ELEONORA DUSE: The Story of Her Life * DUSE, OF THE BEAUTIFUL HANDS, AT 45. Frontispiece. ELEONORA DUSE: The Story of Her Life By JEANNE BORDEUX WITH 26 ILLUSTRATIONS NEw YORK: GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 1925 TO THE MEMORY OF ELEONORA DUSE: WOMAN OF INFINITE PITY; DIVINE PRECEPTRESS OF DRAMATIC ART. PREFACE DuRING the three months that I have been compiling and writing the life of the late Eleonora Duse I have so absolutely lived and suffered with her that my vast admiration has become a reverent love, and I believe that no one in the world ever succeeded in knowing her as I did. . . . Each one of her friends, intimates and actors saw her in a different light ; I saw her in all those lights merged into one, as from birth she unfalteringly followed her destiny, mag- nificently, humbly fulfilling the mission for which she was sent into the world. My first hope was to translate the memoirs of the Grand Actress, as she herself promised me I should, if she ever wrote them, and, failing to, she gave me the permission to some day write, in English, a simple story of her life. And that is all this book pretends to be: the simple, true story of Eleonora Duse’s life from birth to death. I wish to thank all those who have so kindly helped me in my difficult task, particularly Signora Enif Robert, M. Edouard Schneider, M. Jean Philippe Worth, Caveliere Cesare Levi, Professor Edgardo Maddalena, Signor Camillo Antona-Traversi, and Signor Mazzanti, who supplied me with the entire foreign schedule; and many, many others in private life who have asked me not to mention their names, as they would mean nothing to the public. JEANNE BORDEUX. Paris, Sept. 2nd, 1924. vii CONTENTS PART I Ancestors—Family—Birth—Early Life—First Stage Ap- pearance—Career—First Mention of Talent—Continued Successes—Marriage—First Tour in South America —Return to Italy—Difficulties—Life Until 1890 _ = - PART II The Triumph at Vienna, 1892—Other European Triumphs —Berlin—London—New York—Meeting with d’An- nunzio—The Woman in Her Rare Moments of Ease— The d’Annunzio Propaganda—Other Successes Abroad —Paris—Life and Work Until the Closing at Vienna, February, 1909 - - - - - PART III The Simple Life—Various Performances—The War— Financial Losses—Thought of Returning to the Stage —Plans—The Return—Touring in Italy—Decision to go to England—Vienna— United States > - PART IV - The Departure for New York—Touring the United States —Iness—Death at Pittsburg, Pa., U.S.A., April 21st, 1924—Funeral in New York—The Arrival in Italy —Her Last Journey—Her Final Resting-place - PAGE 15 78 205 268 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Duse, of the Beautiful Hands, at 45 Luigi Duse - - : Alessandro Duse - ~ - Eleonora Duse and Her Mother - Eleonora Duse - | - - As “ Teresa Raquin” - - Flavio And6é - - - Arrigo Boito - - - In “‘ The Ideal Wife” - - At Vienna, 1892 - - - The Duse at 25 - - ~ As “ Mirandalina ”’ - - Eleonora Duse with Lembach Baby Gabriele d’Annunzio - - “ La Porziuncola ”’ - - Villa Capponcina : - As “ Cleopatra ”’ - - The Duse at 30 - - M. Jean Philippe Worth - - Eleonora Duse at 45 - - Eleonora Duse at 50 - - Bust of Madame Ada Rubinstein Memo Benassi_ - - : “ The Closed Door ”’ - ~ Casa Duse at Asolo - - Eleonora Duse’s Last Resting-place xi - Frontispiece Facing Page 16 30 30 38 38 60 70 82 82 96 96 104 118 138 138 150 150 166 200 228 266 282 292 292 302 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life PART I Ancestors—Family—Birth—Early Life—First Stage Appearance— Career—First Mention of Talent—Continued Successes— Marriage—First Tour in South America—Return to Italy— Difficulties—Life Until 1890. A MOMENTARY halt of a cheap theatrical road company, early in the month of October, 1859, caused the little town of Vigevano to become many years later famous as the birthplace of the greatest actress of the twentieth century. Eleonora Duse was not born at Vigevano, however, but in a third-class railway carriage between Venice and Vigevano, as the little company of which her father was manager, or leading man, had closed their season at Venice the evening of October 2nd, and were travelling by night to Vigevano, where they were Opening a short season on the evening of the third. A third-class railway carriage was not an ordinary thing in those days in Italy, and certainly could not have been a place of any great comfort, or exactly,the setting for a birth. ... No doctor, no nurse, no experienced hands to take the new-born baby, no dainty clothes waiting to cover the tiny form ; nothing dear to the heart of even the most humble woman. In poverty, abject poverty, Eleonora Duse came into the world. 13 14 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life In 1912 a French paper, Comedia, published a very charming article, in which it was stated that Eleonora Duse was born in a train, and baptised at Chioggia, where an Austrian soldier, when she was brought into the Church, thinking that a religuia sacro was to take place, presented arms. G. Roland, who wrote the article, had found in the archives of the Parish Cathedral of St. Ambrogio, Vigevano, the register of the birth of the great actress—folio 116, births of 1858 (some authorities insist upon 1859)—October 5th, at four o’clock in the afternoon, Signor Alessandro Duse, son of the late Luigi Duse, actor, presented a new-born baby of feminine sex, which he declared to be his daughter, and that of his legal wife, Angelica Cappeletto, living with him at Vigevano. The register affirms also that the child was born on October 3rd, at two o’clock in the morning. He gave her the names of Eleonora Guilia Amalia. The godfather was Enrico Duse, actor, and brother of Alessandro. . . . She was baptised by the farraco teologo, Carlo Pradis. The story of the Austrian soldier presenting arms cannot be true, as at that time there were no foreign soldiers in Vigevano. The city was then a part of the kingdom of Sardinia, and was the garrison of two regiments of Sardinian cavalry. That a soldier presented arms seems to have a certain foundation, for among the stage props a glass and cloth of gold case existed, and Alessandro Duse no doubt put the baby into that case in order to carry her with less difficulty, and the soldier on guard seeing the astonishing case believed it to be the ashes of some distinguished person and presented arms. True, or not true, the suggestion of tragedy remains, like the far-reaching shadow of coming events. After the baptism Alessandro took the baby back to her mother, and, as he laid her in his wife’s arms, he is believed to have told her that their child will one Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 15 day be famous, that kings will bow down to her, for already the king’s army has presented arms. The mother did not live to see the fulfilment of the prophecy. Luigi Duse, the great-grandfather of Eleonora, was born in Chioggia, 1792, and was a dialect actor of sufficient merit and fame. He was the first of the Duse family to go on the stage. Before him the family had been distinguished in various occupations— trades, no doubt, though there exists no accurate records of the Duses before Luigi. At the old St. Samuele Theatre of Venice, Luigi Duse presented almost exclusively the Goldoni reper- toire. When, as frequently happened, his public tired of Goldoni, the good genial Duse, who was like a member of the family with his habitual public, imagined himself a new type for them, created something on the order of ‘‘ Meneghino”’ (Milanese), which was merely a new mask for his old familiar “‘ Giocometto.”’ From memoirs of some of the old regulars of the theatre the titles of various plays given by Luigi Duse can be found. The plays in those days changed, but the leading character of Giocometto remained. The greatest successes were: ‘‘ L’Imbrogio de le Tre Mugier,” “La Veneziana di Spirito,” “‘ I Due Gioco- metti.’”” These were merely evening expositions of the actualities of the day. George Sand, during her adventurous love-trip to Venice, had the opportunity of knowing Duse, and of interesting herself in his art—of which she speaks rather at length in her book “ L’Histoire de Ma wie?” Without any particular warning the capricious hand of Fortune turned, and Duse was forced to leave his unstable public of Venice, and the St. Samuele Theatre, for Padua. . . . There he lived many years 16 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life in perfect peace, adored by his public—a very special public, composed of students, modest as to financial means, but exuberant in their admiration. In Padua his success was continuous and clamorous. He knew the agitation of Art, but never wealth ; and later, in that city, ruin came upon him. For political reasons he fell into disgrace, from which he was never able to rise again. After having tried his luck once more in Venice, he returned to Padua, where he died in 1854. With the celebrated, original and unfortunate ‘““Giocometto,” the dynasty of the Duses in dramatic art began, which dynasty ends, unless some distant, and as yet unknown, cousin comes to the front, with the lamented Eleonora. Luigi Rasi—one-time leading man with Eleonora Duse—the beloved and much-regretted student of the lives of Italian actors, many years ago drew up a sort of genealogical tree of the Duse family. In Rasi’s tree there were all the brothers of her father, with their respective wives and children, which I have left out as it seems useless reading, being quite out of the story of the life that I am writing of. Dusz—Natale Duse, marriéd Teresa Sambo (non- professionals) ; their son, Luigi Duse, married Elisabetta Barbini of Padova. Their children were Eugenio Duse (prompter), Georgio Duse (character actor), Alessandro Duse (leading man), Enrico Duse (juvenile). All these four married actresses, whose children in turn went on the stage, some of them rising to a certain fame. Alessandro Duse married Angelica Cappeletto, of Vicenza; their child was—Eleonora. .. . As they say in Italian, “ figlio dell’arte’’ (child of the theatre), there could be only one future for the little girl born, one might almost say, “ between ee ae ohn Sein nese LITT caer te nihimreal p. 16. LvuIer“DuUSE., The grandfather of Eleonora, in his famous Venetian costume of 1850. 6 As) a ews ' = ’ ® + ; : s . > r. u , 9 Pay 4 ’ sy : 4 y, - ‘ ¥ a , SV ‘aASAG VUYONOATY Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 39 The masterly performance of Giacinta Pezzana, richly spontaneous, the robust, alluring voice that had the power to thrill any audience, uplifting even the topmost gallery to the point of delirium, for some unknown reason retired into insignificance before that of the little Duse. After “ Fernande”’ Giacinta Pezzana remained the classic actress, but Eleonora Duse, who had opened the way for a new method of acting, with Latin enthusiasm was acclaimed by the progressive Italians. “It is not surprising that you are restless and agitated,” her parents had often told her; “ you are a child of 1859, and war is in your veins.”’ 1859 was the era of the patriotic awakening in Italy, when the Milanese opened the way to their French liberators, and when the young Italy was obsessed by the fever of growth—which has lasted ever since. - Youth desired an actress who belonged to youth. There was change, progress, in the new generation coming forward. Eleonora Duse was the one who could feel joy and suffering, ambition, dreams, illusions, disillusions ; the desire of agitated life, tormented, nervous, giddy ; and she was the actress they wanted. A few months later, realising the sentiments of his public, Cesare Rossi made her the absolute leading woman of his company. With Rossi and Emanuel she toured triumphantly most of Italy. Her repertoire included “ Sorellina,”’ “ Odette,’ ‘‘ Teodora,’ ‘‘ Divorcons,” ‘‘ Pameta,”’ “ Gli Innamorati,” ‘‘ Fedora,” ““ Amore Senza Stima,”’ “* Fernande,” and the Goldoni play, ‘‘ La Locandiera,”’ which remained one of her favourite interpretations. The following year Eleonora Duse, then Signora Checchi, was at the Carignano Theatre, Turin, with the Cesare Rossi Company as the leading woman, 40 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life playing without enthusiasm the mediocre plays of the Italian repertoire, or bad French translations, generally to half-empty houses, even though the seats were sold at a modest price. More than once after a performance, physically and mentally exhausted by the force which she put into the work of trying to please the indifferent public, she dropped in her dressing-room more dead than alive. A moment later the secretary probably brought her the cheering news that her part of the receipts for the evening’s performance amounted to twenty- seven lire and fifty centimes. Discouraged over the way things were going, she brooded continually, and had almost decided to leave the stage, when the arrival of Sarah Bernhardt was announced at the Carignano Theatre; the Italian company to give place to the French for the duration of the great artist’s stay in Turin. Immediately preparations for the reception of the grand Sarah began. Everything behind the scenes was completely done over, with the hope of having a place worthy of the artist beloved of the gods. .. . The Duse’s modest little dressing-room was trans- formed into a reasonably pretentious boudoir... . For eight days there was a continual procession of luggage between the theatre and hotel. A menagerie preceded the grand Dompteuse: dogs, monkeys, parrots, and the fallows which she had brought back from another voyage accompanied her on this tour. The astonishment of the simple Italians who helped with the unpacking of the exotic curiosities © knew no bounds, and Eleonora—instead of feeling a natural jealousy over the extensive preparations for the triumph of another—was merely filled with a legitimate pride. ‘ At last,’ she said with sincere conviction, “ there is one woman who has been able to raise our Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 41 business above the mundane, who leads the mass to the respect of the beautiful, and obliges them to bow before Art.” Sarah finally appeared. . . .“‘ I am here—look and listen !’’ she seemed to say as she took possession of the stage, and the audience assembled to render her the deserved homage. The boxes cost one hundred lire, an unheard-of price for Turin, where generally five lire bought the best place in any theatre. Every box and seat in the house was sold in advance. _ The Duse followed each performance with intense interest. Like the others—more than the others no doubt—ravished by Sarah’s talent, seduced by her charm. She was untiring in her applause, vibrating with the actress, whose words she did not understand, almost as though she herself were saying them. In the art of the famous woman—admirable, pro- found, magnificent, clean-cut, at times inimitable— Eleonora saw, as in a glass, the reflection of her own inward strength. The execution of an occult idea, which to some might seem an audacious unconscious- ness, in her was the consciousness of pure force. Several evenings after the departure of the glorious Bernhardt, who had left behind her a luminous trail, in the light of which Eleonora still lingered, the Italian troupe again took its place at the Carignano... . The ever-prudent Rossi, for fear of the still vivid mem- ories of the Frenchwoman, proposed to give an old play by Gherado da Testa, ‘‘ Il Trionfo d’Adelaide.”’ The Duse protested. “Tf I play to-morrow evening,” she said resolutely, “it will be something that Turin is not already tired ox: “And that is . . .?”’ Rossi was astonished at the unusual courage expressed by the hitherto timid leading woman. 42 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life “ “The Princess of Bagdad.’ ”’ “Hm! you think you can make a hit in that after the grand Sarah ? ”’ “Precisely. In any case, she didn’t play ‘The Princess of Bagdad’ here; and I merely mean to profit by the sympathetic wave that she established between the stage and the stalls.”’ ce Bin “If you don’t want me to play the Princess——’ “Which was hooted in Paris!” “ All the more reason !—I shall quit you!” “And where will you go ?”’ “ Chi lo sa 2?” (Who knows ?) And she played “‘ The Princess of Bagdad,” thereby inaugurating the long, though frequently interrupted series of her triumphs—the first step of the glorious march. The Italians, awakened by Sarah, watched the scene with more attention than they had ever given a dramatic spectacle, as in general they were in the habit of using the theatre for a meeting-place more than a place of amusement. “I also am here,” she said to her inmost soul. “T also.” And later the crowd took up the cry: ‘““She also is here! She also—and she belongs to us ! ” And they were proud—proud to know that in the not distant future they would have an actress in Italy who could hold her own with the great glory of France. From then on Eleonora Duse was continually in the limelight, and very soon after appeared in Rome. Count Primoli wrote in May, 1881, to Alexandre Dumas : , “Last evening I had the victory that I have long waited for. ‘The Princess of Bagdad’ has triumphed in every sense of the word. The play has been pre- sented frequently by mediocre actors for more than Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 43 a month with little success, until yesterday a young actress forced it upon a refractory public, and con- strained them to bow before your work, and to applaud with enthusiasm the most daring and risqué lines.” After going into details as to the acting, and com- paring the Duse with the Croizette, who first created the part of Lionnette, he closes the letter : “I can imagine what the beautiful Croizette must be in this réle, and I rejoice at the thought of applauding her next autumn. But despite the fact that in Paris you are used to perfection, for love of justice I wish that the name of Eleonora Duse reach you. The manner in which she interprets you, and makes one understand, renders her worthy of this honour.”’ To which Dumas replied: “ T had already received a letter from Rossi announc- ing the success of ‘ The Princess of Bagdad,’ but I mistrusted the chief comedian of an Italian company, the natural rival of another. Your letter proves that he told the truth, and I am veryhappy for it. I do not understand why the Romans should not understand a play of this sort, for people used to the Last Judg- ment can easily support certain tableaux. “ Despite the difficulty of the first performance of the ‘ Princess’ in Paris, the receipts for the following forty have amounted to 243,000 francs—in other words : 6,000 francs per performance. ... You will un- doubtedly see it in the autumn.—Yours, etc., ‘“ ALEXANDRE DUMAS.”’ And Cesare Rossi received the following : “DEAR Mr. Rossi,—With your letter I also re- ceived one from my young friend X, repeating the 44 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life announcement of your great success, and that of Mlle. Duse. Will you be my interpreter to this beautiful person, whose talent is ‘hors ligne,’ my friend says, and who in this réle has shown audacious splen- dour, which benefits her as well as the author ? “It is necessary to have artists such as she to make the public understand a work that is out of the ordinary. . . . I am more than astonished and gratified by the success at Rome. The Italian warmth seems to me to be a natural accompaniment for such a subject. You have put everything in its place, and I am very proud and grateful. . . . With this letter I am sending two brochures for you and Mlle. Duse. “ T hear that you are likely to come to Paris soon. I shall indeed be glad to clasp your hand, and, if you play, to applaud you. “Thanking you again, etc., ‘‘ ALEXANDRE DUMAS.” This letter was published in several daily papers, and was the means of the Duse’s entire consecration to Italy. At Turin, towards the end of 1881, after she had passed through a long period of cruel suffering, mental and physical, which for a time had kept her from the theatre, Cesare Rossi, confident that her nervousness was a result of recent emotions, seeing her undecided which way to turn, offered to keep her with him exclusively for the grande emotional rdles. Still suffering, she accepted, without believing that she could keep to her word, and signed the contract— as she herself put it—the way one signs a note that one is sure not to be able to meet, and knowing that, when it falls due, the only way to pay it will be to commit suicide. The old actor was not mistaken in his diagnosis. Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 45 Art called Eleonora Duse back to life; her greatness was again proclaimed. She became what she was without passing through the usually agreed conventionalities. A simple cry from the heart had made her, for she had done nothing more than study herself, transforming her own life into the réle she played. She knew that what was missing in the part she could replace by art and truth. She had no souvenir of what she had never been taught, but she remembered what she had suffered. Her talent was made of flesh and blood, nourished by the misery of childhood, and the trials of youth. With impenetrable reserve she kept her private life secret, only on the stage permitting herself the luxury of opening her heart, full to overflowing with tortured desires. To hear her cast reproach at her companion— husband, lover, father, as the case might be—was enough to know that she had been wounded to the quick, and that the words in the mouth of the heroine were merely an echo from her own heart—a lest motive of grief which chained the betrayal to the promise, the denouncement to the prologue. Pity, anger, vengeance, and most of all her pardon, were all sentiments worth listening to. Even in youth she had learned the greatness of pardon, which time was to mellow and make more beautiful. The inward torture continued. Success had brought the glory that is rarely known in youth, but it had brought also a realisation of her ignorance as a woman. Eleonora Duse had suffered physically all her life, known want, and all kinds of deprivation, from the day of her birth. She had loved, given her soul as well as her pure young body to the man of her heart —and death had cruelly taken him from her. She had been a mother, only to lose the child before her arms had even become accustomed to holding him... . : 46 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life Another baby had come to her, a girl, in lawful wedlock, but her wandering, uncertain life made it impossible to keep the child with her, so the loving arms were empty. . . . Her husband ?—he was her husband. To have a continual pain in one’s heart that made it possible to understand the suffering of others, and to be able to put that suffering over the footlights— was that enough to make a great actress? No! she answered to herself. One must have an inner life worth while, some fund to fall back on. The mind must be cultivated ; one must read and study the thoughts of others in order to have something to think about one’s self. From then on, about 1882, until the last days of her life the Duse gave all her free time to reading, and much of the money that might have been put aside for a rainy day was spent on books. If she saw a book in a shop window with an alluring cover, no matter in what language it was written, she would buy it, and not many years agoshe purchased a book | in Hindu, because there was a picture of Rabindranath Tagore on the first page, and the likeness of the Hindu poet seemed to her the symbol of faith and moral beauty. For a long time she kept it where she could contemplate it every minute. One of her very old actors recalls how at an early age he marvelled at her passion for reading, for many times on going into her room at an hotel he saw her flat on the floor, leaning on her elbows, a book before her, and many other books scattered about. On his entrance she would raise her eyes from the page before her, one finger marking the place, take off the rimmed glasses, and begin an animated dis- cussion of the book she had been reading. The continued unhoped-for success of ‘‘ The Princess of Bagdad ”’ gave the Duse the desire to try another Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 47 play by the same author, something that had perhaps already been forgotten in France. Three motives drew her to the play ‘ Claude’s Wife”: it had not been a success, the strangeness of it fascinated her, and the lovely French actress Desclée had created it. One day by mere chance she came across the pages consecrated so delightfully, and to the best of his great ability, by Alexandre Dumas to his interpreter. ... Little by little her sympathy went out to the poor Aimée, whom she had never seen, but whose character and talent, both as woman and artist, charmed her. 3 She had found the theatres in Turin, Florence and Naples still fresh with the success of the great unknown genius ; she had breathed the same air breathed by the Desclée; played on the same stage, and occupied the same dressing-room—and so it seemed that a bit of the soul of the one who was gone had mysteriously passed into hers. . . . Also the Duse, who even at that time could not be compared with any other actress because of her inimitable qualities, as well as incorrigible faults, liked the idea of being near the Desclée, with, as a French writer said, this difference : “The Desclée was essentially Parisian, and the Duse had a universal soul.” There he erred, for if ever a woman’s soul was exclusively Italian that woman was Eleonora Duse— only in Art was she universal. ; This particular sympathy for the memory of Desclée went even to the extreme point of her being flattered when she was accused at times of a nasal voice, as the first wife in “ Claude’s Wife’’ had been reproached for the same defect. . . . This adoration of the martyr brought eventual happiness to the Duse. “The dead,” she insisted, “help the living. My mother has always helped me, otherwise ’’—unutterable 48 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life sadness veiled the brightness of her eyes for a moment whenever she mentioned her mother—‘ other- wise,’ she would repeat softly, ““I wouldn’t be here to-day.” As soon as it became generally known that Eleonora Duse intended giving ‘“ Claude’s Wife,’ which no one had ventured to present after Desclée, a general murmur arose. Even those who had faith in her talent regretted her dissipating herself in a bad cause, but, persevering with her project, one by one she gathered the company together. . . . Count Primoli, who fre- quently assisted at the rehearsals, wrote : “Not only did Cesarine seem the embodiment of the amorous panther ’’ (as she was afterwards called), “but she was the help and inspiration of all the others, whose réles she explained and literally played... . Never have I so completely understood this strange complicated work.” “Tutte le battute sono foderate,’’ she said con- tinually. ‘‘ All the lines are lined, and to appreciate the play you must not look at the written words but at the words under them.”’ Cesarine as the part was written was perfidious, capricious, almost intolerable. Eleonora Duse’s ex- perience was limited; nevertheless she won. The triumph was rousing, memorable! Her Cesarine was no longer the violent female, unreasonable, perverse ; instead, there was something restless, ill, almost sweet, | that sought pardon and love. . . . She was frantically applauded ; her future assured. The poor little exile, with the great brown eyes the only light in the dun colour face, had truly become somebody, as her father and mother had so fondly Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 49 hoped. She to whom the soldiers had presented arms in a night had become the bird in a gilded cage to whom the public bowed, and later were to worship. . . . There would be no more poverty or wondering if she must go without a meal in order to have the money to buy a few flowers or a book— no more humiliations; instead, respect, consideration from fellow actors, admiration from the crowds— glory ! Sarah Bernhardt’s manager, Schurmann, who had accompanied her to Italy in 1881, saw Eleonora Duse at the Carignano, and was struck with her marvellous interpretation of the heroine in ‘ Claude’s Wife,” and at once offered her a series of representations in the great cities of Europe. The Duse looked at him with stupor and replied : / “Either you’re making’ fun of me, or you're singularly fooling yourself. I’m only a little Italian actress, and in a foreign country nobody would under- stand me. To force oneself on a public that does not know the language in which one speaks, one must have genius ; and I only have a little talent. Let me per- fect my art, which I love passionately, and don't try to distract me from the life that Ihave chosen. . . . Later, if I succeed, and have sufficient faith in myself, we can speak of the matter again.” Before going to London with the Cesare Rossi Company, practically starred, she was in Florence re- hearsing, and at that time conceived the idea of learning French. With the same fervour that she would have given to a new role, she dedicated herself to the study that, owing to lack of early instruction, was exceedingly difficult. Despite all that she had to overcome, in a very short time she had learned enough to follow the intellectual development of France, in the original. . . . She read, discussed, listened and learned. There D 50 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life was no book that came under her hand that she did not devour—but not yet satisfied with her knowledge, she devoted herself to patient study, until such time as she was able to get the full enchantment and beauty out of each literary work. To her credit it must be added that she attained a perfect command of the language, which she spoke without accent. French was the only language which she spoke outside of her own. Her readings, dating from 1880, included modern literature in every line—scientific, romantic, artistic ; above all artistic. The Pezzana retired from the Rossi Company, and Eleonora Duse remained the only leading woman. It was her desire, even longing, to battle with the public by giving plays that no other actress had eve rbeen able to render acceptable. Italy was already overflowing with posters relating to the Duse. She was seen on the walls, board fences, and every place that a sign could be hung: standing; sitting ; getting into a carriage ; biting the tip of her finger with a hand before her face to attract attention to her greatest beauty; in crinoline, in Japanese costume, the latest Parisian mode ; alone, in company ; at work, at play. Articles were being published in all the papers for and against her mode of acting ; questioning her private life, her way of dressing, doing her hair. Some called her a genius, others spoke of her as a poseur and said that her affectation was ruining dramatic art in Italy. ... he had few friends at that time, and many enemies, mostly in the profession. After the success of ‘‘ The Princess of Bagdad ” in Rome, and later “‘ Claude’s Wife,’’ Alexandre Dumas inserted a note in his theatrical works that is a testi- mony to the consideration in which the famous writer held the great Italian interpreter of his works. Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 51 On page 84 of the edition mentioned, which is the last scene of ‘‘ The Princess of Bagdad,” there is the following note, that is not to be found in the other editions : “ After having said to her husband, ‘ Iam innocent, I swear that lam, Iswearthat lam!’ Leonette, seeing that her husband is still incredulous, rises again, places her hand on her son’s head, and says a third time: ‘I swear that [am innocent!’ ... This noble action was not followed in Paris. Neither Mlle. Croizette nor I had found it; but it was irresistible. The mere line, no matter how potently read, could not have carried the same conviction. To the Duse, the admirable Italian actress, we owe this beautiful inspiration, which I have availed myself of for my revised edition, giving the merit and honour to her. ... 1 have to thank her also, and I am more than glad to do it publicly, for having by her influence and talent entered two of my plays—‘Claude’s Wife’ and ‘The Princess of Bagdad’—in the Italian repertoire.” Success, glory, fame were beginning to come to her. Her art in its originality was a veritable reve- lation. Other actresses, who for years had dominated the Italian stage, swaying, thrilling, often deceiving their audiences, were disarmed before this mere girl, this new arrival. The great capitals of Europe, Africa and the two Americas accepted the affirmation of her greatness. She was proclaimed unique, the one actress in the world who was real, who convinced without artifice. All this glory left the woman unchanged; for before her, in her mind’s eye, there was always some- thing unattainable, something that perhaps did not exist but must be sought for just the same... . The far-away summit, invisible to the naked eye, Wrapped in mystery and strange light, was her ~ 52 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life ultimate goal, the magnet that drew her on and on and on. “To be stationary in Art is to go back,” was her motto; and it was the woman in search of the un- attainable who forced the actress to continue always the interminable march. . . . The height that she had then reached was only the first step of that march. No star in the firmament ever rests—so in Art there could be no repose ; for the celebrity of to-day is not the one of yesterday, nor of to-morrow. There came a gradual change in her acting, a subtle transformation, due to the intellectual superiority, that may or may not have been temporarily detrimental to her. At the beginning of her success her expression was such as one generally sees in nervous disorders, and is known to physicians as the nervous face. The eyes were agitated by imperceptible nervous tremors; the colour changed from scarlet to pallor in a second; the nostrils and lips twitched continually; the teeth closed together violently, and all the facial muscles were constantly moving. The slight body moved with a serpentine grace of profound abandon, and synchronised perfectly with the actions and contortions of the arms, hands, fingers, chest and head.. Owing to this natural nervousness she was unrivalled in nervous, hysterical parts. At this particular time the annoyance, disrespect, hatred, fury, jealousy ; the simulation, dissimulation, objection, even death, aided in the artistic develop- ment of her temperament, much more than sweetness, tenderness, resignation, conviction, sincerity, or pain could have. And the public began to reprove her for possessing only one note, for knowing only one type, instead of praising her for giving them what she was adapted to. Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 53 She knew only one type! She, the woman of light and shade, of infinite caprices ; whose slightest gesture was worth more than ten lines spoken by any other actress before or after her; she of the beautiful hands—the hands that played continually a rare symphony of movement. ... Yes, she knew only one type: the woman who loved and suffered, the woman who divined the suffering of others and sympathised. . . . Quick in anger, and as quick to repent ; whose every sharp word was followed by two gentle ones; an idealist, a dreamer, a seeker after knowledge ; modest, retired, grand in thought and action, with a live brain that for sixty-five years was to know no repose from the eternal question Why ? —that was the woman a pitiful, stupidly ignorant public accused of being able to play only one kind of rdle. In Italy, where even the biggest and best-known companies do nothing but repertoire, and where no play has ever been of sufficient success to run over three weeks consecutively, and where generally the bill changed every night, there is little chance for an actor or actress who is not versatile. They must be able and willing to play one night a familiar part, and the following night a new one, and then only is there hope of success. Until 1883 Eleonora Duse toured with a moderate amount of success the big cities as well as the provincial towns in her own country, always much criticised for super-modern methods. If at that time her fame and reputation were not growing as they should have, her mind was. In every city and town that she visited she studied the museums, art galleries, libraries, went to concerts and even political conferences whenever time would permit. Nothing that could increase the culture of the woman was left undone. In those days it was not an unusual thing to see 54 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life the slight active littl woman, her young expressive face aglow with interest, enter almost timidly the noted art galleries of Venice, Florence, Rome, or Naples, a guide-book in her hand, which before starting out on the tour of inspection had been carefully read. She had not inherited her father’s talent or taste for painting, so it was merely her innate sense of the beautiful that led her to comprehend the conception, technique, and colouring of the works of the great masters. A writer on the subject of self-culture asserts that all this research had over-intensified her character, as a culture that had begun too late was bound to do. Is that possible ? Can study or culture ever come so late in life as to damage in any way the intellect ? When a woman has stopped growing physically, and her brain is still fresh, not yet having tried its strength, it would seem that then, if ever, it should be ready to absorb all impressions. Until she was a full-grown woman, Eleonora Duse had had few advantages and very little book-learning. The suffering of youth had opened the hitherto closed cells of the brain, showing her wherein she was lacking ; gave her the desire for superiority and the will to study. That will she retained intact until the last days of her life. . . . Yet it was the insatiable thirst for knowledge that was her lifelong torment. The earliest letters which remain as a proof of the depth of her intelligence and culture are those written in 1883-4-5, which unfortunately cannot be reproduced here as they are the property of an Italian writer ; but enough to say that all of them show a thorough knowledge and appreciation of her own language, and the ability to express herself in writing as well as in speaking. At the end of one of the above- mentioned letters she wrote : Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 55 \ “ Regarding myself—when I have arrived in the full sense of the word, and youth has passed, and to the successes hoped for, and obtained, I shall be able to put the word ‘ fine,’ I will willingly close my career, and take refuge in silence. And with the conviction of truth say that in Art—the thought and expression— I have put my entire soul.” Her absolute lack of vanity and conceit was well demonstrated by her unwillingness to autograph a photograph. When obliged to sign a picture she invariably wrote the name of the character she was representing. In 1884 she sent the following letter to a friend, accompanied by her photograph : “T sign this by the name which is not my own in private ife—that, as you know, I think very little of. The one I have written on the picture is that of a beloved woman, in a beloved part. Do you remember it? Lydia di Morance, in ‘ The Wedding Visit.’ A month ago to-day I played it in Milan. Time flies! Now that I have read what Dumas tells of the poor Desclée in that part ’’ (New Review), “* I feel unutterably sad, and even discouraged! Certainly I do not com- pare with the beloved and much lamented woman and actress, but I, a mere stupid-looking little woman, whose life is composed entirely of work, in that work I have perhaps cried with Lydia . . . speaking through Her ups... . Ah me! Art is never satisfying!” In 1885 she went with the Cesare Rossi Company for a long engagement in South America. An engage- ment which proved in more than one way to be a turn- ing point in herlife. . . . Flavio Ando, the handsomest actor on the Italian stage, was the leading man in the company. Though he had known Eleonora from the time she joined the Rossi Company until some 56 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life months before the departure for South America he had never thought seriously of her, generally having other and bigger fish to fry. But playing continually the stage lover, or husband, holding her evening after evening in his arms, feeling her heart beat close to his, awakened a normal desire in him to have her for himself, away from the wide-eyed public, far from the deafening applause. And she? She had already been married over four years to a man whom she had never loved with any degree of passion ; therefore it was not a question of love being dead, but merely that she was tired of him and his constant propaganda—his political questions, that had no place in Art. He was the father of her little daughter, and a buon diavolo, nothing more. She had always admired Ando as a wonderful specimen of manhood in its perfection : he was cultured, naturally refined, elegant, on and off the stage. Women everywhere ran after him, not a day passed that he did not receive innumerable billet-doux. And Eleonora Duse fell in love with the love that she had acted with him, enhanced by his physical beauty. During the long sea voyage to South America, Checchi, who for a long time had suspected that some- thing more than a mere friendship existed between his wife and Flavio Ando, began watching and spying on them, and finally one day, not being able to find her in their state-room, or any of the salons, or on deck, he went to Ando’s cabin. When the two were confronted neither of them tried in any way to deny the truth. The other members of the company knew of the relationship existing between the leading woman and the leading man, but, fearing there might be a duel, had done all possible to keep the affair from Checchi’s notice. Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 57 However, there was no duel, for before they landed an arrangement was made between the husband and wife. Just what that was no one ever knew further than his statement:that he had no intention of being made a fool of, and that since she preferred Ando to him she was free to do as she pleased, for he would not live with a woman who was unfaithful to him, even though she was the mother of his child. To which it is said that she replied that she loved Ando, and had never loved him, and she considered his leaving her as good riddance to bad rubbish, for she didn’t need him, nor his money, either for herself or their child. Ando, an inimitable actor, remained her lover for a reasonably long period, and her leading man for many years. In speaking of him only a short time before her death Eleonora Duse said : “T was young, and all the world knows how beauty attracts youth. I was even then a seeker after knowledge, but I was also a woman who loved love. He was a folly of youth! II était beau, mais il était bete ! ” Despite the family troubles which unnerved her for a time, it was in South America that Eleonora Duse began the conquest of world fame that was to accompany her to her grave. Checchi, owing to his contract, was obliged to remain with the Cesare Rossi Company until the tour in South America was finished; but when the company embarked for Italy he remained in Buenos Ayres. The theatrical business had brought him only disillusions, so he decided to retire from the stage. He eventually went into the Consular Service, and was Italian Consul in Argentine until his death in 1920. 58 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life At that time the Government offered Eleonora Duse a pension of three hundred and thirteen pesetos a year, the amount that is always allowed a consul’s widow. She refused the offer, for in order to have a pension from South America she would have had to live six months in Argentine. At Buenos Ayres every performance was more or less an ovation for the Duse. She was appreciated as never before, but even the great esteem that was shown for her work did not serve in any way to make her less conscious of her defects. During the illness of Diotti, a member of the company, she was forced to play in “ Fedora.”’ For five days she had helped to take care of the sick man, and going on that evening without him, hearing his part played by another, filled her very soul with pity and ‘anger. “Tt fills me with horror,’ she said bitterly, “ to think how easily the place that we have worked so hard for can be filled by another. . . . We are vastly important to ourselves, and of little consequence to the worid—enough that the drama goes on smoothly.” The first evening that she played without Diotti she felt weak and small, and it seemed to her as though her voice could not be heard beyond the stalls. . There was continual whispering in the boxes, and a sense of dissatisfaction all over the house. Her head, like her voice, refused to remain in its place. . . . The spectacle over, she changed in a fury, and still more in a fury went home. Closed in her room a profound sadness filled her being . . . emptiness enveloped her. The following day the papers were vague, men- tioning that, perhaps owing to the difficulty of the language, she had not been heard distinctly. . . . The attempt to excuse her weakness annoyed her more than frank condemnation would have done. The next performance was “‘ Denise.’”’ The theatre, | Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 59 apart from the critics, was practically empty. The simple “ Denise ’’ went better. The audience at least listened during the first and second acts, and in the third their tears mingled with hers. Coltin was substituted for Diotti in the part of Fernand ; and as she played opposite the actor, new to her in that part, she thought continually of the sick man—thought until her thoughts became a silent prayer of love and sacrifice. “Madonna,” she whispered during an interval, “grant me this one grace: save the poor man! Help us! Oh, do not desert us in our hour of need! Save him for his father and mother who are waiting at home for his return. ... Take away my art, if need be, in exchange for his life—only save him! ”’ Two days later Diotti passed away, and the bereaved company continued without him. From the suffering that she had known near the dying man, once more Eleonora Duse, out of the pain for another, found her supremacy. “ Fernanda ”’ was the first play given after Diotti’s funeral. Never before had she felt the strength of her will, nor realised that she could so intensely force herself on. With heart and soul she played to an intelligent climax and the greatest ovation that she had ever received. When the performance was over, all emotion finally calmed, she went alone to her hotel... . Sadly, solemnly, she thought in retrospect over the events of the past weeks. “ After all,’ she said aloud to the silence of the night, “life is not vulgar, as I thought—it is merely grave.” That was a conviction that never left her... . She had perfect comprehension of others, marvellous bursts of uncontrollable mirth, an unfailing sense of humour; with contradictory moods of incredulity, 60 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life depression and bitter torment; but over and above all humours, the individual responsibility, the gravity of life weighed. After the return from South America many diffi- culties confronted the Duse, and not the least of these was the payment of her husband’s debts, which with a nobility worthy of her she had assumed when she left him. A turning-point more dangerous than previous success had made her believe possible, a period of dis- content without visible reason, was before her, and growing continually. The problem of getting along materially, and the insistent question of paying for dead horses, kept her from going ahead as she should have. She had been away from Italy too long, for the fickle public in a sense had forgotten her greatness, and had to be conquered again. With Flavio Ando as leading man she played continually with sufficient success to assure herself that she was wanted in her own country, but not needed. » Something was wrong inside—she herself was not in order, for the ascension, which for a time had been rapid, was becoming slower and slower. As an actress she seemed to be waiting outside a closed door; the deepest mysteries of Art were those yet untried, and they were behind the door that she was patiently waiting to have opened for her. To the best of her ability she began preparing her- self to enter into the realm where the treasures that she sought were concealed. Her salvation as an actress was within herself, within the woman... . From then on she applied herself with assiduous application to what she considered the rawness of her culture... . In due time she became a magni- ficent example of auto-didactic. | FLAvIo ANDO. The Duse’s first leading man. ‘ Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 61 During this period of doubly active research for hidden treasures she studied untiringly the people about her, the most profound books obtainable, Church art—sedulously enriching her knowledge day by day. Of a prodigious sensibility, rich in natural talent, she gradually assimilated a vast patrimony of culture, which changed, ennobled, and sweetened the physi- ognomy. The bright tint of her skin paled delicately ; on the noble brow a new light appeared, the beautiful rebellious hair fell back from the forehead like wings ready to open, and over the left temple a white mesh appeared soft against the intense black. On the stage she was still the actress who could give life to the most inconsistent figures: where there was nothing, she created; the banal phrases spoken by others she made unforgettable. Several years passed, and she was still waiting to find her chemin de Damas. The messenger whom Fate was to send never seemed grand enough to decrease or increase the early glory. The Duse denied to the point of absurdity, even with ingratitude, the precocious past. She felt the need of being, wanted to be, renovated—renewed ; but was unfortunately without a guide in her research, without help to go beyond the closed door. The love that was waning was of no aid, and even the little daughter, whom she loved devotedly, she kept most of the time at a distance from her, for fear the stage might, even at that early age, call her. Maternal love, as well as love of woman for man, was insufficient to calm the restless spirit. oe In her aloofness she immersed herself completely in literature, detrimental to her at that particular _ period. Badly digested philosophy saturated the active mind, causing it to become a fountain of useless dreams. 62 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life The public had begun to show less desire for her; there was something monotonous in her acting; the critics did not try to hide the fact that they found her wandering from the immutable law of scenic truth. The net equivocally tightened. With the disdain for which she was well known, a disdain that was never used except to cover a wound too deep to show, she isolated herself in an impregnable silence which was a rebuff to the general sympathy of the theatre-going public. They in turn began to look upon her as pre- sumptuous, even ungrateful. ... Instead, she was merely fearful. And it was just at that time that she met the well- known dramatist, Giuseppe Giacosa, who became almost at once her friend and was in time to prevent the complete failure of her career. By his sane, intelli- gent advice she was saved from abandoning the stage. Had they not become friends Eleonora Duse would not have gone down in history as the greatest actress of the age. But in some other walk of life would she not have been great ? As Enif Robert, for many years a member of the Duse Company, has said truthfully: ‘‘ Eleonora Duse the woman was far grander than Eleonora Duse the actress—grand as the actress was. . Fate had destined her to be famous in whatever she did. What a queen she would have made—perhaps the greatest in all history!” Instead she was to keep on acting and acting, for with a man’s clear insight, and also vast experience of the caprices of the public, Giacosa came to her aid. By his intelligent interest and friendly advice she emerged from the difficulties surrounding her, stronger, — ereater, and fearless. From the sealing of her friendship with Giacosa dates the beginning of the absolute grandness of the Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 63 actress Eleonora Duse. The superior intellect was what she had needed and waited patiently for. This friendship lasted with only one interruption until Giacosa’s death, and was continued, one might say, with his son. | There had been a misunderstanding between Eleo- nora Duse and Giacosa which caused a break in the long friendship that had been gratifying on both sides. Knowing the benefit they were to each other, and that the rupture had already lasted too long, many mutual friends sought to bring about a reconciliation. Offended for a reason that she alone knew, she turned deaf ears to all appeals, until at length Giacosa’s brother, at the end of a long talk with the Duse, mentioned casually : ‘You know I have a brother called Giuseppe “Have you, indeed ?”’ the Duse interrupted him laughingly. And in that simple way, after innumer- able futile attempts, peace was made between the two famous friends. >) From the very simple, scantily-clad little girl, in the matter of dress she had become the woman of personal intuition. Even at the beginning of her success she showed a rare taste in the selection of her costumes. The originality of her head-dress in the first act of ‘‘ Claude’s Wife ” attracted much attention, so much so that to-day it is remembered—yet it was nothing more than a dull red silk scarf tied in a bizarre manner that gave a satanic appearance to the face. In the last act of the same play she was literally wrapped in serpent’s scales. ... In ‘“ Camelle” (La Dame aux Cameélias) in each of the five acts she wore a different costume, always on the white tone: snow, silver, ivory, gold, and yellowish old-gold ; the colours of the daisy. ... In the four acts of ‘‘ La Porta Chiusa’”’ the costumes were white; and so on all 64 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life through her repertoire: the colour was in harmony with the character. Off the stage, in private life, she dressed with simple elegance, and, when her first youth had passed, either in black or white. She felt the cold terribly, and generally until the hot weather wore a fur coat. Jewellery was not among her passions, though at one time she possessed some very beautiful stones— many of them presents from crowned heads—which she seldom wore, except to please her friends. She did not despise jewels, but, as she often said, she con- sidered them an unnecessary responsibility—for youth needs no adornment, and old age is ridiculous enough without calling attention to it by the useless wearing of jewels. e A very handsome string of pearls, a gift from the Spanish Court, was the one ornament that she cared for, and that is no doubt explained by the fact that she wore them during the reading of “ Francesca di Rimini,” the last play d’Annunzio wrote for her. The sale of the pearls, which financial losses necessitated during the War, was a real grief to her. One day Mme. Robert, in a new frock, and wearing a modest pendant, a present from her husband, went to call on the Duse. “ Robertina ’—La Signora, as she was called by the members of her company, spoke with more than usual sweetness—“ Robertina (her pet name for Enif Robert), you look very nice to-day.” Mme. Robert, then a young bride, blushed proudly. “Your frock is very pretty,” the Duse continued ; “your hat is becoming ; but you must not wear that” ——she touched the new pendant. ‘“‘ One should never wear jewellery on the street, or when travelling. For your pleasure may arouse envy in those who have no jewellery. . . . Very rich clothes and precious stones are for the privacy of one’s home, or private social Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 65 gatherings. . . . Don’t ever forget that, little woman.”’ Enif Robert never has. A short time before leaving for South America— to be exact, January 3rd, 1885—-Count Primoli read “ Denise,’ then Alexandre Dumas’ latest play, to Eleonora Duse. At the beginning of the reading she remained un- certain, and until the middle of the third act did not know whether to laugh or cry over the exquisite réle, the beauty of which seemed to escape her. With the confession, the part which decides the success of the play, she suddenly changed colour ; tears ran down her cheeks. At the details of the child’s death she got up impulsively, twisting her hand- kerchief nervously, and almost in shame over her emotion took refuge behind a_ screen, where she remained hidden until the reading was over. In a flash of the intuition that she has ever been noted for, she had understood the pure type of Denise who passes through the play chaste, proud, sweet, silent. Under the implacable mask the gnawing secret which finally gets away from her is foreseen. Denise during the play neither laughs nor cries; sometimes she sings in so sad a strain that, though her eyes remain dry, tears come to those who watch her. ... Lhis grand sweet vision must be like Vatican bashfulness, so that in a moment the mask can be thrown aside and the hidden secret revealed, the heart bared to the man she loves. . . . After the confession she re-enters within herself forever, and under the veil of wifely duty—happy or resigned, it matters little which—she returns to the shadows, and the silence)... . Perhaps “‘ Denise ’’ was the first play to so beautifully present good sense in the form of a young woman of penetrating charm... in which love, suffering, E 66 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life self-abandon, even death serve to ripen the charm. . . The heart from which hope had faded, about to rebloom under a new, more charitable love, a heart which dares not acknowledge the right to love, so closes within itself forever. The figure of Denise was the personification of Eleonora Duse. With natural enthusiasm she longed to create the part immediately, without even taking time to study it. She felt instinctively that she knew Denise, had already lived in her. The situation of a woman at the moment when she believes all her trials are over, and only happiness awaits her, and instead is confronted by death, had been the Duse’s dream of a proper dénouement. With the reading of Denise she found the realisation of her dream. . . . The knowledge that in a few days she could have the manuscript of the play was the greatest satisfaction to her pride that she had ever known. Confident of a new glory, she lived for five days with the vision of the play continually before her. She had been ill for some time and only kept up by her indomitable courage. On January 8th a sudden break came and the doctor’s verdict gave no further hope of saving her. She bid farewell to those who were near, and though unresigned to death, closed her eyes. By pure force of will she again opened them, afraid that if they closed it would be for the last times 6° 4 She did not want to die then, she wanted to live— to be Denise. As from a distance she heard the doctor’s discour- aged whisper; with a supreme effort she raised herself to a sitting posture, with a superb gesture pointed to the door, then fell back wearily, one overcome by the strength of her emotion. . Never had she held to life as she did that day .. . and she felt that life slipping, slipping from her. . Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 67 The crisis past, Count Primoli wrote to Alexandre Dumas : “Tf she ever gets up again I’m afraid they will force her to play—to play until she falls in her tracks. . In a few days she will be on the ‘ boards’ once more, if she is not between four boards, which is still possible. . She has asked me to give her Denise’s confession to keep her company as soon as she can hold her eyes open. ...I1 wish she would decide to go to the country for a week, in order to regain her strength and to study the new part . . . Also in the clear balmy air to find again her exquisite voice.” And they forced her to play—to play until almost forty years later she did drop in her tracks. The first qualification for an actress is a pleasant voice, a voice with light and shade, a voice that lives in one’s memory long after the lines of the play are ' forgotten. . . . Such was Eleonora Duse’s. Once heard, the indefinable something that made it different from any other voice in the world remained with the per- sistency of tender souvenirs in the reserved cells of the heart. It was not bronze, silver or gold: it was merely human, the bell of the soul, endlessly musical, and shadowed with infinite expression. In her youth the voice was thin, with little re- source ; short for the outcry, the low notes hard, not well placed, and slightly nasal, as it is said the great Desclée’s was also. As soon as she became conscious of vocal defects the Duse began a discipline that in a remarkably short time rendered her voice smooth, sweet and penetrating ; light as a bird’s singing; note after note of beauty coloured by hope, doubt, fear, love, exultation ; with the ability to plunge suddenly into deeper tones that 68 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life never failed to carry suffering upon their dark, slow wings. Count Primoli still recalls the tone with which the Duse pronounced Cesarine’s famous tirade in “Claude’s Wife’’: ‘ Are you sure that the children which we conceive in sin, and in mystery bring into the world, are truly our children ?” Eleonora Duse would never admit that a mother, no matter who she was, could deny motherhood ; and in reading the above lines she even had trouble in making the words pass her lips where the kisses that she could never give to her dead baby were dried forever. So great was the interior force put into the reading that she generally produced a stuttering effect, like the far-off ringing of a death-knell. One evening Prince Napoleon was in a stage-box at a certain moment when Cesarine had despaired of ever winning back her husband; infuriated, the Duse gave one piercing scream that ended on a low, dark, mysteriously sweet note. . . . A vision passed before the Prince’s eyes ; a vague memory perhaps stirred his heart, a name long forgotten came to his lips: “Rachel ! ”’ | Angelo Conti, one of the greatest Italian phil- osophers, passing one evening in a gondola through a small canal that cuts into the Guidecca, in company with Sem Benelli, called the poet’s attention to an old, seemingly abandoned house. “ At this very spot, many years ago, on an evening similar to this one, I truly heard for the first time the grandness of Eleonora Duse’s art.” ““ She played here ? ’’ Sem Benelli asked, astonished. “A fragment of Shakespeare ? ”’ “No, Eleonora merely spoke. She raised her voice in praise of the spectacle before her. Her thoughts and words were as marvellously beautiful as the sur- roundings. . . . And her voice, falling on the stillness of Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 69 the evening, was the most harmonious sound I have ever heard. “The Duse is such a spontaneous artist, so well consecrated, that in no place could her art seem so beautiful as before the pureness of Nature. If those who admire her had heard the voice as I did, hearing it on the stage they would again find in her all the wonder of our surroundings, all the mystery of Venice.”’ Alfred Kerr tells how Mr. Arthur Collins, at one time manager of the Drury Lane Theatre, spoke of Eleonora Duse : ‘ She did a lot for me ’’—Mr. Collins is said to have blushed vividly. “I was a silly young ass in those days, and a bit too roughly sure of myself. ... By the enchantment of her voice she brought me to my senses . . . made me better—a man.” By the enchantment of her voice—or was it the soul behind it that cast itself before, lighting the dark places, making others better for its being ? In the next few years many thousands will come forward to proclaim the wonder of her nature, the purity of the soul that knew no rest. Thousands, nay, millions, no doubt there are, whose sufferings were lessened by her consoling words ; thousands the world over who so long as life lasts must ever keep the sacred memory of the gentle thrush-like voice. ... And blessed indeed are those who have known the touch of the divinely beautiful hands, the hands so delicately feminine, restless, tender, healing. During the long period of waiting and research the Duse Company was not even paying expenses, and, owing to the poor business, contracts with good theatres were difficult to get. Playing to empty houses had a depressing effect on the spirit of all the actors; discontent was in the air. The Duse was distracted, absorbed in dreams—from the uselessness of which 70 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life Giacosa was eventually able to awaken her... . While in a state of intense feverish work a new element of inspiration came into her life, a spirit mentally so superior as to lift her completely out of the lethargic condition into which she had fallen to a state of exultation that knew no end. Arrigo Boito, from the very beginning of his friend- ship with Eleonora Duse, constituted himself her intel- lectual and spiritual adviser. ... She wanted to know everything, and like a miser became jealous of the treasures she was storing away in her mind. That the field awaiting this cultivation was fertile is shown by a letter written in 1886 to an intimate friend, from Varazza, where she had gone with her little girl for a rest after an illness: “ Here I am writing with one hand, and with the other giving toys to a lovely little girl whose mother I am only for certain hours—the balance of the day I | do all in my power to be a child. . . . I have hidden myself away in a tiny, tiny house—a mere red shack with green shutters—fronting the grand, inexplicable sea. . . . Day comes—evening follows—and then again the day—after that evening. . . . It’s alla little wheel turning under the all-powerfu@regulating sun . . . the sun which never changes its place—and neither do I. “There are grasshoppers in plenty—a_ beautiful grape-vine peeping in at my window—lame dolls— horses without saddles or reins—healthy food—no pianos, no wordly music—a little, barefooted, white- bearded monk comes each day to beg—and that is all except peace for the soul, a heartfelt smile for you, my baby girl, and a sense of perfect well-being for the body that had begun to be moth-eaten at the roots.”’ Boito as a musician was greater at the time that RRIGO BoIToO A 70. Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 71 they met than the Duse as an actress. He was a man with unlimited experience, rich in knowledge of the fine arts, cultured, and a gentleman born. He not only offered her of his superior intellectual gifts, but he aided and upheld her in every branch of research and study. The vast artistic temperaments of these two grand characters were united spontaneously in a rhythmic harmony that brought an immediate and everlasting benefit to the most malleable of feminine souls. From the time of Flavio Ando, Eleonora Duse never found any interest in a man for other than his intelli- gence, and though after Boito another great love was to come—a love that brought the most intense suffering, above all to her pride—the greatness and appreciation of Boito was to remain the most vital memory of her life. Never after the famous musician did Eleonora Duse find so perfect an equilibrium of active force, never again did she have the fortune to find a more precious inspiration ; and no other man was ever a more valid spiritual support, a firmer guide. Her personality became purified under the influence of this friendship, a friendship which ripened into the most idealistic love. The closed door opened before her ; from the thres- hold she gazed into the enchanted palace of her dreams, saw herself crystalline. The prince in the fairy tale had changed the waiting Cinderella into a veritable princess, giving her profundity of expression, faith in herself, consciousness of her true worth. Many strong influential friends and other loves were to come into Eleonora Duse’s life; the world was to hear of her suffering caused by man’s unfaith- fulness, to malign her because she was great; but only those who were near, or in her confidence, ever knew that the one real sincere love, the grand passion 72 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life of her life, was the musician of world-wide fame. Arrigo Boito was the man who showed her the clear, open road, who awakened the divinity of her soul, and taught her that the work she was doing was the fulfilment of the mission for which she was sent: the man whose true worth was not to be proclaimed until after his death ; whose “ Nerone,” given at the Scala in Milan during the month of May, 1924, was to be the greatest musical event in many years. Arrigo Boito brought light to the personality of Eleonora Duse the woman, just as his great love and faith in her put her on the dramatic pedestal, where she remained for over thirty years. When the glimmer had died down, and the love was practically burned out, they returned to the still fragrant friendship. Destiny sent them on different ways, far apart: to the conquest of new glories for her, and to renewed work for him—each taking on the journey a tender, vital memory locked away forever in the heart’s most secret chamber. Only a few years ago, while she was at the Hotel Cavour in Milan, the life, rich in experience and palpi- tating memories, came to a close. Eleonora Duse had been advised of Arrigo Boito’s illness, yet the news of his death completely prostrated her. Theirs had been a mystic love, untarnished by wordly ambitions or vulgar notoriety, and in the seclusion of an hotel apartment, alone, she mourned him. For three days and nights she neither ate nor slept, apparently unconscious of those who served her ; she moved mutely about the silent room; and the nights were passed in a big armchair before the wide- open window, where she sat staring fixedly towards the impenetrable sky—her soul evidently lost to all earthly surroundings, seeking peace in the mystic communion. It seems strange that a woman continually in the Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 73 public eye had been able to hide her real sentiments from the world; but was it not due perhaps to the exquisite reticence of the man whose desire was to be the power behind the throne rather than the blatant herald of her mundane greatness ? For the man who writes of his love-affairs, even though they be with famous women, is trespassing on the privacy that is not his own, or even that of the world. Eleonora Duse was jealous of her private life, which she felt belonged to her; and the man who protected her woman’s name was the man_ she remembered until the end. In Jerome K. Jerome’s wonderfully symbolical book “ The Passing of the Third Floor Back,’’ immor- talised by the magnificent English actor, Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson, the character of the Third Floor Back was the Christ of to-day, who lives unobserved in our midst. . . . Eleonora Duse, who lived among the jealous, gossiping, evil-minded, immoral world of the theatre, was the white rose in the field of poppies . . . a woman so thoroughly human as to be super- human, a woman of intense passions, divinely simple —a perfect example of the Golden Rule. And it was that divine trait in her character that accounts for her interest in young, or unknown, playwrights, many of whom owe their position, their success, to her. Never able to forget her own early struggles, she was quick to offer the help that she herself had been denied. No manuscript sent to her was ever returned unread, and many times she collaborated practically in the re-writing of a play that to her seemed worthy of presentation. In 1890, Marco Praga, then slightly known, wrote _ “La Moglie Ideale ”’ (‘‘ The Ideal Wife ’’), with the secret ambition of having the Duse play it. She was doing a short season in Turin. Praga 74 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life full of hope, left Milan with the cherished manuscript. Through the intervention of her leading man and owing to her predilection for young writers, she consented to Praga’s reading the play to her. In the august presence of “‘ La Divina,” the young author was nervous and read the three acts through scarcely taking the necessary breathing-space. “T like the play ’’—Eleonora Duse smiled kindly, amused by the man’s nervousness, and interested in the play—‘‘ but I must hear it once more before being able to give you a valuable opinion. Come to me again in a couple of days, and I will tell you precisely what I think of your work.” The first reading had evidently been sufficiently satisfactory. The scrupulous attention with which the Duse had followed the play, the interest shown in her expressive face, and the demand for a second reading convinced Praga that his day as a playwright was about to dawn. Two days later, slightly Sales he awaited the sentence to be pronounced on “ La Moglie Ideale.”’ After praising the young writer, who, according to American critics would never have been anything if it had not been for her, the Duse said impulsively : “You must rewrite the third act. I feel the play with a third act so—so-—and so And in minute detail, scene by scene, she reconstructed the act as her sensibility told her it should be. As she talked Marco Praga’s eyes brightened with satisfaction, joy and assurance. The master hand was there to guide him, and he could not fail. When she had finished talking he bounded to his feet. “Yes, yes! you’re right, signora! Of course you know more about it than I do, and naturally have the correct idea! I’ll change it exactly as you suggest ! How—how can I ever thank you! ”’ Marco Praga never arrived at any greatness, but Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 75 Eleonora Duse’s friendship for him was certainly the means of making him known as a playwright. He is a charming man, and was a loyal friend, and worthy of the high honour which has come to him through her —but more of that later. 7 It was the dinner hour when Praga reached his hotel. Without even thinking of food he hurried directly to his room, and in a frenzy began to write. . . . Day was creeping in at the tightly-closed windows when the third act of ‘‘ La Moglie Ideale ”’ was finished. The Duse gave an unusual amount of affection to the interpretation of that play, which turned out to be a most significant success for her, as well as the Italian theatre of that time. Marco Praga during the rehearsals of “‘ La Moglie Ideale ” became an intimate friend of the Duse; perhaps preferring the constancy of friendship to the dis- illusions of love, he remained her simple friend until the last. Knowing her as he did, he tells many fas- cinating anecdotes of the private Eleonora. Once at Trieste he found her alone in the hotel, at her dinner hour. She was sitting on the floor of her salon, her back against the wall. A tea-tray was on her knees, and great tears were dropping on to her plate. “ What in the world is the matter ? ’’ Praga asked anxiously. ‘‘ Has something gone terribly wrong ? ”’ He pictured all kinds of horrors, and was preparing himself to cry with her. “No, nothing’s the matter,’’ she smiled radiantly through therain. ‘‘ I just remembered about Odette !”’ “ What?” “ T’m doing Odette this evening, and you know that if I don’t unburden myself a bit, during the fourth act I shall cry too much—and I’m afraid the audience might make fun of me. . . . Odette is a professional weeper, but—I must not ride a good horse to death! 76 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life The fourth act has always bothered me! For if I haven’t the time to cry beforehand I can’t play it!” In 1890 she was gay, full of the joy of living; the past, to all outward appearances, forgotten. The future yet untried was only waiting to augment her glory— not from a worldly point of view, for the fame and ovations were never her real life, they were merely the means to the end. Glory brought her money ; money enabled her to increase the importance of her productions, and the value of her work—work in turn permitted her to put aside enough for her to retire to the quiet that in her heart she longed for. The oldest flower-vendors at the foot of the Spanish Stairs, Piazza di Spagna, Rome, recall the “ grand little lady,’’ always dressed in white, who often came as early as eight o’clock in the morning, while they were still unpacking their wares, to buy violets... . How gaily she laughed over their respectful pleasantries, her eyes flashing, the beautiful white teeth sparkling in the bright morning sun. Like a schoolgirl she would run up the wide stone steps; at the top pause to gaze over the only half- awakened city; then dash down again, a faithful friend in her wake, or more often alone. . . . In the. Piazza she would also stop to gossip again, sometimes with an old cabby, or a couple of ragged children, it mattered not who —the kind word and smile were for those who needed them, a tiny ray of her own privi- leged sunshine for all who lived in darkness. . . . Her pain and suffering, like the poor, she had with her always ; but that was for the silence and the solitude. Her joy was for the world... . And blessed indeed are those who heard the Duse laugh. It was a soft trill in which there was the freshness of the Spring that she had never known. It gave one the desire to be gay; irresistibly communicated a sense of flowers and perfume to the air. Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 77 But frequently in between the laughter there was the faint delicate echo of a sob, for, though she would never say so, she was passing through a period of material disillusion; adding torment to torment. . . . At that time the dream of the theatre at Albano was born. The dream that, despite the influential persons who became interested in it, was unfortunately never to become a reality. Continually endeavouring to enrich her already vast repertoire, vociferously acclaimed in every city, adding triumph to triumph, glory upon glory, Eleo- nora Duse finally arrived at the pinnacle of her success. The world was ready to proclaim her greatness—the world wanted her. . . . Vienna, Berlin, Moscow, Petro- grad, London and New York—even Paris called. Big managers wrote offering her engagements every- where ; and Schurmann, the French manager who had seen her when he was in Italy with the Bernhardt, came again to offer a tour of the great European capitals... . The little Italian with only a bit of talent, as she had spoken of herself, had become the great tragedienne, and was being implored to listen to the plea of a foreign manager; to heed the voices of the world outside the confines of her own beautiful, beloved country ; the voices that were calling, and calling for her... . 78 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life PART II The Triumph at Vienna, 1892—Other European Triumphs—Berlin —London— New York— Meeting with d’Annunzio— The Woman in Her Rare Moments of Ease—The d’Annunzio Propa- ganda—Other Successes Abroad—Paris—Life and Work Until the Closing at Vienna, February, 1909. “SHE is always different, like a cloud that from second to second seems to change before your very eyes without your seeing the change. Every move- ment of her body destroys a harmony, and creates another more beautiful. You beg her to sit down, to remain motionless, and over and above the immo- bility a torrent of obscure force passes as thoughts pass from the eyes. .. . Do you understand? The expression is the life of the eyes, this indefinable some- thing more potent than any word or sound ; infinitely profound, yet instantaneous as a flash of lightning, even more rapid than lghtning—innumerable, all- powerful : summed up—the expression. Now imagine this expression diffused through her body. Do you understand ? A movement of the eyelids—the face is transfigured and expresses immense joy and pain to you. The eyelashes of the beloved being are lowered, shadows surround you as a river surrounds an island; the eyelashes are raised, the heat of summer burns the world. A new movement of the eyelids, your soul dissolves into a drop: again you believe yourself King of the Universe. . . . Imagine her body enveloped Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 79 in this mystery! Imagine every part of her, from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet, an appari- tion of fulmineous life. . . . Could you sculpture the expression! ... The ancients made their statues sightless. . . . Now imagine, all of her body is like the expression. .. . ‘GABRIELE D’ANNUNZIO.”’ In 1892, the year of the International Theatre and Art Exhibition at Vienna, on an improvised stage of exceptional elegance, dramatic and lyric companies from every country and in every language alternated. . . . Lhe Comédie Frangaise, The Hungarian National Theatre, The Praga Opera. Czeca, The Compagnia Goldoniana,under the management of Giacinto Gallina ; and last, but not least, an admirable company of the Stagione d’Opera Italiana, presented by Sozogno, who offered to the vastly interested public the best musical works of the then Young Italy. Italy had the honour of figuring most brilliantly at the memorable Exhibition ; but despite the triumphs of Mascagni and Benini, who carried away the “‘ Palm ”’ for Italy, despite the fact that the opera was well attended, the gigantic expenses of the season exceeded the receipts, and the Exhibition closed with a deficit. Among the many who ardently desired to take part in the International events, there was an Italian actress, already celebrated in her own country, in Russia, Spain, and South America, but unknown in Germany, and, unfortunately, unheard of to the Exhibition committee, who, in that case, were unequal to the grave responsibility imposed upon them. Eleonora Duse gently knocked on the door, and was immediately refused admittance. Conscious of her personal worth and strength, she retained her courage and insisted upon entering. On February 2oth, a short time before the opening 80 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life of the Exhibition, the Duse, well supported by Flavio Ando, and other excellent actors, opened at the Carltheatre in the ‘‘ Signora dalle Camélie”’ (“‘ Camille’). The few people who were fortunate enough to be at that performance remembered the evening ever after... . The theatre was scarcely half filled, for the innumerable idolators that Eleonora Duse eventu- ally had in Vienna at that time did not even know her name. It seems impossible to believe that an actress already famous in more than one country could be unheard of in one of the greatest centres of European culture, in a city where theatrical history was never parva pars. Nor did the Duse—who was always against unnecessary publicity, other than the echo that emanated from her art—think of having the public prepared for her coming. She was frankly discouraged when she saw the empty house, but more than ever determined to. conquer the city that she had come to—more to gratify her manager than for her own pleasure. After the first act there was a moderate amount of applause. The new way of hearing lines read, the woman who moved as no other actress until then had ever moved on any stage, left the audience coldly stupefied. During the second act, after the scene of the recon- ciliation with Armand, which the Duse never failed to interpret with sublime affection, stupefaction changed to admiration, and the applause became warmly unanimous. From the third act until the end of the drama, after the big scenes, especially those with Duval—the meeting with Armand at the ball, and Marguerite’s death—the enthusiasm of the audience increased, until at the final curtain it was nothing short of an ovation. The harmony of her talent, it has been said, lay Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 81 perhaps in the contrasts. . . . One heard the melody and the accompaniment singing in her at the same time. She had the art of saying one thing, and letting the public understand that she was thinking another. . . . she excelled from the beginning until the end in representing the dual personality, in marvellously complicated shades. One account of her ‘‘ Camille ”’ shows the difference between her rendering of Marguerite Gautier, and that of the other great actresses, and explains the success of February 20th, 1892, before a stolid, German-speaking audience, to whom the musical Italian language must indeed have sounded strangely unreal. “ The Duse plays the drama with her temperament. | The only reproach that some might make is that her Marguerite is not a Parisian courtesan, but merely a simple woman in love. What she loses in local value she gains a hundredfold in universal human value. . . . Marguerite is in reality at the beginning of the drama a light, careless woman who does not love ; life means nothing to her—she burns the candle at both ends, speaks rapidly, without giving thought to her words. ... But the moment that Armand’s voice has touched her heart, all is changed: she speaks slowly, a new existence has opened for her— she lives, and longs to know the joy of loving, and of being loved. . . . And when at lengthshe gives the flower to Armand, in the very delicacy of the offering Marguerite gives him her heart as well. “In the second act, when she reads under the lamp the letter from Armand, with the old Count looking on, her face does not express the slightest emotion, but an almost imperceptible trembling of the knee reveals the agony that she is passing through, the devastated state of her soul. “When she leaves Armand Duval, whom she never expects to see again, instead of the conventional kiss F 82 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life on the brow (which was what the other actresses had given before her) she kissed him on the lips, leaving her great love there, stronger than all that must come between them. . . . Sure that the regret of her caresses is still fresh—and will remain so—she goes to find Count de Varville again. “ The fifth act, in which Armand returns, is a poem of truth. No one could ever fully appreciate the wonder of her acting unless they had seen her when she takes the precious letter from under the pillow where, like a sick person who passes her life in bed, she keeps it; half lying, her head on the pillow, she begins reading aloud; her hand from time to time drops from weakness ; then, like a school-girl, she recites the letter that, having read and re-read, she knows by heart. ‘Without adding a word to the original text, or in any way changing the author’s idea, she gains a telling effect, by the Shakespearian vision so subtly introduced. . . . When she plans the trip with Armand, she stops abruptly: the horrible vision of death suddenly comes between them; its reflection is in her frightened expression and terrified attitude. — ... She sees the Grim Monster come out from behind the bed-curtains, she sees him slipping stealthily close to the wall—she follows, him with horrified eyes, accompanies him to the door, and not until she believes that he has passed the threshold does she resume their interrupted project. . . . She has begun to have hope again, when without warning she falls back on the pillows. . . . Flat on her back, she seems to be trying once more to grasp the happiness within her reach, to be holding on to life—with her arm about her newly-made husband’s neck. Then by a simple gesture, a slight movement of the frail, beautiful hand falling on the coverlet, does one know that death has truly come.”’ soos PAN EOD SU Tea Se Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 83 For the second performance at Vienna, on the evening of February 23rd, the house was entirely sold out. From the magnanimous suffering of Marguerite Gautier to the feline bursts of Fedora she passed with the perfection that established her forever among the elite Viennese theatre-goers ; and the death scene, which she rendered in an entirely original manner, brought the vast audience, as one person, to its feet in a prolonged “ Bravo!” A critic wrote : ‘““When she begins to feel the effect of the poison she accelerates her speech, like a person who has much to say and only a short time to say it; then, somewhat like a bull in the ring who drops from the death-blow, she falls on her knees before her lover, the outstretched arms already stiff, as though in dying she were pleading for pardon.” — For the third evening, Ibsen’s ‘“‘ The Doll’s House,” the theatre, even to the standing room, was sold out several hours before the performance. . . . In those long-ago days it is said that Eleonora Duse had a special repugnance for Ibsen, and that she considered him as a “ vain agitator of shadows,’’ and that she gave “‘ The Doll’s House’ very much against her will in order to satisfy her insistent annoying counsellors. ... The morning after the first performance of ‘‘ The Doll’s House” in Milan, in 1890, despite her personal success, as well as that of the play, she is supposed to have been very indignant over the fact that, owing to the sudden illness of Flavio Ando, her leading man, an understudy would have to go on that evening— making a rehearsal necessary of “‘ quell ’orrible mattone norvegese ”’ (that horrible mad Norwegian). To me it seems incredible that the grand Duse, who appreciated so fully the greatness of Ibsen, could ever, even at thirty, have spoken disparagingly of an author whose work she revered at fifty, not as a 84 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life momentary caprice, as so often happened with her, but much as one reverences something holy. Her rebellious Nora, so diverse from the other two characters, added another laurel to the generous wreath that Vienna had crowned her with. . . . The fourth, and last of the engagement, was a repetition of “ Camille.” | | The same year she played two other short seasons at Vienna, giving twenty-eight performances in all, with unheard-of receipts, considering that the greater part of the audience understood very little Italian. During her second season in Vienna, May and June, 1892, she presented ‘‘ Odette” for the first time in that city. As Mme. Réjane, the superb lamented French actress (to many French people superior to the great Sarah), whose vital and modern talent is said to have been the nearest approach to that of the Duse, stated, in “ Odette,’ when the Count comes to ask her consent to their daughter’s marriage—the daughter who had been taken away when she was small— the Duse gave a bit of acting that had never been equalled on any stage. In reply to the Count’s demand : | “A daughter? Have Ia daughter ? I she said it with a dryness that was intended to hide the profound suffering. ‘“‘ Perhaps I have had a daughter, but she has been dead a long, long time!” . . . The icy words passed the maternal lips with difficulty, and then they closed, softly sending a kiss into space. ... When the father consents to her seeing the daughter again on certain conditions, which he enu- merates, she no longer listens, permitting him to give his reasons, accepting all; enough that she is to see her child. . . . She becomes transfigured, she radiates joy. ‘‘ Bérengére!”’ she is going to find Bérengére once more—what does the rest matter! She murmurs Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 85 the beloved name twenty times in succession, smiling, eyes misty, tears in her voice. On the immobile face one follows Bérengére’s entire existence—sees the baby at her breast, in her arms, on her lap; she rocks her, jumps her up and down; she laughs and cries with the child. Then suddenly: “ Bérengére ! ”’ a long-drawn broken sigh—the heartrending lament of the first act returns to one—the mother whose child has been rudely torn from her. Then, after along pause, the void—“ Bérengére !’’ a vague whisper. Where is she, what is she now? And then “ Béren- gere ! ’’ pronounced with admiration as the apparition comes before her of a tall, beautiful young girl. Then the passionate cry—at last her turn has come: “ Béren- gére!°’ And her husband has finished the listing of his conditions, without her having heard a word. In a blissful dream, with eyes half closed, she murmurs once more: “ Bérengére ! ”’ In September, 1892, the world-famous Tomasso Salvini said, in speaking of the Duse’s triumphs at Vienna: “The only thing that she has to lean on, and that in a way accounts for her unprecented successes in a scant repertoire, is an exaggerated bundle of nerves ; for the Duse does not possess even the first principle of Art, but her marvellous character makes her express well what to others would necessitate a profound study. “‘Inexpressing the passions of a neurasthenic woman no actress can surpass her. It is a pity that her external qualities, especially the short range of voice, oblige her to keep to a limited repertoire.” That was in 1892, when her foreign successes were still moderately limited, as was her repertoire. .. . Salvini was grand in his time, but he was of the old ranting school, as is his son, Gustavo, and to a slight 86 Eleonora Duse: : The Story of Her Life degree his grandson, Sandro, while she was, and remained so to the end, of a unique school—her own. In order to get properly into a part she always prepared her réle alone, in concentrated solitude, instead of constantly rehearsing on the stage with the other actors. She took the personage into her innermost being, giving herself a continual and intense work. She studied the character, sounded, and re- made it a thousand times, assimilating it so well that afterwards she only had to return to her fancy to produce the complete living illusion. . . . And of every play she had at least ten copies, one of them always near at hand, where even in the midst of a conversa- tion she could, if it came to her, jot down a new idea that later would help in the perfection of the interpre- tation. Thus all her manuscripts were marked and remarked with minute suggestions for the other parts, as well as her own. She gave herself heart and soul to a creation, the” remarkable intelligence the fuel that supplied the grand furnace from which the communicative flame spread over the entire theatre in vast magnetic waves. . A personage created by Eleonora Duse became the word made. flesh. And never, from Juliet to Bianca Querceta, in “ ‘La Porta Chiusa,” her last performance, did she act a part: she lived it. On more than one occasion a theatre with every seat sold remained dark, because she was not in the frame of mind to enter into the character of the play billed for that evening—and she refused to cheat the public by merely acting. Certainly the stage has never known a more con- | scientious actress, nor a woman who so sacrificed herself or gave so freely of her divine gifts to the world; for to me, as I think to all who knew her personally, in Eleonora Duse the actress—as well as the woman— there was an indefinable something that was not quite Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 87 of this world, that put her above all human beings, kept her apart, even when she herself might have desired human nearness. . . . The world stood ever in awe of her, afraid to offer love lest it be unworthy of her acceptance, and perhaps for that very reverence in which she was held she was often misunderstood— she who longed so intensely to understand, whose noble words and thoughts brightened many, many lives, tortured herself continually because of her inability to know all things and people. To excel in the art of acting it is undoubtedly a help to descend, as the Duse did, from actors; for in them there is the innate gift of creation, so that the author only has to supply the canvas for the actor’s finishing-touch. Eleonora Duse’s most striking successes were in plays where the character was little more than indi- cated, and never subordinate to conventional acting. ’ . .. The theme rarely bothered her: enough that the play had life; the obstacles to be overcome merely served to redouble her powers, for she cancelled the defects instead of underlining them as another actress less talented might have done, and by the force of her will carried the play to fame. One could never accuse her of having a system, for, as I mentioned before, she did not belong to any other than her own school. She was individual, she imitated no one, and it would have been difficult to fice er... Almost all theatrical stars, especially in Italy, in order to receive the greatest applause, endeavour to make their entrance during an expectant pause ; on the contrary, the Duse did all that was possible to appear on the stage unobtrusively. She was always contented to be unobserved, or when recognised to hear, ‘Is that it!” in a disappointed tone, for when she spoke, or made a simple gesture or slight movement, 88 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life | the “‘it’’ became instantly someone, and in turn the someone everything, until nothing else on the stage or in the theatre existed. The fascination which she exercised was due in part to the mobility of her physiognomy, which gave the spectator a varied and continually renewed spectacle. Seeing her play the same part several times, it was interesting to note certain changes in the gestures, intonations ; exterior signs of a deeper modification : in other words, she did not limit herself to keeping the personality to the original conception—a mere shade of difference called forth by certain vibrations due to the mood, or reflection, of the soul’s colour. This, one might say, exaggerated temperament had a certain influence on the public, for one could never be sure, especially during the early years of her career, of seeing her on a good evening; and that uncertainty for a time, particularly in Italy, was the cause of the poor business done by the Duse Company. . Later she had more control of her nerves, and less irregularity was noted; but she never reached the insensibility that Diderot always wished the actress might have. Even Madame Bartel, who seemed to have found a perfection where nervousness had no further influence, said: “ The quality of emotion put into a réle varies each day, for so much depends upon my mental and physical condition. Nothing is more intolerable than not to feel anything of the part. That happens to me rarely, but each time that it does I suffer a certain humiliation, almost a personal degradation.” “ She is perfectly right ! ’’ the Duse exclaimed when she received this confidence. ‘There are times when there is nothing more humiliating in life than the absolute knowledge of being inferior to one’s reputation. ’’ Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 80 It is said also that the great Ellen Terry, despite her exquisite reserve, her chaste tenderness, gentle grace and impeccable taste, admitted more than once that she was not sufficiently mistress of herself to entirely dominate her acting. . . . Why then should one be surprised that Eleonora Duse, with her Southern temperament, suffered from the light and shade of moods ? A constant series of triumphs such as the Duse’s in Vienna and Berlin—Eugene Zabel, one of the best German critics, wrote in 1893—perhaps no other actress had ever had. In the musical world it was not unusual for the public to acclaim a foreign celebrity, but for the drama it was unheard of. . . . So great was her success that the critics were at a loss to find words of sufficient praise, and, being unable to find defects in her acting, some of them went so far as to state modestly that they would like to study her scnool... . . Of all the foreign cities visited by the Duse Vienna was her preference, because, as she herself stated, without any advance notice she was immediately understood, and in Vienna she had her first great success outside her own country. ... From 1892 to 1909 she played there sixteen times, giving in all 100 performances. On the evening of December 4th, 1894, a few minutes before going on in “ The Parent’s House,’ Eleonora Duse wrote the following letter to Sudermann : “Your Magda has worked for ten years. She who writes has worked for twenty. “The difference is tremendous, if one calculates that it is the question of a woman, and of a woman who, contrary to Magda, counts the days that must pass before she can leave the theatre. 90 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life “Magda had seventeen years at home. She who writes has never had a home. At fourteen they put her in long dresses, and they said: ‘ You must act.’ “There is a slight difference between the two women ! “However, Magda belongs to you, as she is your creation ; the other lives and goes her way like all the rest of the world. . . . But she wants simply to thank you, and to tell you of her gratitude, because it was thanks to your ‘ Parent’s House’ that she - gladly accepted the responsibility of this evening.”’ And though she had gladly accepted the play, she was never convinced by it. The characters interested her, as the various situations and interpretations of great actors can interest an audience. . . . She gave an immediate personal touch to Magda—a part well known to the Germans, and frequently played by their great actress, Agnes Sarma. . . . Despite the unavoid- able comparisons at the end of the performance the Duse was saluted as the greatest among the great. Later in Bucharest the first performance met with little enthusiasm, and proportionately small receipts. The second evening the prices were reduced, uselessly. A poor season was foreseen, owing to the many unfortunate events that were taking place at that time: the wheat crop had been poor, and as that was the principal source of income the theatre public remained at home, or those who did go out were not inclined to pay the prices necessary to see the Duse. The death of the manager of the National Theatre, where they were playing; and the death of Prince Ghika, a high personality of the place ; the serious illness of the Prince, heir apparent, which kept the entire population uneasy, accounted for the disastrous business. The Duse was seriously worried, not only for Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 1 financial reasons, but because of the continual sad events taking place. . . . The Continental Hotel where she was staying was opposite the theatre, and she could not even look out the window without seeing the mourning flag flying. Everything in Bucharest that should have appeared gay, picturesque, interesting, even beautiful, seen in the time of patriarchal wealth, seemed painful and grotesque. The men in their white linen trousers and tightly- pleated white skirts coming out from under Italian peasant jackets; the old battered hats that suggested the Ghetto; many-coloured festoons and strange signs ; merchandise of every known specie; costumes of every country; worthless old books ; embroidered pieces of rare value, together with old clothes, and furs of various qualities—all piled high on benches. Street cries, invitations to look and buy. . Filth everywhere—and further on the disgusting market full of salt meat, thrown carelessly on greasy counters ; enormous blocks of salt, nauseating odours of unclean things and places. . . . Effeminate voices of eunuchs calling—boldly relating the stories of marriage one day and divorce the next; how wealth was acquired by debts and worse ; where honour is as false as the luxury. And certain hotels where the most corrupt corruption penetrates . . . the real world of sin where redemption had not entered in—all tended to generate a speciality of tightening of the heart and repugnance that no sumptuousness, nor grand edifice such as the Law Courts, or the New Post Office, could efface ; nor the shadowed gardens of the gigantic hotels, nor the unending promenade, Chaussée Chiseleff, where the luxurious carriages drawn by marvellous stallions with floating manes, such as were not to be seen in any other European city—the stupefying flame like sunsets . . . nothing—nothing could take away 92 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life the bad taste of the corruption. . . . No other city in the world in 1894 presented so strong a contrast of savageness and refinement, wealth and poverty, slovenliness and elegance ; nor was any other place at once so Oriental and so French. On the day of Prince Ghika’s funeral the serious- ness and uselessness of life-long struggles seemed to occupy the Duse’s spirit, and she was heard con- tinually to say: ‘‘ The last performance, gentlemen, will be to-morrow.’’ And yet that evening she was in perfect form as in the best of seasons, and in her most perfect vein interpreted “‘ The Parent’s House ”’ to a more than contented audience, who after the third act were deliriously enthusiastic. The two following evenings there was no perform- ance, merely rehearsals at the Duse’s hotel. The second evening she was deliciously gay, joking with all the actors, and seemed to have entirely recovered from the depression of the preceding days. . . . The first sense of aversion had passed, the taut nerves of all the Italian company were calmer, and with a certain serenity the unusualness of the “‘ young capitol ”’ was being appreciated. But the performance of “ Claude’s Wife,” the third of the Bucharest season, was not to be numbered among the fortunate ones, even though the evening before everything had looked so bright. The Duse, for some unknown reason, was in an exhausted state and seemed to have lost all intellectual and sensual energy. She literally dragged herself on the stage, arms hanging limply, as though she had not the strength to raise them. The eyes which should have been animated during the acting remained lustre- less, vague, inattentive. Of all the cast Cesarine was the least important. . . . In the second act, with the theatre filled with an attentive audience ready and willing to acclaim the great actress, the scene with the Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 93 maid, while she is serving the coffee, the scene which was generally so delicious, she cut entirely. The scene with Antonio, where the formidable actress should have been revealed, she merely spoke in a_ half-hearted manner. Even the big scene with Rebecca and Claude passed unnoticed, and so on until the end; and the death, for which many had especially waited, the scene that never failed to bring frantic applause, and which she played as it is said no other actress ever had, fell flat. . . . After she had received the wound she would turn suddenly, raise her arms, let the stolen papers drop, and, with the body almost rigid, fall face down- wards. That evening she went through the usual motions, but there was nothing to distinguish her from any ordinary actress. Nothing! Nothing but a few little actions, good enough in their way, during the progress of the scene with her husband. And the audience, after a faint desultory applause, in silence filed out of the theatre, wondering why they had spent their money to hear the mediocre Italian actress. Yet some time later she had one of the greatest successes of her career in that same city, in the great d’Annunzio play, ‘‘ La Gioconda.”’ What the trouble was that evening, what had unnerved her, and sapped her strength, not even the company knew, or understood, and least of all the leading man, Luigi Rasi. Thatsomething was materi- ally wrong they all felt, for she had not even gone on the stage ten minutes before the curtain to see if all was in order, as was her unfailing custom. The details of the scene had always been her constant study, and, from the time that she became a leading lady, she had never allowed the curtain to rise on the first night of any play in a new city without first assuring herself that the ‘‘ props’”’ were in perfect order. 94 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life For ‘“ Claude’s Wife ” at the Niccolini Theatre in Florence, she found one evening a plaster statuette of Venus on the safe at the back of the scene. “No, no, no! that can’t stay there! ”’ she cried. “A Venus in Claude’s house! Claude’s!—a great mechanic, a rigid, rude, austere man! We must have something solid like he is! Bronze! Anything bronze !—a bronze bust! Socrates! No, there is no Socrates? Youhaven’t one in the theatre ? Nothing ? In any case take this away. It’s quite impossible. Take it away! That’s it. Much better not to have anything, than a jarring note. Think of a dancing Venus in the house of a philosopher like Claude! What are you stage hands trying to do to me?” Then when an imitation bronze bust was discovered : “Bravo! That’s better, much better! So! Every- thing must be in harmony. Everything! So!” she put it in place. “‘ An historian, an orator, a warrior ! So! All right !—now hurry with the curtain!” Another evening, at the same theatre, they were giving ““ Hedda Gabler.’”’ Before the second act she threw a small book angrily on to the table and began measuring the stage with long, excited, nervous steps, and finally burst out: “Not that stupid book! Not that. An album. A big album with photographic views! Doesn’t one of the stage hands, or at least the manager, know that ? Is this the first time ‘ Hedda’ has been given ?”’ Then, turning to the leading man : “ Signor Rasi, comehere! You are intelligent’ (it was not said to flatter him) ; ‘ you willhelpme ? Look what they have given me ! ”’ she picked up the offending book and flung it across the stage. ‘I must have a big album! Do you understand ? For the scene at the table with George Loevborg. Have you perhaps something suitable ? Do look among your belongings ! Try to help me? ”’ Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 95 Rasi reassured her, took a carriage, and hurried to his home. In ten minutes’ time he was back with a big album containing views of Cairo. “Oh, that’s the very thing!” she exclaimed joyously when she saw it. “ You see that you, dear Rasi, have saved me! Thank you, thank you! You realise, don’t you, that this is what we need?” And when the act was over (which she had played, during the scene of simulation, with marvellous truth) she thanked Rasi again. “Do you know that your album distracted me greatly ? To see once more all those places that I had visited, and of which I have conserved the most delightful memories, made my thoughts fairly gallop, taking me far, far away.” In fact at this period her greatest preoccupation was for the scenic effects, which she considered the frame for her performances. She had almost a musical. conception of the harmony with which every detail had to be brought together, from the intonation of the actor’s voice to the intonation of the colours that offered the spectator the complete picture. Her rare intelligence was most appreciated in the arrangements of the various statues and busts, as well as the light effects used in ‘‘ La Gioconda,”’ a very unusual achievement for that epoch, when stage settings were not the luxurious and artistic creations of to-day. . . . Compared with the richness of modern stage sets, those of the Duse Company were almost primitive, yet her attention to the minute detail remained remarkable. At whatever season of the year, if the act called for roses, no matter how many, she had fresh roses— and never even one less than the number mentioned in the text—whereas any other actress would have used artificial flowers. 96 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life For example, in “La Porta Chiusa,’”’ there were always fifty white roses used in the first act. In 1894 or 1895, the Duse was passing through London on her way to Italy, when Queen Victoria, hearing of her presence in the city, requested that she should give a performance at Windsor. The perplexing question at once arose of what to present before Her Gracious Majesty, so as not to shock her British taste. A certain great lady suggested the fifth act of ‘‘ Camille”; to the objections offered she replied : “It is very simple to arrange: we will tell the Queen that it is the story of a young girl, Daisy, whose fiancé, Armand, is in India; he returns too late to marry her, and she dies in his arms.”’ The ingenious plot would perhaps have succeeded, despite Marguerite’s hesitations, had the Queen not announced her desire to hear something cheerful. In that case the dénouement of “ Camille,’’” even arranged specially for the Queen, did not fill the required conditions, and eventually the Duse went — to Windsor to play “‘ La Locandiera.” | The spectacle was not given in the hall usually reserved for special performances, but in the white salon, which is the place used exclusively for great celebrities. In the charming Goldian play the actress could only demonstrate her graceful qualities; but so well did she identify herself with the character, and, accord- ing to Italian traditions, address herself simply to the public, that the Queen, without perhaps quite appreci- ating the brio of the dialogue, enjoyed the naive panto- mime, and smiled from the beginning to the end. The performance over, the Queen had the actress who had so charmed her presented. The spectacle presented by the semi-circle ‘ AS. ““MIRANDALINA.” In ‘“* La Locandiera.”’ p. 96. Dh ROS ee i ee i oy Sg : é Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 97 —_— princesses and great ladies in grand toilette surrounding the old Queen, who questioned the pretty “‘ Locandiera,” was like a continuation of the play. The Duse still had on her smart little pink rose- bud costume, with the pointed bodice, and linen fichu fastened by a knot of black velvet ribbon. . .. Shy in the august presence, she played nervously with the corner of her apron, and, fearful of not being quite correct according to Court etiquette, she made one bow too many. In order to put her at her ease, and to show her that she was among friends, the Queen said genially : “IT believe you know my daughter Victoria. In fact she has talked to me a lot about you.’’ And the Duse, who was still in the mischievous spirit as well as the costume of Mirandolina, under her breath said to herself: “Ah, little Eleonora! I hope for once you’re proud of yourself, with your swell connections! Here you have the Empress of India who deigns to talk to you, and even reminds you that you know her daughter—another Empress ! ”’ Then, to be still more agreeable, they recounted how highly the Emperor Frederick had spoken of her, and that the Emperor, Kaiser Wilhelm, wished to hear her. The week before he had been at Windsor, and they told her the joke that since the Royal visit had been the joy of the Court. There had been a grand family dinner, and, as on all such occasions, the Queen had arranged the seats at table according to the degrees of parentage, instead of public rank. . . . Her son-in-law, Prince Battenberg, was on her right, and the Emperor of Germany, figuring as the grandson, was relegated to the foot of the table... . Kaiser Wilhelm II., who was noted for his appropriate and ready wit, wanted to show himself a prince as well as a good grandson. During the dessert the first G 98 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life toast was to the Queen of England, the second to the Empress of India, and the third to the innumerable other pompous titles of the powerful Sovereign. Like a child forgotten in his corner, the Kaiser raised his glass, and with a mischievous smile said meekly : “To Grandma ! ”’ Whether the humour appealed to the Duse she never told, but at least she was more than satisfied with her reception at Court. ‘“‘ La Locandiera,”’ after having been played for the Queen of England, received new honours in Italy, and owing to that remained in the Duse’s repertoire (I believe I am correct in this) until 1906, and was given the last time at the Manzoni Theatre, Milan. While playing at the Drury Lane Theatre, London, in 1895, the most famous rivalry of the speaking stage took place. . . . Bernhardt, who was also playing in London, selected the part of Suder- mann’s tragic heroine, Magda, for challenge, and the Duse promptly chose the same. In one of the most wonderful criticisms ever written of the theatre Mr. George Bernard Shaw subjected them to a pitiless comparison. His conclusion was that the Bernhardt had been annihilated in the struggle by the enormous and overwhelming quietude of the Duse. Although both women were at the height of their fame, neither was really young (the Duse was about thirty-seven, and the Bernhardt fully forty-five). Sarah Bernhardt drew a bewitching curtain of artifice over her age. Her frocks were splendidly rich; she had the finished product of conscious art. Her face was covered with the cunning of an accomplished make-up artist. Through the loose braids of her auburn hair peeped incarnadined ears. What Mr. Shaw called Bernhardt’s “elaborate Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 99 Mona Lisa’ smile came to the spectators through long carmined lips and languorous consciously-drooping eyelids. The Duse came on the stage with lines of care and suffering frankly undisguised. The shadows on her face were grey, not crimson. Sarah Bernhardt, with the subtleties of her mar- vellous technique, played upon the audience like a great musician. But she never entered into the leading character: she substituted herself for it. Eleonora Duse produced the illusion of being infinite. She seemed to have no tricks, no mannerisms, and no method. Her art seemed a _ transcendent, overwhelming, quiet thing. It was something beyond voice, beyond gesture, beyond method. It wasa trans- cendent, dramatic imagination ; perhaps the finest and most overwhelming in the history of the theatre. It was remarked that the Duse actually blushed in ‘‘ Magda.”’ So real was her power of conscious emotional effort that her face turned crimson with confusion when she met the father of her child in “ Magda.”’ As Mr. Shaw wrote of that astonishing exhibition of dramatic power: ‘‘ Then a terrible thing happened to her. She began to blush. And in another moment she wasconscious of it. The blush wasslowly spread- ing and deepening until, after a few vain efforts to avert her face, she gave it up and hid her blush in her hands.”’ Surely it would be folly to call that dramatic technique. Only the most remarkable power of con- centration and a sublimated human sympathy could make such a high moral note possible. The first performance of “ Cavalleria Rusticana ”’ was in March, 1884, and was given by the Cesare Rossi Company at Turin. It was a noteworthy event—not 100 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life only in Eleonora Duse’s career but also in Italian dramatic history—for the act of Giovanni Verga, in the time of romantic plays, seemed to be of impression- ing audacity and realism. . . . Eleonora Duse created ‘“ Santuzza,” Flavio Andd “Turiddu ’”’; Teobaldo Checchi (her husband) and Cesare Rossi were also in the cast. ‘Cavalleria Rusticana’’ became one of the favourite interpretations of the Duse, and was given with great success practically all over the world. On the evening of April gth, 1895, “‘ Cavalleria Rusticana’’ was presented at Rome. Queen Marguerite was in the Royal box, and after the performance the Sovereign requested that the Duse come to her box. Signor Alhaiza, who had the honour of presenting the Royal invitation, had also the displeasure of returning to the Queen alone. The Duse’s refusal to pay homage to Italy’s Queen was the subject of much discussion at the time. “Will you tell Her Majesty,” she said to Signor Alhaiza, “‘ that I am honoured by her gracious invita- tion, but I am sure that she will understand that it would be most humiliating for an actress to go through the corridors of a theatre in her stage costume.”’ This reply following so closely on a similar one, when she had refused to receive the King of Wtirtem- berg, started the report that the great actress was voicing anti-Royalist sentiments, which was not at that time, or ever, true. The King of Wiirtemberg, assuming that Royalty was privileged, had gone on the stage between the acts, accompanied by his Marshal, whom he sent to the Duse’s dressing-room with the request that she receive him at once. “TI beg you to thank the King,” she said, when the Marshal had given her the august message, “ for his — compliments, which are highly honouring to me, and Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life ror to tell His Majesty that I am deeply grieved not to be able to receive him, but——’’ ‘The Marshal insisted, and to his insistence she replied, more emphatically, thatshe could not change her habits, even for a King, and that, as he had certainly been informed, she received only intimate friends in her dressing-room. Determined to see her, the King himself knocked. “ Who is it ? ” she called. “ His Majesty, the King of Wurtemberg.”’ “TI am sorry ’’—there was no agitation or nervous tremor in the lovely voice—“ but I have already told the Marshal that I cannot receive Your Majesty. In any case,” she added, “‘ I am dressing.”’ “T will wait,’”’ came the ready reply. “ It is not necessary, as I cannot make an exception to my rule—so I must beg Your Majesty to pardon me,’’ When the King still remained outside her door she announced, through the maid, that, until he had returned to his box, she would not leave the dressing- room. Disgruntled, humiliated, the King was obliged to go back to his box, where inaroyalrage he remained until the performance was over. The King of Sweden, however, had better luck, for he took the trouble to send a diplomatic letter in advance, in which he said : “It is not the King who asks an audience, but the most humble of your subjects.”’ He was immediately received, and more than once after welcomed as a friend. To me it was never a question of snobbism that made her refuse a Royal command, but the command itself. Eleonora Duse, with the person who knew 102 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life the art of making a proper request, was the most docile of women, and the knowledge that by receiving a person she was giving pleasure was always sufficient to make her accede to any reasonable demand... . She worked, and her time on the stage belonged to the public; the performance over, she was a private citizen, therefore not subject to public command. But also she was a woman destined to live through many tragedies, on and off the stage, and those very tragedies in time softened and sweetened the nature, as suffering over a love-affair teaches the value of friendship. King Edward, while still the Prince of Wales, was in Cannes at the time that the Italians were playing there. Schurmann, the Duse’s manager, hearing of the Royal visitor, hurried to the Prince to make his excuses for the bad condition of the theatre and stage. ‘What difference does all that make ?”’ the genial Prince Edward replied; ‘I would gladly go to a stable if necessary to hear the divine Duse. It isn’t the frame that gives the painting its value.”’ Those who had the joy of seeing the divine Duse at the New Oxford Theatre, London, in 1923, and later during her tour of the United States, will agree with the late King Edward’s saying: for had it been the frame that gave her her value the theatres would have been empty, not because of the theatres, but the miserable, cheap, cardboard sets. The Duse’s repertoire in general consisted of the works of foreign authors, with the exception of “ La Locandiera,”’ ‘‘ Scrollina,’”’ “‘ The Ideal Wife’ by Marco Praga, and “ Cavalleria Rusticana’’ by Verga, until the d’Annunzio tragedies were added. During a performance of ‘‘ The Ideal Wife,” at Vienna, before a very scarce audience—because the | Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 103 comedy was little known and so most of her admirers had kept away—a thin, little old man, with thick white hair, great penetrating eyes back of gold-rimmed spectacles, was discovered in a first-tier box, where, with extreme attention, he was following every word and gesture of the actress. . . . He was no less a personage than Theodor Mummsen. ... His opinion was no doubt tempered by much of the adverse criticism already passed on the foreign celebrity ; but before the virtue of Eleonora Duse’s art even he became convinced, and after him many other elect Germans— thinkers, scholars and artists. A famous German physiologist, in 1893 (during I do not know what play), deeply touched by the Duse’s passionate acting and by her realism, and seeing his companions no less moved than he, pretended to have an acute cold in the head; in order to hide his agitation he coughed, cleared his throat violently, and then, drawing out his handkerchief, boldly dried his tears. ... Franz Lembach, the Bavarian portrait painter, before knowing the Duse personally, had been so impressed by the mobility of her face that he had done no less than thirty sketches of her from memory, as he had seen her in various parts ; and these sketches practically covered the walls of his studio in the Borghese Palace, Rome. When at length he succeeded in being presented, he asked permission to paint her portrait, a per- mission which she gave reluctantly, for to sit quiet, the expression unchanging, was almost an impossibility for her—and from experience she knew the difficulty of remaining long in a man’s company without his falling in love. ... When at length she did go to the Red Studio, as it was called, and saw the sketches already made, she knew that her fear for him was a reality ; but his love was for the artist more than for ~ ae | ry ‘ 104 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life the woman. .. . His portrait, with his baby, is the most beautiful one that was ever painted of her. Though Eleonora Duse was ever in love with love, and a greater lover than actress (she herself said that), she never wished to be loved unless she could return what was offered her, and while, like every great woman from the beginning of history, she loved many much, a few more, and one most—she loved the most one at a time, and the times were at sufficiently long and rare intervals. Of the numerous men who crossed her path, many Were sincere and true friends and nothing more. Many who helped her in her career may have been considered as lovers, for the world is ever ready to jump at conclusions ; but I, like others, have studied her life from every point of view, have gone into minute and intimate details, and still I can honestly state that her friends were legion, and among them all certainly none more loyal or faithful ever lived than the grand old Roman gentleman, Count Guiseppe Primoli, who had known her better than anyone from his youth; and who perhaps helped her over more difficult places than the world can ever know—yet when asked for certain information that only he could give regarding her life, he replied : “ Much as I should like to help you, of the intimate | ; life of Eleonora Duse I can tell you nothing, as it was her greatest wish that what was private remain private.” No man could have greater respect for a friend © who is gone, or in the loyalty of his words show himself a more perfect gentleman. Her friends and admirers were in truth legion— her lovers few, and, had divorce existed in Italy, no doubt those few would have been reduced to one, the man of her inexperienced youth, who it is said would have married her had he lived. ELEONORA DUSE WITH LEMBACH BABY. Famous portrait by Franz Lembach. p. 104. 7) Ms ey » Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 105 The famous German artist, Adolf Merzel, going by chance into an engravers’ shop at Frankfort, encoun- tered the Duse coming out with a portrait of the eighty- year-old painter and several copies of his paintings. . . . The crabbed old man was certainly not a person to give way easily to feminine fascination. ... Yet he watched her with interest as she walked away, then grunted that in art the Duse was “ genial,’ and asked gruffly for a photograph of her. Some days later a mutual friend invited the actress and the painter to lunch. The Duse and Merzel got along first rate, without either one understanding the language of the other; and on taking leave the _ venerable artist anticipated her wish, and instead of kissing her hand he kissed her lightly on the brow, while she in turn, in appreciation of his greatness, gently pressed her lips to the fine artistic old hand. After the curtain had fallen on the last act of “Claude’s Wife” at the farewell performance in Vienna, on the evening of December 4th, 1899, the entire audience called vociferously for the Duse... . The curtain rose again, and from the upper wings a shower of choicest flowers descended on the great actress. loo moved by the unusual homage to speak, she merely smiled her thanks. The ovation continued. The flowers rained on her ; she stooped and gathered an armful, and placed them with delicate abandon about a bust of Beethoven, which, unobserved in a dark corner of the stage, had taken part in the evening's tragic performance. With one of those rapid, unexpected inspirations that so frequently characterised her letters and conver- sations, she had felt the need of dividing her honours with the most admirable genius of the nation then acclaiming her. After her delightful act the applause of approba- 106 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life tion continued, and twenty times she had to come before the curtain to acknowledge her appreciation. The Duse’s homage to Beethoven inspired a Viennese poet to the writing of a strong soulful poem published in the Wiener Abenpost, of December 5th, 1899. One of her early and very successful creations was “ Frou Frou,” but after a certain evening she refused to play it again... . At the fatal time the company was incomplete, and when there was a child’s part it was the custom to get the prettiest youngster to be found in the neighbourhood of the theatre, and to put him on without a rehearsal. ... During the last act of Meilhac and Helevy’s masterpiece, the child was taken to the dying Frou Frou for her to bid him farewell. He was a lovely baby of four, picked up on the street for the occasion, and without warning improvised actor. When he found himself on the lap of a beautiful lady, pale and sweet, who looked at him with sad, tender affection, overcome by the unexpected gentle- ness the child began to caress her face. Frou Frou embraced him warmly, and the child returned her kisses with the effusion of a heart deprived of tender- ness—then, seeming to realise that she was ill, he burst into tears. The maternal instinct reawakened in the Duse, a sad vision reanimated her spirit, she began to cry with the child—and when they tried to take him away he clung passionately to her, his little face wet with his and her tears. . . . The physical force necessary to detach the arms encircling her neck left her—and that evening, held to life by her son Frou Frou was unable to die. Eleonora Duse was great, famous wherever a theatre existed, but the real grandness, originality, 1