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Count Saxe knew this, for whatever might be his relations with Monsieur Voltaire, he did not make the ridiculous blunder of undervaluing that notary's son. There was, however, peace between them after they had stood together at Adrienne Lecouvreur's death-bed. I think her gentle and loyal spirit breathed peace even when she was no more.
Then, as if shaking off the spell cast upon him by the stars, he began to talk of the most trifling things on earth about Monsieur Voltaire, for example. "My coach is ordered to take us to Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's," he said. "I dare say that scoundrel of a Voltaire will be there as you say you saw him with Mademoiselle Lecouvreur in the Hôtel Kirkpatrick garden.
A mournful little smile came upon Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's reddened lips, and she answered: "You do not need me, Monsieur, to prove that you can write comedies or tragedies or anything else. All the muses adopted you at your birth, and if ever Adrienne Lecouvreur is remembered it will be because she was chosen by you sometimes to play the immortal parts you created."
I was glad for Count Saxe to be away from Paris then. Those who think that he was not grieved at Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's death, or did not silently lament her, know not the man. But a soldier must take arms against his sorrows, as against his enemies. Another week found us on the road to Brussels.
Beneath the windows, a vast, silent and sorrowing crowd stood through the night, while the moon and stars watched and waned. The eastern sky grew rosy, and the long lances of the sun's advance-guard tipped the roofs and spires with glory. While I was watching this miracle of a new day, I heard the door to Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's room open behind me.
'Now mind, Dancourt, said one of those grands seigneurs to the leading actor of the day, 'if you're more amusing than I am at dinner to-night, je te donnerai cent coups de bâtons. It was dangerous enough to show one's wits at all in the company of such privileged persons, but to do so at their expense ! A few days later Voltaire and the Chevalier met again, at the Comédie, in Adrienne Lecouvreur's dressing-room.
I always replied that the Tatars, my royal ancestors, like other princes, had not much cause for gaiety, and that my somberness was due to the exalted rank with which I had been invested. When I was a barefooted boy, trotting about the Marais, I was as happy as a bird in spring. I think Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's death had a lasting effect on Count Saxe.
Great crowds attended all of Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's performances at the Théâtre Français; and in spite of her weakness, the fire of genius carried her through her parts with a supernatural strength. When it was over, though, she was no more the great artist, but poor, ailing, dying Adrienne Lecouvreur.
I was surveying the crowd of the great, and wondering what Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's father, the hatter, and my father, the notary, would say, if they saw the fine company their children kept, when my eyes fell upon my young friend, Gaston Cheverny, who, I supposed, lay in his lodging with a hole in his left side! The sight so staggered me that I felt my head swim.
And yet, I can not deny that the fellow had great parts and shining wit! Mademoiselle Lecouvreur bade me to tell Count Saxe to come to her house after the theater. With her usual goodness she asked concerning my health and welfare. No gentler, kinder heart ever beat than Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's. I slipped back to the inn and gave Count Saxe the message sent him by Mademoiselle Lecouvreur.
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