Chapter 9

THEATER

JOANNY.

March 7, 1830, Midnight.

They have been playing "Hernani" at the Théâtre-Français
since February 25. The receipts for each performance
have been five thousand francs. The public
every night hisses all the verses. It is a rare uproar. The
parterre hoots, the boxes burst with laughter. The actors
are abashed and hostile; most of them ridicule what they
have to say. The press has been practically unanimous
every morning in making fun of the piece and the author.
If I enter a reading room I cannot pick up a paper without
seeing: "Absurd as "Hernani"; silly, false, bombastic,
pretentious, extravagant and nonsensical as "Hernani"." If I
venture into the corridors of the theatre while
the performance is in progress I see spectators issue from their
boxes and slam the doors indignantly. Mlle. Mars
plays her part honestly and faithfully, but laughs at it,
even in my presence. Michelot plays his resignedly and
laughs at it behind my back. There is not a scene shifter,
not a super, not a lamp lighter but points his finger at me.

To-day I dined with Joanny, who had invited me.
Joanny plays Ruy Gomez. He lives at No. 1 Rue du
Jardinet, with a young seminarist, his nephew. The
dinner party was sober and cordial. There were some
journalists there, among others M. Merle, the husband of Mme.
Dorval. After dinner, Joanny, who has the most beautiful
white hair in the world, rose, filled his glass, turned
towards me. I was on his right hand. Here literally is
what he said to me; I have just returned home and
I write his words:

"Monsieur Victor Hugo, the old man, now unknown,
who two hundred years ago filled the role of Don Diègue
in "Le Cid" was not more penetrated with respect and
admiration in presence of the great Corneille than the old
man who plays Don Buy Gomez is to-day in your presence."

MADEMOISELLE MARS.

In her last illness Mlle. Mars was often delirious. One
evening the doctor arrived. She was in the throes of a
high fever, and her mind was wandering. She prattled
about the theatre, her mother, her daughter, her niece
Georgina, about all that she held dear; she laughed, wept,
screamed, sighed deeply.

The doctor approached her bed and said to her: "Dear
lady, calm yourself, it is I." She did not recognise him
and her mind continued to wander. He went on: "Come,
show me your tongue, open your mouth." Mlle. Mars
gazed at him, opened her mouth and said: "Here, look.
Oh! all my teeth are my very own!"

Célimène still lived.

FREDERICK LEMAITRE.