United States or Armenia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
I remained silent, and, after a while, he turned to me and taking me by the arm, said: "Babache, you are an honest man. Come with me." We returned arm in arm to Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's house. It had not occurred to me to present myself uninvited, but without a word I followed this man, who had something compelling about him.
My master wrote his own love letters he had few others to write so that I had many hours at my disposal. There was a young baggage of an actress named Verières, who tried to play the poor lost Adrienne Lecouvreur's part to Count Saxe. I know not whether she succeeded or not. I heard several times from Gaston Cheverny.
After that he spent every hour that he could at Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's house. He and Monsieur Voltaire no longer avoided each other. There was the truce of God between them for the few days that Adrienne Lecouvreur remained on earth. Few persons believed that she would be able to play again, but the mere hint of it crammed the Théâtre Français to the doors on that last, unforgettable night.
We kept up a brisk correspondence with France when we could; but the Courlanders have no notion that a courier is a sacred object, so a vast number of our letters never got farther than Mitau. Our communication from the rest of the world was scant and uncertain. Even Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's letters rarely reached us, although we knew she wrote faithfully and often to Count Saxe.
I caught one glimpse of Monsieur Voltaire as he leaned weeping over the pillow whereon Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's head lay, naturally as if she had fallen asleep. Her face was turned a little toward the window, and one hand, half open, lay outside the coverlet as Count Saxe had dropped it last. He came out of the room.
The story had gone forth that Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's illness had come from poison administered by the Duchesse de Bouillon, out of jealousy of Count Saxe.
I replied, with truth, that I neither knew nor cared, not wishing to wring Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's tender heart with the story of Jacques Haret's latest villainy. We remained an hour. Several times I would have left, but Monsieur Voltaire detained me by a glance. At last, when Mademoiselle Lecouvreur was inclined to sleep, we departed.
But I was not of that mind. For a long time after Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's death, Count Saxe never spoke her name. He longed to be away from Paris. In June, the King of Saxony, his father, was to form a great camp at Radewitz, and Count Saxe, to his satisfaction, was invited to attend.
Their jealousy was dead and about to be buried in Adrienne's grave. I went up the stairs and sat in the anteroom. Within Adrienne's chamber there were my master, Monsieur Voltaire, Lord Peterborough, Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's sister, her two faithful servants and the doctor. There was a strange quiet for so many persons. The windows were opened, letting in the mild air of the spring night.
The applause was sharp and loud; the young girl, as if disdaining it, had walked into the little booth used for a dressing room. Then Monsieur Voltaire said in Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's ear: "I am certain now who it is. She is the young niece of Peggy Kirkpatrick. I have often seen her in Peggy's coach." "And in such company!" cried Mademoiselle Lecouvreur. "Surely Madame Riano can not know it."
Word Of The Day