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Updated: June 26, 2025
Not even Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's sad situation could disarm the jealousy of the women who envied her Count Saxe's devotion. There was one of them, the Duchesse de Bouillon, who, like Jacques Haret, was one of the devil's darlings, and kept shop for him.
In the midst of it the door to Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's room opened, and she herself softly called me to her. I went, still smarting at the laughter and the heartless banter of those Paris people who thought it fine to laugh at Monsieur Voltaire's gibes at Count Saxe. Oh, what I have not suffered for my master through that upstart son of a notary!
At the end of the second act, after the people had shouted themselves hoarse with delight, I asked to be shown to Madame Lecouvreur's dressing room for she was no longer able to go to the foyer during the interval between the acts, so a snuffy old box keeper told me. I knocked at her door and she bade me enter. She lay on a couch, and was panting with fatigue.
As he was supposed to be safely locked up in the Bastille until he should leave for England, his presence was a good deal of a surprise, especially to the Duc de Richelieu; but Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's was neutral ground and nobody there would betray Monsieur Voltaire, as he well knew.
Gaston Cheverny and I had secured seats in the pit of the theater. Gaston had been admitted to the honor of Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's acquaintance and admired her at a distance, like a star. There was a breathless excitement in the crowd, something in the air of the theater seemed to communicate excitement.
We went straight to Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's door, and the maid, who was watching, let us in. Adrienne lay in her great purple silk bed, pale, but looking more weary and sad than ill. I had often seen her look worse. She greeted us kindly, and the shadow of a smile came into her face when she saw Monsieur Voltaire bringing me in.
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