Philip Pomerol D. H. Harkins
Marquis Andrl Claude Burroughs
Commander Jarbi Ed. Lamb
Roqueville W. B. Laurens
Bracassin H. W. Montgomery
Baron W. Stuart
Frederic W. H. Wilder
Alfred Frank Lamb
Anioine W. S. Quigley
This was the first appearance of Mrs. E. L. Davenport in New
York for several years, and the first appearance of Kate Claxton
at this theatre. " Fernande " was presented in New York at various
other times by practically the same cbmpany.
" Fernande " in Italian was produced at the Fifth Avenue
Theatre, New York, on January 30, February 10, and February 13,
1893, "Clotilde" being played by Eleonora Duse.
MADAME SANS-GENE
"Madame Sans-Gene" was produced in English at the Broad-
way Theatre, New York, on January 18, 1895, with the following
cast :
Madame Sans-Gine Kathryn Kidder
Napoleon Augustus Cook
Lefebme Harold Russell
Fouchi • ■ - ■'Wallah Shaw
De Neitperg James K. Hackett
Despreaux Charles Plunkeit
Queen Caroline of Naples Marie Shotwell
Princess Elisa Henrietta Lander
"Madame Sans-Gene" was played at Abbey's Theatre, New
York, on February 27, 1895, advertised as by "the original Paris
company." The cast was in part:
398 THE SARDOU PLAYS
Madame Sans-JGtne Mabame R^JANB
NapoUon M. Duquesne
Fouche M. GiLDES
Lefebvre M. Caude
Queen Caroline Aim^e Maktial
Princess Eliza Madame Dui-uc Mauxy
At Wallack's Theatre "Madame Sans-Gene" was played for
two weeks beginning April 6, 1896. It was played at the Harlem
Opera House January 27, 1897, with Kathryn Kidder in the title
role; and at the Grand Opera House, March 29, 1897. At the
Irving Place Theatre it was seen in October, 1898, with Anna
Braga as " Madame Sans-Gene," and Emil Marx as " Napoleon."
The play was revived at Dal/s Theatre, New York, on Jan-
uary 3, 1899, " Madame Sans-Gene " being played by Ada Rehan.
Others in the cast were:
Natoleon Geokce Clkkx
Lefebvre Charles Richkan "
Pouchi SvDNBY Herbert
De Neitperg White Whittlesey
Savary William Owen
Desfreaux Wilfred Clarke
Qaeen of Naples May Cargill
Princess Eliza Mabel Roebuck
In this presentation Ada Rehan did not make a popular success
in the part of "Madame Sans-Gene," although she was at the time
a great favourite. On October 30, 1899, the play was put on at the
Murray Hill Theatre.
The Irving-Terry company revived the play at the Knicker-
bocker Theatre, New York, on October 28, 1901. The cast was in
part:
Napoleon Sir Henry Irving
Madame Sans-Glne Ellen Terry
Fouche Lawrence Irving
Lefebvre J. H. Barnes
Comte de Neipperg A. Royston
Queen of Naples .'. ...Maud Milton
DANIEL ROCHAT
" Daniel Rochat " was produced at the Union Square Theatre,
New York, on October 16, 1880. The cast follows:
Daniel Roehai Charles R. Thorns
Dr. Bidache J. H. Stoddard
William Fargis TJohn Parselle
Casimir Fargis , Walden Ramsay
Lea Henderson Sara Jbwktt
Esther Henderson Maud Harrison
Mrs. Powers Mrs. E. ]. Phillips
Ellen Bloomfield Netta Guion
IN THE UNITED STATES 399
The piece ran till December 14, 1880. It was revived at the
Union Square Theatre on November 14, 1881. Frederic de Belle-
ville figured in the cast; otherwise the principals were the same
as in 1880.
THERMIDOR
An English version of " Thermidor " was produced at Proctor's
Theatre, New York, on October s, 1891. The cast was in part:
Martial Hugon, J. Forbes Robertson; Charles Labussiere, Fred-
eric Bond; Fabienne Lecoulteux, Elsie de Wolfe. .
It was played at the Harlem Opera House, December 21, 1891.
The piece was played in French at Abbey's Theatre, New York,
on January 8, 1894, when the principals were:
Fabienne Lecoulteux Jane Hading
Labussiere , M. Coquelin
Martial Hugon M, Volney
jMbin} M. Jean Coquelin
AMERICANS ABROAD
"Americans Abroad/' advertised as "A Three-act Comedy,
by Victorien Sardou," was produced at the Lyceum Theatre, New
York, on December S, 1892, with the following cast:
Gilbert Raymond Herbert Kelcey
Richard Fairbanks W. J. Le Moyne
Landolthe E. J. Ratcliffe
Florence Winthrot Miss Georgia Cayvan
Baroness de Beaumont Mrs. Chas. Walcot
Madame Pontcavri Miss May Robson
Madame OUvares Miss Madge Carr
Casimir LajoUy Mr. Fritz Williams
Bardin Mr. Charles W. King
Pendleton ' Mr. Augustus Cook
Lord Saltonslall Ms. King
Marcel Mr. V. Glaser
Angela Miss Gertrude Rivers
Ida Miss WiNTONA Shannon
JuUe Miss Josephine Bennett
This play ran through the season at the Lyceum Theatre. At
the Harlem Opera House it appeared on December 4, 1893.
A WOMAN'S SILENCE
An English version of an unnamed MS. play by Sardou,
made by J. Comyns Carr, was called in the United States "A
400 THE SARDOU PLAYS
Woman's Silence." It was produced at the Lyceum Theatre, New
York, on November 20, 1894, with the following cast:
Maurice Herbert Kelcey
Hector W. J. Lb Moyne
Sir Arthur Greyson Stephen Grattan
M. Dutrez Charles Walcot
Dorothea March Georgia Cayvan
Lucy Gordon Katharine Florence
Delphine Adrienna Dairolles
Baroness von Stannitz Bessie Tyree
This was the last appearance of Miss Georgia Cayvan on the
stage prior to her illness and death.
This same version, under the name of "Delia Harding," was
produced in London, at the Comedy Theatre, on April 17, i8gs_.
UNCLE SAM
A VERSION of the Sardou play, " Uncle Sam," was produced at
the Grand Opera House, New York, on March 17, 1873, and with-
drawn after a few representations.
SPIRITISMS
An English version of " Spiritisme," in four acts, was proi
duced at the Knickerbocker Theatre, New York, on February 22,
1897, with the following cast:
Manoel Clavagal Maurice Barrtmorb
Valentine Claviires J. H. Gilmour
Robert D'Auhenas Nelson Whbatcroft
Dr. Parisot W. P. Owen
Dr. James Douglas Chas. HARBtrRY
George D'Auhenas Fritz Williams
Simone Virginia Harned
Theda Olive Oliver
ROBESPIERRE
Lawrence Irving's translation of "Robespierre" was produced
at the Knickerbocker Theatre, New York, on October 30, 1899,
by the London Lyceum Company, with Sir Henry Irving and
Ellen Terry in the cast. It ran for two weeks.
Henry Irving returned to the Knickerbocker Theatre in " Robes-
pierre" on March 12, 1900; and again on March 19 and 20, of the
same year, with Ellen Terry.
IN THE UNITED STATES 401
LA SORCIERE
An English version of "La Sorciere," entitled "The Sorcer-
ess" (translated by Louis N. Parker), was first produced in New
York, on October lo, 1904, at the New Amsterdam Theatre, with
the following cast:
Cardinal Ximents Fkbdbrick Perry
Don Enriqun de Palados Guy Standing
Lopes de PadiUa Georgb Riddsll
Cardtnos L. Rogers Lytton
Cleofas Fuller Mellish
Olivitra H. Ogden Crane
Ramiro Orhe Caldara
Pray Eugenia Calabazas H. L. Forbes
Pray Teofilo Ibarra R. C. Morse
Pray Miguel Molina F. M . Wilder
Pray Hernando Alhornos E. J. Glendihning
. Pares William Balfour
D'Aquilar Laurence Eddingbr
Gil Andres John W. Thompson
Don Ambrosio C. H, Ogden
Rioubos George Lane
Velasco Walter Henry
Chrislobal W. Raulton
A Goatherd Edgar Allan Woolf
Cines William Marston
Arias Henry Forbes
Zoraya M Rs. Patrick Campbell
Afrida Alice Butler
ManuAa Gertrude Coghlan
Paioum Margaret Bourne
Aisha Mildred Beverly
Joana Martha Waldron
Zaquir Katherine Raynorb
Dona Rufina Florence Gelbart
Dona Syrena • • Sara Leigh
Dona Serafina GiULiA Strakosch
Dona Fabia Edna Larkin
A Peasant Woman Eugenia Flacg
THE LOVE LETTER
An English version of "La Piste,'' made by Ferdinand (Jotts-
chalk, was produced at the Lyric Theatre, New York, on October
10, 1905. The cast included W. J. Ferguson, William Courtenay,
Albert Grau, Charles Quinn, Virginia Harned, Eleanor Moretti,
and Mary Stockwell.
ANDRE FORTIER
In 1879 the managers of the Boston Theatre commissioned
Sardou to write a play expressly for them. It was entitled " Andre
Fortier, the Hero of the Calaveras," and was produced at their
theatre in Boston, on March 11, 1879. It ran four weeks, but does
not seem to have been revived since.
26
402 THE SARDOU PLAYS
THE EXILES
A FIVE-ACT drama adapted from Sardou, Nus, and Lubomirsky,
by L. R. Shewell, entitled "The Exiles," was produced in Boston,
on December lO, 1877, at the Boston Theatre. It ran to large
houses for ten weeks. Among the cast were Louis James, E. J.
Buckley, and Miss Marie Wainwright.
In New York "The Exiles" was first produced by James
Duff, at the Broadway Theatre (later Daly's), on March 2, 1878.
On April 10, of the same year, it was put on at Booth's Theatre.
On November 11, 1889, it was put on at Niblo's Garden, New York,
and on December 9, 1889, it was seen at the Harlem Opera House.
On February 10, 1890, it was produced at the Grand Opera House,
and on March 24, 1890, at the People's Theatre.
PATRIE
" Patrie '' was first played in America at the Grand Opera
House, New York, on May 24, 1869. It ran for two weeks. It
was revived on September 13, 1869. The part of " Captain Karloo "
was played by Frank Mayo.
An English version of " Patrie," called " Dolores," made by
Mrs. Sarah Lane, was produced in Boston, on March 19, 1888, at
the Boston Theatre, by Bolossy Kiralfy; in New York at Niblo's
Garden, April 2, 1888; and at the Grand Opera House, May 21,
A MAN OF HONOR
During the winter season of 1873, at Wallack's Theatre, New
York, an adaptation by Dion Boucicault from a Sardou play (French
original not identified), entitled, "A Man of Honor," ran for four
weeks. Among the members of the Wallack company were Lester
Wallack, Harry Beckett, H. J. Montague, John Gilbert, E. M.
Holland, C. A. Stevenson, Miss Jeffreys Lewis, Miss Dyas, Madame
Ponisi, Miss Effie Germon.
A FAST FAMILY
The autumn season of 1866 at Wallack's Theatre, New York,
was opened with a version of "La Famille Benoiton," entitled,
"A Fast Family." It was produced on September 18, 18661, and
IN THE UNITED STATES 403
ran for four weeks to about $40,000, and was reproduced later in
the same season.
On September s. i874. Jt was put on at the New Fifth Avenue
Theatre, with Louis James, Ada Dyas, and Sara Jewett among
others in the cast.
PICCOLINO
On September 28, 1886, at the Union Square Theatre, New
York, Marie Aimee and her company appeared in " Marita," a
translation by Barton Hill, of Sardou's " Piccolino " ; after three
performances it was withdrawn.
ODETTE
On February 6, 1882, at Daly's Theatre, New York, an adapta-
tion by Daly of Sardou's " Odette," was first acted. Among others
in the cast were John Drew and Ada Rehan; it ran seventy-seven
times. In January, 1883, at Booth's Theatre, New York, Modjeska
appeared in "Odette." At Stetson's Fifth Avenue Theatre it was
piut on in April, 1883; and again in January, 1886, Modjeska played
in "Odette," at the Star Theatre.
In September, 1891, at the Fourteenth Street Theatre, in
October at the Grand Opera House, and in December of the same
year at the People's Theatre, Clara Morris appeared in " Odette."
The End
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