Part 9

Mlle. Guimard’s life of gallantry and extravagance did not cause her to neglect her profession. No more assiduous student of her art ever pirouetted across a stage, and her career was a series of almost unbroken triumphs. In the ballet of _La Chercheuse d’esprit_, by Gardel the elder, played before the Court in 1777, and produced at the Opera the following year, her dancing and pantomime, in the part of Nicette, were generally allowed to have been inimitable.

“The difficulty of pantomime,” writes Lefuel de Méricourt, in his journal _Le Nouveau Spectateur_, “is the power of expressing by means of gesture what seems to require the assistance of words. It was difficult, for example, in the person of the _Chercheuse d’esprit_ to supply it in the verse,

‘Allez chercher de l’esprit,’

which forms the _nœud_ of the piece. But the acting of the Guimard leaves nothing to be desired at this interesting moment.”

The critic of the _Mercure de France_ is still more eulogistic: “One cannot praise too highly the talent of Mlle. Guimard, in the rôle of Nicette. It is necessary to see her to confess that never has one rendered a simpleton (_niaise_), at the same time simple and mischievous, more gracefully than this charming _actrice-danseuse_, who, in her art, is always what one would desire her to be.”

And Grimm, in his _Correspondance littéraire_, after declaring that the talent of Mlle. Guimard has caused one to overlook the faults of the ballet, praises the _danseuse_ in these terms: “She has imparted to the rôle of Nicette, a gradation of shades, so fine, so correct, so delicate, so piquant, that the most ingenious poetry would be powerless to render the same characters with more wit, delicacy, or truth. All her steps, all her movements, are soft and harmonious, and exhibit a meaning both sure and picturesque. How naïve is her simplicity, and yet how devoid of silliness! How well does her natural grace conceal itself without affectation! How gradually does her character expand, and how much she pleases, without exerting herself to please! How she comes to life in the sweet rays of sentiment! It is a rosebud which one sees expand, to escape slowly from the fetters which envelop it, to tremble into bloom. We have never seen, in this kind of imitation, anything more delicious or more perfect.”

Some months later, in _Ninette à la Cour_, she played the part of Ninette “in a way which stupefied the spectators.” “One was really confounded to see this artiste, admired hitherto for the grace of her acting, transform herself of a sudden into a maladroit, awkward creature, overcome with astonishment at the novel sights which meet her eyes, and depicting in a striking manner the impressions of a peasant leaving her village for the first time. The following circumstance is able to convey some idea of the difficulties which Mlle. Guimard had overcome in this rôle. It was remarked that at the time of the minuet that Nicette dances before the King and his Court, she made great efforts to dance out of time, and that generally, in spite of herself, the sensibility of her ear forced her to dance correctly.”[85]

Other scarcely less brilliant triumphs awaited Mlle. Guimard in the ballets of _Les Caprices de Galathée_, composed expressly for her by Noverre, _Médée et Jason_, _Myrza_, _La Rosière_, and _Le Premier Navigateur, ou le Pouvoir de l’amour_. Her success in the last-named piece, produced on July 26, 1785, four years before her retirement from the stage, was celebrated by the poet Dorat in the following pretty verses:

“Quelle nymphe légère, à mes yeux se présente! Déesse, elle folâtre et n’est point imposante, Son front s’épanouit avec sérénité, Ses cheveux sont flottants, le rire est sa beauté. D’un feston de jasmin, sa tête est couronnée, Et sa robe voltige, aux vents abandonnée. Mille songes légers l’environnent toujours; Plus que le printemps même, elle fait les beaux jours. Des matelots joyeux, rassemblés auprès d’elle Détonnent à sa gloire une ronde nouvelle, Et de jeunes pasteurs, désertant les hameaux, Viennent la saluer aux sons des chalumeaux. C’est l’aimable gaîté; qui peut la méconnaître, Au chagrin qui s’envole, aux jeux qu’elle fait naître? Fille de l’innocence, image du bonheur, Le charme quite suit, a passé dans mon cœur. Sur ce gazon fleuri qu’elle a choisi pour trône, Pasteurs, exécutons les danses qu’elle ordonne.

* * * * *

Fuyez, arrêtez-vous, suspendez votre ivresse; Comme Guimard enfin appelez les désirs, Et que vos pas brillants soient le vol des plaisirs.”[86]

It is hardly necessary to remark that such an artiste was appreciated as she deserved by the administration of the Opera, to whom she rendered so many services. Unfortunately, she not seldom abused the position which her talent and her intimate relations with the most distinguished personages of the time gave her, and occasioned the unfortunate directors almost as much trouble and anxiety, in her way, as did Sophie Arnould. Thus, in the spring of 1772, she, with her lover, the dancer Dauberval, organised a mutiny against Rebel, who had just been appointed “Directeur-général de l’Académie royale de Musique”--a mutiny which was only quelled by the personal interference of the Minister of the King’s Household, who summoned the malcontents before him and threatened them with severe pains and penalties if they continued contumacious. Six years later, we find her at the head of the opposition to Devismes, who, appointed director of the Opera at Easter 1778, had introduced various innovations, which, though popular with the patrons of the theatre, were strongly resented by the artistes. The principal “insurgents” held what they called a “Congress” at Mlle. Guimard’s hôtel, and Auguste Vestris, with characteristic modesty, compared his position with that of Washington. The revolt ended in the town of Paris cancelling Devismes’s appointment and taking upon itself the management of the theatre, Devismes receiving a large sum by way of compensation.[87]

A memoir sent by Antoine Dauvergne, the then director of the Opera, in 1781, to La Ferté, Intendant des Menus, shows us Mlle. Guimard supreme in the _coulisses_ of the theatre. All the affairs of the Opera, he says, are treated of in private committees held at Mlle. Guimard’s hôtel, and the orders of the administration are ignored whenever they happen to clash with the wishes of the lady, to whom every one--dancers, vocalists, composers, scene-painters, and so forth--is subservient. A little later, Dauvergne complains that the demoiselle Guimard refuses to have an understudy in the _ballets d’action_, in consequence of which, whenever she is unable to appear, there can be no ballet; also that she has quarrelled with Noverre and proscribed his ballets. “Not only does she refuse to dance in them herself, but she is unwilling for other persons to dance in them.”[88]

There exists a curious document, dated 1783, drawn up by La Ferté, for the information of the Minister of the King’s Household, on the talents, faults, habits, characters, and so forth of the singers and dancers of the Opera. And here is what the Intendant des Menus says of Mlle. Guimard:

“Dlle. Guimard.--_Première danseuse de demi-caractère._ Her talent is known to every one; on the stage she still retains a very youthful appearance; if she has not a great deal of execution in her dancing, she possesses, by way of compensation, much grace; she is very good in _ballets d’action_ and in pantomime; she has much zeal and works hard; but she is an enormous expense to the Opera, where her wishes are followed with as much respect as if she was its director. Following her example, the other actresses demand the most costly dresses and equipments.”

But enormous expense or not, the directors of the Opera seemed to have been possessed by an ever-present dread lest Mlle. Guimard should take it into her head to retire or transfer her services to some foreign stage. After the destruction of the Opera by fire in June 1781, and while the new Opera of the Porte Saint-Martin was in course of erection, the minds of many of the homeless singers and dancers “turned towards the shores of Great Britain and the guineas of Drury Lane,” and, in spite of the most stringent precautions on the part of the Government, several of them succeeded in emigrating.[89] Although Mlle. Guimard’s fortune placed her in a position, where, according to the expression of La Ferté, “she had very little need to trouble herself about England,” the anxious Intendant was only half-reassured and wrote to the Minister of the King’s Household, begging him to use every inducement possible to keep the lady in France.

Mlle. Guimard remained faithful and reaped the reward of her fidelity in the spring of the following year, when she demanded and obtained a pension of 2500 livres, which, with an annual _gratification_ of 1500 livres and her salary of 2000 livres, brought her professional income up to 6000 livres.

In the fire at the Opera-house, referred to above, Mlle. Guimard had a very narrow escape of her life. The fire broke out at the end of the third act of _Orphée_, happily after the majority of the audience had quitted their seats. Mlle. Guimard was in her _loge_ at the time, and, not daring to leave it, would probably have been stifled, had not a scene-shifter come to her assistance and, wrapping her in the curtains--for she was half-undressed--carried her through the smoke and flames to a place of safety.

This was not the only time the _danseuse_ was in danger during the course of her professional career. In June 1784, while appearing at the Opera-house in the Haymarket, in London, then under Gallini’s management, the theatre was completely destroyed by fire. Boaden, in his Life of John Kemble, thus alludes to the catastrophe:

“On the 17th of June 1784, I was, on my return from a visit, crossing the Park from Buckingham Gate to Stable Yard, St. James’s, when this most tremendous conflagration burst upon me; it seemed to make the long line of trees wave in an atmosphere of fire.... The fire had commenced in the flies and burst through the roof in a column of confirmed fierceness, that evinced its strength to have been irresistible, even when it was first perceived. In the theatre, about two o’clock, they had been rehearsing a ballet, and the first alarm was occasioned by the sparks of fire which fell upon the heads of the dancers. Mme. Ravelli was with difficulty saved by one of the firemen; Mme. Guimard lost a slipper, but escaped in safety.”

A few years after her first appearance at the Opera, an accident occurred which might have been attended with serious consequences to Mlle. Guimard. One night in January 1766, during a performance of _Les Fêtes de l’Hymen et de l’Amour_, a heavy piece of scenery fell upon her, throwing her to the ground and breaking her arm. Had it struck her upon the head, she would certainly have been killed.

At the end of the year 1782, came the bankruptcy of the Prince de Guéménée, whose wife, _gouvernante_ to the children of Louis XVI., was the daughter of the Prince de Soubise: a catastrophe which involved more than three thousand people, many of whom were completely ruined. Mlle. Guimard’s tender relations with the Prince de Soubise had come to an end some years earlier--she had been succeeded in his affections and the enjoyment of the two thousand écus a month, by her niece and pupil, Mlle. Zacharie, a damsel of fifteen summers--but she still remained on excellent terms with her former lover and received a handsome pension, as the reward of her not very faithful services. This pension she now determined to renounce, in favour of the creditors of the Prince de Guéménée, and having persuaded several other ladies of the ballet, who, like herself, had once basked in the smiles of the “Sultan of the Opera” and had been similarly provided for, to follow her example, they met one day in her dressing-room and drew up a letter to the prince setting forth their wishes, copies of which they caused to be distributed among the habitués of the theatre.

_Letter of_ MLLE. GUIMARD _and other danseuses of the Opera to_ M. LE PRINCE DE SOUBISE.

“MONSEIGNEUR,--Accustomed, my comrades and myself, to have you in our midst at each performance of the Théâtre-Lyrique, we have observed with the most bitter regret, that not only were you weaned from the pleasures of the play, but that none of us have been summoned to those frequent _petits soupers_, at which we had, in turn, the happiness of pleasing and amusing you. Rumour has only too well informed us of the cause of your retirement and of your just grief. Up to the present, we have feared to trouble you, making our sensibility yield to our respect; we should not even dare to break silence, without the pressing motive which our delicacy is not able to resist. We flattered ourselves, Monseigneur, that the bankruptcy (for one must needs employ a term with which the _foyers_, the clubs, the gazettes, France, and the whole of Europe resound), that the bankruptcy of M. le Prince de Guéménée would not be on so enormous a scale as was announced. But the derangement of his affairs has reached such a point that no hope remains. We have come to this conclusion from the generous sacrifices to which, following your example, the principal chiefs of your illustrious house have resigned themselves.

“We should believe ourselves guilty of ingratitude, were we not to imitate you, in seconding your humanity; were we not to return the pensions which your munificence has lavished upon us. Apply these revenues, Monseigneur, to the relief of the many suffering military men, the many poor men of letters, the many unhappy servants, whom M. le Prince de Guéménée drags into the abyss with him. As for ourselves, we have other resources; we shall lose nothing, Monseigneur, if we retain your esteem for us. We shall even be the gainers if, in refusing your benefits, we compel our detractors to confess that we were not altogether unworthy of them.

“We are with profound respect, &c.

“_In the dressing-room of Mlle. Guimard, this Friday, December 6, 1782._”

In August 1783, Mlle. Guimard was attacked by small-pox, to the great alarm of the patrons of the Opera, who feared that, even if she were to recover, the priests might succeed in persuading her to renounce her profession. Happily, however, the attack was a mild one, and on August 29 a fête was held at the _danseuse’s_ hôtel, “to render thanks to her lovers for the care they had taken of her.”

In the following year, however, Mlle. Guimard did announce her intention of retiring, whereupon La Ferté wrote in hot haste to the Minister of the King’s Household, begging him to promise her an addition of one thousand livres to her retiring pension, if she would reconsider her decision. As the ballerina had already demanded this favour, it is probable that the announcement of her approaching resignation was merely a ruse on her part to force the Minister’s hand.

The Minister replied the same day to La Ferté, that, “although a favour accorded to one person opens the door to a whole crowd of pretensions,” in consideration of her long services, he promised to assure to her, when she should retire, the additional thousand livres which she demanded; but on condition that she should preserve the most profound secrecy in regard to this favour.

In the early part of the year 1785, Mlle. Guimard fell into financial difficulties and was obliged to sell the “Temple of Terpsichore,” in the Chaussée-d’Antin. Instead of putting it up to auction or inviting private offers, she decided to adopt the somewhat novel expedient of disposing of it by lottery, and, having succeeded in obtaining the permission of the authorities, or at any rate a promise that they would not offer any opposition to the scheme, caused the following prospectus to be circulated:

“_Prospectus of a lottery of the house of Mlle. Guimard, of which the draw will take place in public, May 1, 1786, in a room of the Hôtel des Menus, Rue Bergère, in the presence of a public official._

“This house is situated at the entrance of the Chaussée-d’Antin, and consists of a building, with a court on one side and a garden on the other. The side facing the court is adorned by a peristyle; the _rez-de-chaussée_, which is raised on eight steps, is divided into an ante-chamber, dining-room, bedchamber, boudoir, a large room lighted from above, to serve as a picture-gallery, dressing-room, bathroom, &c., all richly decorated.

“Above are also private apartments very commodious, and likewise very richly decorated.

“A building facing the street contains stables and coach-houses, and above is a theatre with all its accessories.

“The garden is adorned with covered bowers. The greater part of the furniture remains in the house, having been made for the place.

“The lottery will consist of 2500 tickets, at 120 livres a ticket, of which one will be the winner.

“Immediately after the lottery has been drawn, Mlle. Guimard will transfer the contract of the sale of the house and the furniture, to the benefit of the owner of the winning lot.”

The drawing of the lottery, originally fixed for May 1, 1786, was, for some reason, postponed until the 22nd of the month, when it took place in a tent erected in the garden of the Hôtel des Menus. There were two wheels, in one of which had been placed 2500 numbered tickets, and in the other 2499 blank tickets and one bearing the word _Lot_. The draw began at ten o’clock in the morning; but it was not until late in the afternoon, and after 2267 tickets had been drawn, that the winning one was forthcoming, when it was found that Mlle. Guimard’s hôtel had become the property of the Comtesse de Lau, who had only purchased a single ticket. That lady subsequently sold the hôtel to the banker Perregaux, for 500,000 livres.

* * * * *

Mlle. Guimard was growing old; the fatal epoch when beauty is usually compelled to renounce its rights had come; but, like the wicked old Maréchal de Richelieu, she seemed to have drunk of the fountain of eternal youth, and on the boards of the Opera, environed by her cloud of gauze, she appeared as young and fresh and charming as ever. What was her secret? According to the actor Fleury it was an ingenious one. At twenty years of age, he tells us, she had had her portrait painted by a faithful hand, and now, each morning in her boudoir, with this picture on one side and her mirror on the other, she worked to assimilate the face she saw reflected in the latter to the work of the painter, nor did she desist from her labours until she felt certain of a perfect resemblance. Her admirers, it is scarcely necessary to observe, were not admitted to this function.[90]

Mlle. Guimard visited London on several occasions during the season to dance at the Opera House in the Haymarket or at Covent Garden. Three letters, two written respectively on June 20, 1784, and April 16, 1789, to the banker Perregaux, the third bearing date May 26 (probably 1787), contain some interesting details about her sojourn in England. From the first, we learn that she was engaged at a salary of 650 guineas, half of which seems to have been paid in advance and the balance on the termination of her engagement. The latter instalment she complains that she had just seen devoured by a fire which had reduced the theatre to ashes. She graciously says that she has no complaint to make of the inhabitants of London; but the Italians of the Opera--“_Ah, les coquins!_” They are everything that is bad. And the rest of the letter is chiefly taken up with an account of her dispute with Gallini as to whether or not her articles had been dissolved by the destruction of the theatre.

The second letter, in order of date, is more interesting. “Since my arrival in this town,” she writes, “the people have not left me a single moment to myself. I am overwhelmed by the kindness of all the great ladies and principally of the Duchess of Devonshire. I pass all my time with her, when I am not engaged at the theatre. In truth, my dear little good friend, the manner in which I am everywhere received is so flattering that a less sensible head than that of your little good friend might be turned by it.” She goes on to say that she has just been given a benefit performance, which has realised 950 guineas, and has concluded an engagement for the last five weeks of her stay in England. For this she is to receive 650 guineas, “which makes a very pretty sum for me to bring back to Paris.” “This journey has not been so unprofitable, _hein!_ What think you about it? They love me to distraction, these good English! _Voilà ce que c’est que le mérite!_”

The third letter shows us that in London the ballerina was regarded as the very glass of fashion: “For the ball [a ball at Drury Lane organised by the Duchess of Devonshire and other ladies] one must have dresses, and the English ladies are as coquettish as the French. The moment I alighted from my carriage on my arrival, I was besieged by _marchandes des modes_ and tailors, who had come to beg me, on the part of the ladies, to give my opinion on their costumes. You know well that I did not make the fashions.”

Of Mlle. Guimard’s visits to England there exists a weird souvenir in the form of a coloured etching entitled:

“The Celebrated Mademoiselle G----rd, or Grimhard, from Paris. _Published by Thomas Humphrey, May 26, 1787._”

The leanness of the ballerina, of which we have spoken elsewhere, seems to have increased with years, and was the theme of jests innumerable at her expense and that of her lovers, most of them, however, good-natured enough, for Madeleine Guimard had few enemies, and even the chroniclers of contemporary scandal generally have a good word to say for her.

In the etching in question one sees, under a toque with sky-blue plumes, a woman, with a death’s head crowned with false hair, and a bony neck, raising in the air a consumptive leg and waving her arms, at the ends of which are phalanxes of little bones in place of fingers.[91]

On her return to Paris, from England, in the summer of 1789, Mlle. Guimard married Jean Étienne Despréaux, the dancing-master and poet, who had been for some years an intimate friend, though not, it would appear, a lover.[92] The marriage took place on August 14, at the church of Sainte-Marie du Temple, the age of the bride being forty-six and that of her husband thirty-one. The _acte de mariage_, cited by Jal, states that the two had received the nuptial benediction, “after having renounced their profession,” and, to the great sorrow of her countless admirers, the Opera knew Madeleine Guimard no more.