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The advance booking, however, was more than L400, and the committee would not hear of it. "Oh well," Got said to Mr. Mayer, "we must give the role to some one else if Sarah Bernhardt cannot play. There will be Croizette, Madeleine Brohan, Coquelin, Febvre, and myself in the cast, and, que diable! it seems to me that all of us together will make up for Mademoiselle Bernhardt."
M. Rostand's Cyrano de Bergerac is not merely Cyrano, but also M. Constant Coquelin; M. Sardou's La Tosca is not merely La Tosca, but also Mme. Sarah Bernhardt; Molière's Célimène is not merely Célimène, but also Mlle. Molière; Shakespeare's Hamlet is not merely Hamlet, but also Richard Burbage.
It is enough for me to observe the women who are fondest of gossiping to be persuaded that you are quite right. The other day I was present at a musical evening at the Casino, given by a remarkable artist, Madame Masson, who sings in a truly delightful manner. I took the opportunity of applauding the admirable Coquelin, as well as two charming vaudeville performers, M and Meillet.
One of the numerous ephemeral journals which the young and old jeunesse of the Latin Quarter is constantly creating has made a very clever caricature of the picture in a sort of Pompeian style. Death is represented by the grinning figure of Coquelin ainé. The legend is "'La Jeune Fille et la Mort, or Coquelin ainé, presenting Sarah Bernhardt the bill of costs of her fugue."
If Joseph Jefferson was not a great actor I should like some competent person to tell me what actor of our time could be so described. Two or three of the journals of Paris referred to him as "the American Coquelin." It had been apter to describe Coquelin as the French Jefferson. I never saw Frederic Lemaitre.
Sir Henry Irving and Sir Charles Wyndham in England, M. Coquelin in France, his contemporaries each had his metier. They were perfect in their art and unalike in their art. No comparison between them can be justly drawn.
When I speak of M. Jourdain I hardly know whether I am speaking of the character of Molière or of the character of Coquelin. Probably there is no difference. We get Molière's vast, succulent farce of the intellect rendered with an art like his own. If this, in every detail, is not what Molière meant, then so much the worse for Molière.
I came to G.'s side of the table so that I might see the great actress in mufti, and I would have liked to have made a sketch of her as she talked to her companion, but it would have been too obvious you know the way she speaks, a little out of the corner of her eye and mouth, with hand on hip. She is great! We saw her only a year ago with Coquelin in "La Mantansier."
My success in Froufrou was so marked that it filled the void left by Coquelin, who, after having signed, with the consent of Perrin, with Messrs, Mayer and Hollingshead, declared that he could not keep his engagements. It was a nasty coup de Jarnac by which Perrin hoped to injure my London performances. He had previously sent Got to me to ask officially if I would not come back to the Comedie.
Delaunay, surnamed Father Candour, came solemnly to inform me of the bad impression my telegram had made. He told me that the Comedie Francaise was a Ministry; that there was the Minister, the secretary, the sub-chiefs and the employes, and that each one must conform to the rules and bring in his share either of talent or work, and so on and so on. I saw Coquelin at the theatre in the evening.
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