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
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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
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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
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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
196 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
superior a woman ever to be understood, or appre-
ciated by other than intellects as grand as her own.
During her long walk through life it is doubtful if
she ever encountered very many.
How many of the people who profited by her
generosity ever really loved her, or tried to fill the
loneliness of her heart ; ever cared enough to wonder
what the other truth might be—the truth that she
never told ?
At the Porziuncola, amidst the effluvium of two
thousand roses, in the atmosphere between religious
and pastoral, among the olive and cypress trees,
before her the Tuscan landscape, lovely to the heart
and eyes, Eleonora Duse was in her perfect frame.
There she was at home, her real self, far from the
calumny of the world ; the other side, jealous, capricious,
unworthy, was cast aside.
Untiring soul, d’Annunzio had called her in the
happy days of the past; she was mistress of active
peace, of working silence. Alone, but not resting:
for her there was no repose. Even if she closed her
eyes, and the mouth were sealed, all the pulsating
soul would have been visible in the magnificent face ;
only what was in the alert mind would have remained
her secret.
No one in the world ever knew Eleonora Duse.
A lady (who has asked me not to mention her name
as she is not known professionally) who was intimately
acquainted with the Duse for twenty years, more
intimately than anyone else, and who was with her
and in her confidence during the d’Annunzio period,
admits that, after twenty years, she knew her no better
than at the end of one year.
Pages of creation had been lived in the two com-
municating villas that must have had episodes of
splendour of the highest human interests. There the
most beautiful of d’Annunzio’s poetry came to life,
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 197
and no matter how he or any other person may deny
it, the influence of Eleonora Duse’s strong personality
is felt in every word... .
Camillo Antona-Traversi, the eminent and prolific
Italian journalist and a life-long friend of the Duse’s,
said a short time ago:
“ All told, she worked for sixty years, and that’s
along time. . . . She lived in the fullness of the word,
and in the same fullness suffered, needlessly. She
made d’Annunzio as a playwright, and she helped
to make several lesser lights. She spent her money
‘to put on his plays, and not one of them was ever a
success, or would not have been without her personality
to back it. . . . She spent her money as well as her
health for an ideal. . . . When d’Annunzio first knew
her she was in the prime of life; when they separated
she was old, aged by unhappiness and mental torture
that had probably drained too heavily on the always
delicate physical constitution, and was most probably
the fundamental reason for her retiring when she did.
.. . In fifty years even her name will be forgotten,
but the poetry that she helped to create may live
on. Poor Eleonora!”
Though the Capponcina had been sold and the
two nomads taken to their separate caravans, the
Duse still kept the Porziuncola; perhaps for purely
sentimental reasons, for after the separation she spent
very little time there. ... Florence still attracted
her, for in 1907 she rented a small apartment on Via
dei Della Robbia, No. 54. It wasa delightful ground-
floor flat, with a tiny flower-filled garden flooded with
sunlight. There she passed many months of enforced
rest during 1907 and 1908.
One of Eleonora Duse’s manias was the renting
and furnishing of apartments, always with the exquisite
taste for which she was noted.
During a certain time when she was prosperous
198 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
she had the Porziuncola, the apartment in Florence,
one in Venice, and another in Rome; and with all
these little homes waiting for her coming, she frequently
stayed in an hotel. For a reason which only she could
ever understand she preferred a badly-furnished room in
a modest hotel, generally on the top floor, where there
was the view of the city and surrounding country... .
Her great love of Nature was demonstrated in her
way of living more than in anything else; and just
as the same people would not satisfy all her moods,
so it was with Nature: one day she needed the moun-
tains, the next only the sea pleased her, while the
day after it would be the open plains that called her.
And in each new scene she found something to
gratify her artistic sense, something that for a moment
stilled the spirit of unrest—something that convinced
her anew of the grandeur of Nature, the insignificance
of mankind.
Though the Duse made a great deal of money during
her career, she was never rich. When she worked the
receipts were fabulous, but she worked relatively little.
From 1907 the doctors absolutely forbade her to
play two evenings in succession; and in fact were
continually urging her to retire.
For many, many years she had suffered from serious
heart trouble, complicated by weak lungs, which
made acting doubly difficult... . But she was a
child of the theatre, and while it was possible to go
on she refused to listen to the counsel of the doctors :
the famous Augosto Murri, and Pietro Grocco, the
most celebrated physicians in Italy.
The tormented heart was undergoing a subtle
change. Great waves of kindness were pouring in,
gradually washing away the passion and jealousy of
youth. .. . The passing of the torrential love had
caused the most devastating hours of her life. From
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Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 1099
the devastation she arose a creature all sweetness
and comprehension.
“Only think of it,’ she said to a friend while
walking at sunset in the little garden of the Via Della
Robbia home. “I had to receive and his impos-
sible wife. Filthy couple! They talked badly of
everybody !—of those I love; of those who are
worthy ; of others who are good, or nearly good, and
are perhaps of the most worth. When they had gone
I took a bath. Butit did no good. .. . I feel now as
though I should like to take my heart out and throw
it into a washtub. Can you believe me, they even
had something mean to say of Boito, the purest,
most forgiving soul that ever lived: the soul that God
has certainly already pardoned for the little harm
ime ne Has ever done. ... Boito ... Boito, He
will be glorious, after death. His spirit is lke the
rainbow.’ She trembled violently, paused in her walk,
tears unheeded running down her cheeks. “‘ Let he
that is without sin cast the first stone,’ ’’ she whispered.
“Tf the text were followed,’ she added, “‘ no stones
would be flying about.”
She never raised her voice in unkind criticism,
yet the world continued to talk of her with curiosity,
prying into her private life—insisting upon knowing
whom she loved, unable to believe that she had nobly
left material love behind her and with head erect
was marching on, facing solitude and old age with
the same courage that at fourteen she had faced the
unpromising future... .
Accounts roughly made up by one of her business
managers show that the Duse had made, by her trium-
phal tours in England, Europe, Egypt and the two
Americas, without including Italy in the calculation,
several millions of lire... . But she spent all—or
nearly all of it. Not on herself. She had never been
are
200 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
vain or superb in her solitary closed life, never prodigal.
She had never had a truly luxurious home—many
servants, or horses and carriages, as any other actress
would have had. But for the theatre she spent hun-
dreds of thousands of lire, often needlessly and especi-
ally during the d’Annunzio period. . . - Other hundreds
of thousands of lire undoubtedly went to pay her actors
for the time that they were engaged without working,
_ while she was occupied, perhaps for weeks, and even
months, resting, studying, and occasionally rehearsing.
She was always a scrupulous and generous star,
even at the cost of great personal sacrifice. Her actors
were paid every week, whether they worked or not.
And never, even with the excuse of illness, did she
break a contract... .
It has been, and is still, said that d’Annunzio’s
extravagance was the cause of Eleonora Duse’s ruin,
and that his reckless spending of her hard-earned money
was what eventually brought about their separation.
. . . [his vulgar statement must certainly have come
from his enemies, for d’Annunzio did not spend the
Duse’s money. From a friend who acted as his
secretary at that time I have the declaration of this
fact: his considerable royalties amounted at this
time toasmall fortune. He never bought her jewellery
or made presents of value, but what he spent for the
beautifying of the Porziuncola would have been suffi-
cient to live on fora year. Frequently he also helped her
to meet the expenses of a broken contract.
For example, she was in Vienna, where he was to
join her for a trip to Russia. The company was already
at Moscow awaiting her. After receiving a telegram
from d’Annunzio announcing his inability to meet her,
she telegraphed to her manager in Russia that she would
not fulfil her contract ; and the same day left for Italy.
. . . Lhat caprice alone cost the small sum of fifty
thousand lire.
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ELEONORA DUSE AT 45.
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Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 201
In September and October, 1908, with a limited
Ibsen-d’Annunzio repertoire, she toured, with more
than usual triumph, Russia, Germany, Austria, and
Belgium. Of Ibsenshe gave “ The Lady from the Sea”’
and “ Ghosts.” Of d’Annunzio, ‘‘ La Gioconda,” which
she played more magnificently than ever. .. . The
tragic suffering feminine characters created by the great
Norwegian playwright appealed strongly to her at that
time, especially ‘‘ Ghosts,’”’ as being more suited to
her age.
It seems that when the Duse first began giving
the work of Ibsen the Norwegians considered her far
superior to Sarah Bernhardt, in that her women were
Northern women while the Bernhardt’s creation of
the same women retained something of the Latin
temperament. :
Tired and ill, from November she rested officially for
three months. Her health seemed seriously menaced,
and those who knew her feared she would never play
again.
Rest ? How could Eleonora Duse rest ? She who
was born in a train, and for fifty-two years had travelled
continually ; even though the frail tired body begged
incessantly for repose, the virile soul refused it.
She spent a few weeks at the Porziuncola, where
memories haunted her by day and by night; peace
was not to be found there. In desperation she des-
cended to Florence, to the apartment of Via Della
Robbia. There it was too lonely. It was not the
season for Venice, and Rome did not appeal to her
then. Paris... there was always the hope of oblivion
there, and many friends to welcome her, if she wanted
them.
A few weeks only were spent in the turbulent city,
then a precipitated return toItaly. Seeking .. . she
was ever seeking peace of mind, afraid to rest lest the
rest prove eternal.
i “OU ees
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202 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
The indomitable spirit ever forcing her on, in
February, 1909, she accepted a short engagement at
Vienna, where, in ‘‘ La Locandiera,’” she gave the
supposed last performance.
Ill, incapable of further resistance, keeping up’
entirely on her nerves, she abandoned the stage without
clamorous farewells, without banquets, without apo-
theois ; timid, austere, and, as always, solitary.
No one in the vast audience or on the stage knew
the ache in her heart as she played the joyous Miran-
dolina, knew that she was bidding farewell to the
public ; taking what she believed to be her last curtain
call. . . . No one had an idea of the tears back of the
radiant smile, or the physical force used to keep the
pure voice steady.
The final curtain fell on a delirious applause that
continued over fifteen minutes; while huge bunches
of violets tied with the Italian colours rained from
every part of the house and stage, falling at her feet
until she was literally buried under them. Again and
again they called for her and still more flowers came.
... The enthusiastic homage, bitter rather than
sweet that night, was more than she could bear. .. .
With a sob she turned her tear-stained face once
more to the public, extending her hands in an infinitely
sad farewell gesture, then gathering up all the flowers
that her arms could hold, with a backward glance
and unforgettable smile she left the stage, the echo
of the applause following her to her dressing-
room.
At the height of her glory, owing to the condition of
her health as well as the lack of plays adapted to her
age, before the first warning of decadence came, she
retired.
She was the greatest actress of the world. She was
even more than that, for in her eyes there was something
that no critic in any country had ever elucidated: the
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 203
mediumistic quality—which explains why she was
grander than all who had come before her or any who can
come after. . . . She had been on the stage over forty
years. . . Glory such as comes to few had been hers.
As she left the theatre that night a sadness, more
profound than all the sadness of her life put together,
weighed upon her. . . . The habit of forty years had
become a thing of the past, without hope of a
mature...
Alone in her hotel she lay wide-eyed all through
the night, the violets perfuming the air about her,
the applause still ringing in her ears. . . . Before her
there was the emptiness of eternal rest, back of her
the closed book... .
The following day, just before leaving for Italy, calm
as though she were starting on a usual trip, she called
the company together to announce her intention of
retiring from the stage until such time as she could find
plays adapted to her age and mature temperament.
She made no mention of her illness, and with more
than usual cordiality she saluted her companions, as
she always called the members of her company.
“ Ragazzi,” the soft voice trembled, “‘ I’m sorry
to have to tell you all . . . that for the time being I
shall not be able to keep you with me. Because—
because . . .”—it was difficult even for her to admit—
“T’m old, and there are no plays for old women... .
So I’m going to do a retiring act, that’s all!”
A devoted little actress with wide black eyes
looked seriously at the Duse, and with fear and
trembling said :
“ D’Annunzio, signora, could write a play for you.”’
With a profoundly kind limpid glance the Duse
studied the little actress, who in fear at her own daring
was blushing furiously. Then, with a sweet gay smile
full of charm and fascination, the soft nervous voice
replied :
‘No, no, per me quello che é rosso é rosso ;
si torna sopra (for me what is red is red ; I do not tur
back). Qualcun’ ave forse puo scrivere ancora per
toa Maes. NOL” Rice cay else perhaps ¢ can
write for me . pitt he, no !) nh Bee
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 205 |
PARK «LL
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.
SAD and lonely, Eleonora Duse left Vienna for Florence,
where in the lovely apartment of the Via Della Robbia
she passed the first months of rest.
The days seemed long, without any special interest.
It was not that the reposing bothered her, for to a
certain extent she was used to that—1it was the idea
of never working again that haunted her waking hours
and troubled her sleep.
In the Florence home she had arranged her library
composed of hundreds and hundreds of rare books—
works of old masters as well as the recent publica-
tions in French and Italian, with not a few of the most
noted translations. Her chief pleasure then and later
was rigorously to follow the trend of contemporary
literature.
No longer having the responsibility of a company,
or anything particular to do, she passed her days in
solitary study; forgetting for the time being the
unhappiness and acute suffering the farewell had
caused her.
For months before arriving at the fatal decision
she had been so intensely nervous that she had been
obliged to forbid anyone to be on the stage behind the
scene, before, or during a performance.
Preoccupied by the insoluble problem as to how
to fill the void that leaving the stage presented, crying
206 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
in secret over the cruelty of life, she was continually
agitated ; nervous spasms followed any sudden irrita-
tion, to be followed in turn by spontaneous humiliation
and repentance—the forerunner of the religious aurora.
Ferruccio Benini, the kindest of all kind old actors,
who no doubt had never heard of psychic influences,
serene in his rights of an old stager, went to greet an
actor of the Duse Company.
It was a few minutes before the ‘“‘ curtain.”” Walk-
ing calmly across the stage he encountered the “ Sig-
nora’’ about to inspect the scene before giving the
signal for the curtain.
Noticing a man in her way the Duse broke forth
angrily :
“Who has dared to come here to disturb me during
the hour of my work?”
The famous actor of the Venetian Theatre, startled,
turned quickly.
Too irate to recognise him, the Duse yelled angrily :
“Who are you ? ”’
“Miz son Benint, poareto! Che la me scusa”’
(I am Benini—I beg your pardon), he replied sweetly
in dialect.
A sudden shame overspread the Duse when she
heard the name of a man long beloved, and without
a word she went quickly to her dressing-room; closing
the door softly. In a moment she opened it, ran
across the stage, reached Benini, who was about to
go away, and with a quick passionate gesture offered
him both her hands, murmuring brokenly :
“ Forgive me.”
No other word was said, but Benini went away softly,
an unpleasant lump in his throat.
And the Duse, still trembling from emotion, sad-
dened by her involuntary unkindness, had to be asked
three times in succession if the curtain could go up
before she was able to reply.
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 207
It was not because she craved Riser but merely
that life without it was suddenly very empty: for
Eleonora Duse féted and petted, numbered among
the world’s great theatricalstars, was one thing, while
Eleonora Duse retired from the public view was quite
another ; and many of the so-called friends who had
been proud to know her, and to be seen in her company,
gradually, even with certain discretion, began dropping
out of sight.
Her daughter was married and living in England,
and apart from a few cousins with whom she had never
been in close rapport the Duse was absolutely alone
in the world.
She was ill. From her point of view she was old,
and the world unfortunately only had time for youth :
therefore there was no place for her. ... And
Wercs
From that question a marvellously pure soul came
to life in the frail faded body. . . . In the little home
in Florence, surrounded by the great written thoughts
of hundreds of men and women from all parts of the
world, light came to her who perhaps before had
walked in darkness. . . . The way of the Cross lay
before her—it had always been before her, but now
it was different... . And in that radiant light the
‘ Consolatrice ’’ (“‘Comforter”’), as she was known in
Italy, was born.
Four months after the disbanding of the Eleonora
Duse Company the little unknown actress of the late
company became Signora Enif Robert, wife of one
of the ex-leading men.
The very day the announcement of the marriage
was received the “dear companion” wrote to the
little actress, who had always been a favourite with
her. The sincerity of her joy over the new-found
happiness is plainly shown in the letter :
208 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
“T am so glad for you, dear Miss—dear
Madam. |
“The strength from work and the kindness of
life will come to you united and friendly in the strong
prop that Fate has now given you.
“T send you every good wish, happy that you have
found one who knew how to read what there is of good
and sweetness in your heart.
“ELEONORA DUSE.”’
And only a few days later she wrote again, inviting
the newly-wedded couple to call.
In one of the soft clinging white robes that she
almost always wore then, she received them in the
little rose-filled drawing-room that opened on to the
garden.
She was gay, delicious ; interested in all they had
to tell her; laughing with them over the difficulties
that their new life presented . . . kind, helping them
to make plans for the future. Never for a second did
-She show any bitterness over her ill-health... .
Everything about her was harmonious, fresh and pure
as the noble brow from which the rebellious white-
streaked hair fell back softly.
The doctors had advised rest, but there seemed to
be unlimited vitality in the sight harmonious person
and the vivid eyes. ... Her hand-clasp was firm,
and in the gentle caress and soft kiss that she gave
Enif Robert on parting there was tenderest, almost
timid, affection. |
She had spoken of a project for a trip to California
in September, and in the event of its materialising she
promised to have the Roberts accompany her.
The next day she sent the happy bride a wedding
present of three magnificent Worth frocks, one of
silver cloth trimmed with hundreds of rhinestones
which is still in Madame Robert’s possession. .
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 209
Overcome by the marvellous creations, Madame Robert
went at once to offer her thanks.
“Oh, signora!’”’ she exclaimed as soon as the
Duse received her. ‘‘ The frocks are beautiful, won-
derful, but 45
“ Worth,” the Duse interrupted, ‘‘ my grand Worth,
the man who knows more about dressing a woman to
perfection than any other person in the world, made
them all.”
“TI know, and that’s just it: they are too mar-
vellous for me!”
“My dear child, nothing is ever too marvellous
for any woman who is young.” The fascinating little
laugh trembled on her lips, then seeing the sadness in
the younger woman’s eyes, she added gaily: ‘‘ Wear
them and be happy, and remember sometimes that
Eleonora Duse wore them once before you did.”
Therein lay their value: not that they were
Worth creations but because Eleonora Duse had worn
them.
In September the project of a tour in California fell
through. The Duse was under a doctor’s care for
nervous complications as well as pulmonary disorder
which for years had been troubling her.
Her unnatural birth, unsettled life, had favoured
the hereditary trouble. Florence was not climatically
suited to her condition ; so in the early autumn she
was ordered to the Riviera for the winter. . . . The
apartment on the aristocratic, tranquil Via Della
Robbia she still kept as her real home, returning there
from time to time for several years after.
The Italian and French Rivieras, Paris, London,
Rome, the Adriatic coast, the mountains, Switzer-
land and Austria, all were visited, yet only for
short periods; for even when not forced to travel
she- was unable to remain quietly in any one place
O
210 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
for a long time. Seeking, hoping somewhere, some
time, to find peace, she was continually on the move.
In 1911 the desire to emerge once more from the
solitude was upon her. At Ravenna, the wanderer,
disgusted with the emptiness of life without work,
bitter because of her inability to do as the heart dic-
tated, was at the theatre alone, sitting far back in
a box hoping that no one would notice her. . . . The
old fascination of the theatre took possession of her,
and without realising what she was doing she leaned
forward from the box the better tocontemplate theimage
of her great love—‘‘a theatre—the theatre.”” Someone
recognised her, and of a sudden the audience as one
person turned towards the pale passionate face and
unanimously shouted: ‘‘ Viva Eleonora Duse ! ”
Electrified by this unexpected demonstration, as
soon after the performance as possible she telegraphed
to a manager at Bologna :
‘“T want to go to work. Get a company together
immediately.”’
The company was organised, rehearsed, and booked.
“The Lady from the Sea” and ‘Gian Gabriele
Borkmann ”’ were the only plays given. . . . However,
with all her energy and intense desire to be in the
limelight, she was only able to give a few performances.
The venture was a losing one for the manage-
ment, and the company was disbanded.
Her farewell to the stage seemed this time to be
definite. She herself was convinced that she would
never play again; but the restless spirit was not yet
able to free itself from the marvellous torment. . . .
She resisted decisively, disdainfully, the offers that
continued to pour in from managers all over the world.
. . . Before such offers, before the commercial bar-
gaining, her very soul rebelled enclosing her in a con-
templative lethargy where only a luminous spark was
able to bring the artistic flame to life again.
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 211
Several years of illness, of obscure suffering, useless
fugitiveness, when, in the search for something new,
different, she was making friends with strange people
from almost every walk of life. ... One woman
attached herself so securely that the poor Duse was
obliged to call in the help of the law in order to free
“herself from the companionship of the objectionable
young person.
Another close friendship of fairly short duration
was that with Isadora Duncan. They met one
evening at the theatre in Paris: two women equally
great in their own way—what more natural than the
existence of an immediate sympathy between them ?
. . . From time to time they met for their mutual
pleasure, and, in 1913, some months after the tragic
death of Isadora Duncan’s two children (it will be
remembered that they were drowned by a bridge break-
ing near Paris while their automobile was crossing it),
they spent several weeks together at Viareggio, a
seaside resort in Italy.
Isadora Duncan had been in Venice seeking con-
solation, which it seems she did not find. The Duse
was at Viareggio. A series of telegraphic letters
passed between the two famous women, each asking
the other to join her. At length the Duse prevailed,
and Isadora Duncan went to Viareggio.
The still glorious dancer was charmed with the
delightful place and decided to remain for a long peace-
ful sojourn. Being constantly in the public eye in an
hotel, she felt the desire for a private home.
The Duse, who knew Viareggio well, agreed to find
her a suitable palazzino (small house). In a few days
she had discovered what she believed to be perfect for
the disconsolate Isadora. The arrangements were
accordingly made and Isadora taken to see her palazzino.
The location was ideal, and it was neither too
large nor too small. The Duse was enthusiastic over
212 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
it, the Duncan a little less so as she went curiously
through the various rooms.
‘“T thought you told me, Eleonora, that it was
ready to livein ?’”’ They were in the so-called drawing-
room.
“ It is,” the Duse replied promptly.
“Ah! Well, where’s the furniture ? ”
A few half-broken chairs and tables were standing
listlessly, dejectedly about as though they had given up
all hope of ever being noticed again.
“There is plenty,’ the Duse hastened to reassure
her, “‘ for when you look at the mural decorations you
don’t need anything more! ”’
“H’'m!”’ Isadora was not entirely convinced. “I
can’t sit on the walls!”
“The divan is very comfortable”’; the Duse indi-
cated a shaky affair propped up against the far wall.
‘You can lie there and contemplate the paintings.”
“Paintings? H’m! And if I don’t always want
to lie down, even supposing that that thing will hold
me ? a3
“ Then you will go out and walk. . . . In any case
one must learn to adapt oneself to furnished houses ;
they are sure to lack something. . . . But, dear, you
will be most comfortable here.’’
And Isadora Duncan rented the palazzino, which
for some years before had been occupied by a mad
German prince, who had amused himself by breaking
the furniture and making atrocious charcoal drawings
all over the calcimine walls.
Isadora Duncan regaled the Duse with the tragic
story of her life, and the Duse in turn did all in her
power to comfort the woman who seemed unable to
forget for a minute the loss of her two children, beautiful
and intelligent. . . . And many, who did not know the
comfort she was to the suffering Isadora, criticised
her for her intimacy with the famous dancer.
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 213
Still grieving over her irreparable loss, Isadora
Duncan returned to Paris, and Eleonora Duse went
to Florence.
One evening at the Politeama Nazionale Theatre,
Florence, the Duse attended a performance of the
Company Talli-Gramatica-Calabresi, the most perfect
combination of dramatic actors that the past twenty
years had seen.
The play was Gorki’s “The Poor House,” the
acting magnificent, and it was one of the greatest suc-
cesses Virgilio Talli ever had as a manager. .. . For
the illustrious actress to praise the valorous companions
seemed too little; she felt that she could, that she
must, do something more... . That something was
the interrupting of her rest to radiate the great light
of her art among her fellow artists. She wanted to
be with them, one of them; and so for a charity
performance at Florence she played “ Fernandes ia
Later at the Manzoni Theatre, Milan, she played the
part of Vasilissa in “‘ The Poor House” with Virgilio
Talli, Irma Gramatica, Lyda Borelli, Ruggero Ruggeri,
Oreste Calabresi, and Alberto Bionanni, all of whom
are now the big actors of Italy—and Ruggero Ruggeri
is to-day practically the Zacconi of other days.
From the moment of her appearance on the stage
of the Manzoni, the audience, the greater part of
which had never heard the Duse, had the impression
of finding themselves before a superior kind of person—
one of the elect. Her fascination had an immediate
and sincere effect. Her voice for many, as I have
said, was unknown, and seemed not to be directed to
the crowd, but to each individual heart, carrying a
message of goodness and sweetness to it.
The ice broken by that memorable evening, the
Duse again formed her own company, with which she
made a rapid tour of Italy. ... At the Manzoni
214 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
and Lirico Theatres, Milan, she gave Ibsen’s “‘ Rosmer-
solm,’’ and Goldoni’s ‘‘ La Locandiera.”’
Silence again. . . . More roaming about Europe,
seeing here and there old friends, making new ones ;
interesting herself in all artistic and social problems ;
Her original and decided opinion on all matters much
sought after.
She considered that a fundamental change was
necessary in the education of Italian men and women.
“The fable of love is too ardently believed in, has
too important a part to play in the daily life... .
Love is a habit, and every word and gesture depends
upon it. It is not the warm Southern temperament,
as Italians like to believe, that is responsible for
the rapport between the two sexes, but a mistaken
education.
“And so the pariah love,” as she called it, “ has
been created, the love of derelicts and rebels who have
never learned to conquer self. And for the same reason
there are, and always will be, disillusions in love, for
misguided men and women have only been able to
find a poor and ephemeral satisfaction, neither of them
dreaming that apart from this sentiment there is given
to them the possibility of creating a new faith, a new
joy that is nothing more than a higher form of love.”’
Speaking of the women of the Latin races, especially
the Italians, Eleonora Duse said:
“The home as a nest, a refuge, a sanctuary does
not exist with us. Our sky consents, even demands,
that our life be passed almost entirely in the open
air... . Certainly if we knew how to enlarge
the grandeur of this space it would be without confine ;
but unfortunately we narrow our horizon until life
has been enclosed within the pettiness of self-constructed
walls... . We have very little beauty, very little
intimacy, and even less friendship in our homes ;
’
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 215
even little religion in the highest and largest sense
of the word. . . . The fault is not the man’s.
“Our religion, the meditation of eternal things, is ©
understood only from a Catholic point of view; a
religion of ceremony, of exaltation, of glory. In order
to pray it is necessary to go into a church, one of our
magnificent churches. . . . And the works of charity
are reserved for those special few who are able to
attend to them. ... It is a rare thing to find a
woman who can, and still rarer one who knows how
to, look after charity.
“So with us it is not easy for a woman to find a
field for her activity, where femininity can triumph ;
and without triumphs she cannot live, for no one
can go through life without dreams, without joy; and
the time of resignation to solitude and renunciation
has not yet come—-so naturally a modern woman,
if she is mediocre and beautiful, plunges herself into
sin; if she is merely pretty, she becomes embittered
against herself and others ; transforming into a bigot if
she is mystic ; reclaiming rights, laws, suffrage if she
is a meddler and reasoner.
“Women of other races who have had a broader
education, who from childhood have been taught the
beauty of honest love, who have grown up used to free
intercourse with the opposite sex, are much less subject
to disillusion, and make far more generous, lenient
wives, and best of all, they learn early the meaning
and value of friendship, a thing that rarely, if ever, exists
between a man and woman of the Latin race...
Our women are insulted if a man doesn’t speak of love
immediately ; while the Anglo-Saxon woman, so I
believe, is insulted if he does. ... We have never
learned the secret of self-control, and until we do our
women might as well be contented as they are, and
not try to extol their virtues under the title of
“femministe.’”’
216 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
Of all the Italian actresses who had the fortune to
be at any time of their career with Eleonora Duse
the one most favoured by the grand tragedienne was
Emma Gramatica, to-day the ablest, if not the greatest,
actress in Italy—-though by many Maria Melata is
considered as the most promising tragedienne, and,
in fact, was well spoken of by the Duse.
The technique of her art, the careful stage direction,
even the indomitable will to work, Emma Gramatica
owes to the years spent in the Duse Company, where
the interest and love of the elder woman for the
“little blonde of the great serious blue eyes,’ was her
incentive and comfort.
It seems that many years ago another promising
young actress was very intimate with the Gramatica,
to some extent a rival, and also favoured by the
Duse.
Emma Gramatica, who was in the habit of confiding
all her worries, as well as her joys, in the Duse, asking
advice on any serious questions, for some time had
been distant ; and when forced to be near the great
tragedienne averted her eyes.
The Duse, quick to see a change in anyone she loved,
had been watching “la piccola,’’ as she called the
Gramatica, for several days.
“Something is wrong with Emma,” the Duse
announced to an actor during a pause at a rehearsal.
“Do you know what is troubling her ? ”
The man had no idea; so the Duse, seeing that
the girl was really trying to avoid her, sent word that
she was to come to her dressing-room.
They talked about the weather, the new play that
they were reading for the first time; then, putting
her hand under the Gramatica’s chin, she tenderly
raised the pale little face.
“What is troubling my little one?” she asked
sweetly.
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 217
“ Nothing.”” Emma lowered her glance instantly.
“ That’s not true, for, in the rare moments that I
catch your glance, your big beautiful eyes are full of
tears. Are you in love, and afraid to tell Eleonora ? ”’
Without looking up Emma shook her head.
~ “Has someone offended you? If so, tell me, and
V’ll make it all right at once.”
“No! no!” With a low cry Emma dropped to
her knees, and, putting her arms passionately about
the Duse, said brokenly through repressed sobs :
“I—I love you so, and she—she says that I must
pray for you to die, because while you live—we can
never be anything! ”’
Silently the Duse stroked the golden head before
her, her face drawn in severe lines.
“ And you,”’ at length she spoke softly, “‘ have you
been—praying ?’
“Ah, no!no!’” For the first time in many weeks
the blue eyes looked fearlessly into the mystic brown
ones. ‘“‘I want to make my way in the world, to be
famous ; but never if your life depends upon it!”
“ Thank you, dear,”’ the Duse kissed the tear-stained
face. ‘‘ You should have told me at once, instead of
eating your heart out needlessly.’”’ For a moment
she seemed to be looking into space, then bringing
her glance back to the anxious face before her she
said: “I will probably see you both famous ; but your |
fame will live after I am gone, while hers will die
before Ido. . . . Now get back to your part, and ’—
she laughed mischievously—‘ don’t bother to tell her
that you are not—praying.”’
After living for brief periods in hotel apartments
the Duse discovered a small flat on the top floor of
a modest house on the Via Rupe Tarpea, Rome.
The house, No. 61, was noted for one thing only:
a marvellous view of the ruins of the Foro Romano,
218 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
the Villa Borghese, Villa Corsini, and on to the splendid
horizon.
With a joyous enthusiasm for the superb panorama,
the Duse began the transformation of the simple place.
Decorators were put to work, and in a remarkably
short time the modest unattractive interior had become
a delightfully cosy home.
She was past mistress in the art of transforming
a house in which she had the intention of living. . . .
The owner of the Porziuncola is now in possession of
a carved staircase of the Florentine style designed from
her imagination, which goes from the entrance hall
to the second floor of the villa.
Not more than two weeks after the Duse was
installed in the new apartment of Via Rupe Tarpea,
sitting one evening on the balcony watching the last
rays of the sunset fading from the glorious Roman
sky, she became aware of screams coming from the
street below, on the far side of the house. Rushing
to the window, she peered anxiously out, then in horror
fled to her balcony again.
A woman had thrown herself head first from a
window of the house opposite. One glance at the
mangled body had been more than her sensitive nature
could bear, and that same evening she left Rome. . . .
The few things that she really needed were sent to
Florence, and eventually all the furniture and fittings
of the apartment given to the owner of the house.
She never returned to No. 61, Via Rupe Tarpea.
Happy indeed were the many proprietors who had
Eleonora Duse for a tenant !
She kept up these numerous temporary residences,
where she stayed for only a few days at a time, urged
as she always was by the fever to go somewhere else,
to be on the move, to consume the magnificent
inexhaustible energy that even illness ae not
weaken.
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 219
Though the actress remained quiet and silent, the
woman was unable to. The actress was eventually
to be forgotten—that was the inevitable law of life—
but the woman could not forget those who were still
struggling and meeting with less success than she had
had.
Dramatic art in Italy boasts of a Cassa di Previ-
denza (Fund for Poor Actors), which was started by the
great Tommaso Salvini. Eleonora Duse wanted to
found a Casa di Riposo (a Rest Home) for the actresses
who could not afford a serene comfortable place to
pass a month’s rest.
Her kind altruistic desire met with cold indifference,
even severe criticism; and Emma Gramatica went
so far as to have a letter published in a leading
daily paper, part of which follows:
“ For whom would this house generously offered by
Eleonora Duse serve? Certainly not for those who
have triumphed, for if they have the desire and time
they can procure for themselves all the beautiful things
offered. Nor is it useful for the unfortunate, the far
away, or those who are lost in the fight against hunger.
. . . Some little snob of the stage might dare to enter
the kingdom of writers, the hitherto exile of
Mewesses, 0"
Other papers took up the question, other actresses
voiced their opinions for and against it, and the Duse’s
beautiful idea of ‘a flower and a book”’ offered by
the Big Sister to the little and obscure labourers of
the stage eventually fell through.
Perhaps it was not practical to suggest that the
villa which she had leased at Rome, outside the
Porta Nomentana, far from the heart of the city, sur-
rounded by cypress trees, filled with roses and books
which were to be brought from Florence, and ten
220 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
thousand lire, should be put at the disposition of the
actresses passing through the capital.
In a few words she had made public the nobility
of her project :
“T want to work to dissipate the shadow that
hangs over our actors. We have marvellous energy,
frequently unknown because the means of coming
in contact with conventional life outside the theatre
are lacking. . . . The vagabondage, the poor organisa-
tion, the disbanding of force are pitiable things to see.
It is necessary for our artists to get out of the circle
in which they are confined, and to enter into more ~
complete and vaster surroundings of a modern
intellectual life.”’
Continuing she gave the particulars of her plans
for the betterment morally and physically of her
companions in art:
“The workmen have their ‘Home.’ Why, then,
should our travelling actresses, whose poor pay forces
them to live in humble, often unpleasant, quarters,
not have theirs also? Why should they not have the
honour and pleasure of resting in a nice house filled —
with books, fresh air and sunshine, where at least
they can have the comfort of a less tormented and
worthier life ? ”
Her offer was considered an ideal gift, but
scarcely worth the money it would cost to maintain
it. If she had thought of founding a home where
those who had been ill could pass a month of convales-
cence . . . But what good was a flower or a book to
those who were fighting against hunger ?
Apart from the unpractical side of the idea, could
anything have been more exquisitely spiritual, or have
shown a more beautiful desire to bring light to those
in darkness ? Unfortunately for the world of actors,
those who plod along, the mere supers, the darkness
has become a habit, and like miners they probably
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 221
have very little desire for the light. . . . In acting, as
in every walk of life, hundreds fail where only one
succeeds. . . . And for the hundreds Eleonora Duse
conceived her idea ; but those very hundreds considered
it extravagant as her ideas always had been.
- The Duse, knowing only too well the comfort
that good reading and the sight of a beautiful flower
could bring to the feminine soul, offered this exquisite
consolation to her less fortunate sisters—but as ever
she was misunderstood... .
Another dream! Yes, and she had had so many,
each one more beautiful than the other, and each
ended as the one before it: in nothingness, forgotten
by the world—treasured by her.
During the fervid d’Annunzio days Eleonora Duse
had dreamed of the marvellous project of the Teatro
d’ Albano.
Count Frankestein had offered the land where the
theatre should have been built, at the southern gate
of Rome, on the magnificent bank of Lake Albano,
near the baths of Diana.
The greatest Roman ladies took up the propaganda
with true Italian enthusiasm for a time, with gratifying
success. Gabriele d’Annunzio was to be the counsellor
for the theatre, and Eleonora Duse the artistic:manager.
But even this dream, the realisation of which
would have brought inestimable benefits of culture
and ideas to the Italian public, was destined to die
almost at conception.
Afterwards, the Duse rarely spoke of this project,
which, jike others, adversity had prevented her, from
realizing. . . . But she suffered severely and at length
over it. Her solitude would have been of shorter
duration and less painful if the intelligent words from
her heart could have produced the effect she had
imagined.
Another dream was the “ Actors’ Library,” which
222 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
was, however, only to be met with indifference from
the world, and eventually abandoned.
The honorary committee was to be composed of
leading actors and actresses. With noble respectful
expressions of regret Emma Gramatica, the actress
who to-day in Italy stands more than all the others
for courage and will, dared to say to the Grand Teacher
of her own art:
‘Too long you have lived far from us, a stranger
to us; you have lost your sense and even knowledge
of what your life was. Your project is a chimera.”
And Emma Gramatica’s opinion was that of all
the others, though few of them had the courage to
openly voice their sentiments.
Despite the contrary influence, the Library, on May
27th, 1914, had a brilliant inauguration. The stars,
great and small, of the theatrical and literary world
were all there. Tea was served and speeches made,
and the Duse, happy in the belief that at last one of
her dreams had come true, radiated charm and con-
tentment on all who were gathered there.
The inauguration was brilliant, then the inevitable —
happened: the “ arrived”’ had what they desired to
read and study at home. The others had different
and more difficult problems to solve, and in their life
of hard work and struggle they had no time to
seek the spiritual oasis which the “Great One”
had dreamed of for them at 14, Via Pietralata, Rome.
She was ever striving to do something new, some-
thing to help: fighting against enormous odds; but
it was not always the fault of others if she did not
succeed. She was continually vacillating, one minute
it was “ yes,” and the next “no’’; tiring those who
did not understand the elevated restlessness and per-
plexity in the creature of the complicated soul who
felt only the necessity to rise to the summit of human
comprehension and learning.
a en -
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 223
Yvette Guilbert, the delicious French actress, the
sincere admirer and tender friend of the Duse, the
woman who, like the grand tragedienne, saw only the
way of improvement, the woman who sang vulgar
French songs with infinite refinement, and later
became the famous interpreter of ‘‘ Vielles Chansons
de France,’ was in Florence in 1914, with her gay wit
helping to lift the veil of sadness that seemed little
by little to be enveloping the Duse.
“ Why is Eleonora always so sad ? ”’ she asked one
day. “She who has the possibility of radiating joy
should always be happy.”
When the question was repeated to the Duse she
smiled strangely, hesitated, then said :
“Tam afraid—and I don’t know of what.”
The kind Guilbert to reassure her friend replied :
“She is right, quite right. Jl faut se préperer!”’
And only a few weeks later war was declared, the
world’s via crucis begun.
Inscrutable, the way of the Almighty! God in
His infinite wisdom called her to the applause of
another theatre: the War. ... Few of the elect
felt the world’s painful tragedy as Eleonora Duse
did.
Tormented for years by asthma that had made the
daily use of oxygen necessary, she was oppressed all
those years of fighting by the cruellest suffering, and
sustained only by her ardent love for the Patria.
And how many souls of those fighters were
exquisitely consoled by her ?
As soon as possible after Italy entered the great
fight she transferred her residence to Udine, the city
nearest the Front, where she remained almost continu-
ally until the terrible retreat of 1917 drove her, with
many others, to the safety of a more protected city.
Still suffering and fearful, the wanderer, on a stage
224 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
that knew no boundary, consecrated her divine art
to aiding the humblest of the humble soldiers.
“In so much as ye have done it unto one of the
least of these, my brethren .. .”
Fire, blood, death, and visions of the Resurrection.
All these she—found she the envied Italian woman,
seeking peace, giving aid when and where she could,
there in the “ zone.”’
She was at the bedside of the wounded, finding
sublime words of comfort for the dying; with her
own hands arranging for burial those who had passed
on.
One day in Udine, at the Venice Gate, near the
artillery quarters, she wasseen in the crowd following
the funeral of a young aviator. Utterly exhausted,
she stepped out of the line and stood aside to let the
funeral pass on.
In the pale sad light of the late October afternoon
she appeared ghostly, as though thick clouds were
enveloping her, with occasional flashes of lightning :
the scene, Golgotha.
Passers-by hesitated before the lonely figure, a
something apart from the war-infested surroundings—
hesitated as to whether they should offer help.
Did she need help then ? Did Eleonora Duse ever
have need of help, no matter how delicate the health,
feeble the constitution, or alarming the condition ?
No, her mission in life was to give—never to receive.
An officer who had recognised her, doubtfully
approached from the quarters on the opposite side
of the street, and unconsciously followed her
example :
There in the public street, she who had never
professed any particular religion, reverently made the
sign of the Cross. ... She had not been equal to
the long walk to the cemetery, but she had accompanied
the soul of the young aviator with her prayer.
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 225
Just which of the revealing lights that surrounded
her had opened her eyes, no one ever knew; enough
that they had become young, with a new and deeper
comprehension than ever before. In the emaciated
face there was the unmistakable force over men that
God concedes only to those who hope to find their
strength in Him.
For many, many needy soldiers she was a material
as well as a moral help, giving generously of the little
money that she still had, as she did of her failing
strength.
Shortly after the opening of the “ Actors’ Library ”
—to be exact, several months after the declaration
of war between Germany and France, therefore before
Italy entered the combat—there were rumours of the
Duse’s financial embarrassment. The story was exag-
gerated then, and the cause given entirely erroneous.
... Lhe truth is that the War caused her ruin, and
no person in particular was to blame.
It will be remembered that before retiring from
the stage in 1909 the Duse had invested her capital
in an indemnity that was to have paid her 30,000 lire
a year for the balance of her life; unfortunately it
was with an Austrian banker.
_ Certainly Mendelsohn was in no way to blame
for the decrease in value of the Austrian money, which
accordingly decreased her income, while the cost of
living was increasing.
Though she had made millions she had never been
able to save, for, as she said, she always had holes in
her pockets; and no matter how much money she
had she would never have had enough. She was
prodigal in providing for the material needs of her
less fortunate companions. Her disrespect for money,
lack of thought for the morrow, was many times
abused by those who sought her bounty.
The War, which reduced many great fortunes,
P
226 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
continued to diminish the Duse’s, until she was forced ~
to sell little by little her various valuable possessions.
Theatrical costumes, which she had kept for many
years in innumerable wardrobes built into the walls
for that purpose in the apartment on Via Della Robbia,
were among the first things to go.
A short time later she sold the rarest, richest books
from her library for 60,000 lire. And all of that sum
was spent for the benefit of others: for comforting
soldiers and their families.
A soldier on leave seeing her pass mistook her for a
member of the Red Cross, one of the women who
encumbered the Front (in Italy), in most cases doing
more harm than good, and in a tone of disappronaaey
said :
“ There’s another of those grand ladies who come
up here out of curiosity.”
“T have come to help and comfort you,” she
stopped to reply humbly. “ You are going to the
trenches ? ”’
“Yes.”” -He looked her full in the face. | ~ Ang
a lot of difference it makes to you, and your kind! ”
“ But it does make a difference to me, just as it
must to someone at home. You havea wife?” |
“No,” he answered sullenly. “‘ She’s dead. I got
only my old mother and two babies.”
“ ‘Where ?
“In Milan.”
“Give me the address, and I will go to see
them.”
“ H’m! It’s useless! They all say that, to say
something, and then when they get back to the city
—they forget!’’ He walked a few steps away.
‘Tell me what you will’ ; the Duse held him more
with her dominating glance than with her voice. “ To-
morrow I am going to Milan.”’
Not yet believing her, the soldier gave the name
‘Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 227
and address, and without a word of thanks went on
his way.
It was not true that she was going to Milan the
next day, for she was occupied every minute at Udine,
but she kept her word, and that same evening
left.
The address he gave her was in a low quarter of
the city, and the old mother she found was very
poor. To the lonely woman caring so tenderly for the
babies she offered words of comfort, as well as a
modest sum of money. And the next day she was
again at Udine.
The soldier was to leave that evening for the
trenches.
_ With some difficulty she found him, and smilingly
presented herself. . . . Incredulous, he listened to her
story, and not until she had described the mother,
how she was dressed, the children, the house and
furniture, and even told him the children’s names,
would he believe that she had not been telling him a
piteous lie.
With tears in his eyes he thanked her.
She bade him farewell, and never saw or heard of
him again. A few weeks later the retreat came and
he was apparently among the missing. . . . And until
the mother received her pension from the Government
she modestly aided the little family.
In 1917, as a means of entertaining the soldiers
on leave, many of the leading actors who had not
been called up volunteered their services for a theatre
at Udine, which Eleonora Duse, with her understanding
of the soldier’s temperament, was against.
“A grotesque thing,’ she said, in speaking of it.
“T had the sensation then of the blind tempest
approaching. The soldier was irritated by the incom-
_ prehension of the country; he looked with distrust
228 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
upon the actors, resenting the presence of any man
who was not in uniform and had the pretentious idea
of coming there to entertain him. . . . Thus we actors
have a curse upon us; living separated from life, we
do not understand the other humanity apart from
that which we pretend on the stage. . We act
while other men live. And because of that there
is no real communion between us and the public.
Colossal ‘ gaffes’ are the result.”’
The “‘ Teatro al Fronte’’ was one of the greatest
that the Italian actors have ever made. Novelli (one
of the famous family of actors) recited a monologue
at a performance in this theatre, where, at a certain
point, he said these unfortunate words: “‘ When you
return, knock hard.’’ The phrase was immediately
taken up by the audience in a low, vulgar sense: for
in those days a soldier home on leave had caught his
wife in adultery, and killed her.
At each performance there were unpleasant com-
ments among the soldiers, who naturally formed the
greater part of the audience. And more than once,
before she was known, Eleonora Duse was called
upon to explain her position there.
Many a poor soldier never knew that the sweet voice
that was able instantly to still his resentment was the
voice of the woman who was to go down in history as
the greatest actress of his century; many dying on
narrow hospital cots had never heard of Eleonora
Duse ; many whose sufferings had been momentarily
alleviated by the gentle loving touch of the cool hands
did not know that they were hands famous for their
beauty—but every soldier who had ever come in
contact with the “pale little signora” knew one
thing: the greatness of her love for her country and
those who were fighting to defend it.
As I write, I picture her in the place where she
has gone, surrounded by the soldiers who were lost
ELEONORA DUSE AT 50.
ris
*
* Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 229
on the field of honour; no longer the great actress,
but the mother that she always longed to be.
The devastation of the War entered completely into
the profound spirituality of the woman, and made
even her most secret religion tremble; for she felt
it Christianly, more as a humble sacrifice than a
magnificent heroism.
This new spirituality enabled her to understand
and explain all the contrary phenomenon of those days :
she could not limit herself to take part with either
side, for she found the same humanity wherever she
turned, and that each in its own way was right.
The papers spoke little of Eleonora Duse at the
Front, never mentioned the heroic work she was doing
in offering her all for the Patria. ... The papers
never mentioned the sale of her precious library, or
the magnificent costumes of every play she had ever
given ; nor was there ever a whisper of the many poor
families who were aided in the hour of their need by
her sacrifices. .. . The Press knew Eleonora Duse
as a great actress, the theatre public in every city the
same; what the woman was now that youth had
passed no one knew, or cared. ... The honour of
knowing her grand heart, of seeing into the pure
soul, was left to the humble, who could never afford
to pay to see her on the stage of an elegant theatre.
When the Duse returned to acting, one evening
after the performance a man presented himself at the
stage entrance, and asked, as one within his rights, to
see “La Signora.”” But with all the insistence that
he used he was not able to have the severe rule—her
rule—set aside. Repulsed, but not convinced, he left
the theatre; and when half an hour later she came
out from the stage door he was still waiting. ... When
he saw her, with a Jow sob-like cry he came forward,
230 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
and dropped on his knees on the cold, wet pavement
Grabbing the saintly hands that were instantly ex-
tended to him, he kissed them many times. . . . Her
face as she looked at the big man was illuminated by
a seraphic light ; the smile (an actor going out at that
moment recounted the incident afterwards) was of
inexplicable unearthly beauty.
The triumph at the theatre had been wonderful,
but the satisfaction it had given her was as nothing
compared to what she felt in seeing one of her ex-
soldiers again—and, unfortunately, only he heard the
sublime words of joy that came to her in that moment.
The man, tempered by the trenches, hardened in
the fire and bloodshed of the terrible battles of the
Carso, was only one of the many whom the Duse had
subjugated by her unfailing goodness: and he would
have laid down his life for her.
The above is merely one incident, there are hundreds
similar. To have an interview with Eleonora Duse
at any stage of her career was almost an impossibility ;
even friends were not always admitted to the august
presence, but a soldier who had known her, or any
member of his family, was ever welcome. She was
never too ill to think of a gentle, encouraging word,
nor ever so poor that she could not give something to
help those truly in need.
Waiting at the station at Udine for the train that
was to take her to Florence for a short rest, seated on
a bench, a discreet friend beside her, she was lost in
contemplation of the tired soldiers passing to and fro.
Of a sudden the sound of near-by applause was
heard. Someone was in the middle of the crowd
approaching, hidden, but revealed by the enthusiasm.
Startled out of her reverie, almost unconsciously
the Duse murmured :
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 231
“ D’Annunzio.”’
Instantly pale she got up. Her great eyes, full of
shadows, following the crowd.
When all was quiet again she sat down, paler—if
that were possible—silent as before.
The financial embarrassment was increasing, for
the holes were never mended in her pockets, and she
continued to give with undiminished generosity ;
impossible even then for her to think of her own
future when there were so many people in need and
want.
The pearls, still her dearest possession, were being
offered for sale, and when finally disposed of brought
her about half their real value.
At the same time as the story of the unfortunate
sale of the pearls became known, the Morgana Film
asked her to play the leading réle in a moving picture
adapted from Grazia Deledda’s novel, ‘“ Cenere.”’
Many times she had refused to play in a silent
drama, but that time the insistence of Marchese di
Bugnano and Clemente Levi, animated by the thought
of offering the great actress the means of earning a
large sum of money and at the same time serving
themselves by her work and glory, finally convinced her,
and she, against her better judgment, accepted the,
contract.
It proved to be merely another disillusion.
The picture was badly organised, and when finished
was more than mediocre; and the Duse immediately
opposed the diffusion.
The lawyers’ fees were more than she could meet,
so eventually things were settled outside the court,
and the picture put in circulation with a Duse de-
formed so completely by bad focussing that she was
entirely devoid of the perfect attitudes that on the
_ stage made her the most harmonious of beings.
232 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
Wandering, wandering, consoling, comforting ;
finding consolation only in her profound faith—a
faith illuminated and sure, that was to shine with
dazzling splendour until her death: preparing her
soul for the eternal conquest.
Once more during the War her love for the compan-
lions in art made her raise her voice in counsel, a
counsel so strange that in comparison the “ Actors’
Library ”’ could be considered as a sane proposition.
To limit the luxury that is the ruin of many actresses
Eleonora Duse suggested the uniform costume—an .
unattractive robe that was to be used by all com-
panies. |
It was never decided if the material as well as the
model was to be the same or even what kind of material
was to be used ; nor if the same costume should serve
for comedy as well as tragedy.
At first most people believed she was joking, but
in that they were sadly mistaken: she was intensely
serious.
Thus the queen and faithful maid-servant, the
peasant and grand ladies, would offer to the eyes of an
audience the insupportable, impossible monotony of
the mode in sacks; that would certainly drive the
public from the theatre, instead of inviting them to
enter.
This time a monstrous orchid was born in the
enchanted garden.
With quite another conception of the necessity
of the theatre, in 1908 Yvette Guilbert organised
“Le vestiare du théatre,”’ a work of direct purifica-
tion, putting the generosity of the rich French women
to proof, as a means of saving at least a few actresses
from ruin: for by having at their disposal the slightly-
used frocks of the society women they were able to
procure the necessary stage elegance at a low price.
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 233
Though the Duse’s idea of economy was not zsthetic-
ally pleasing, the magnetism exercised by her was
so strong that the theatrical world sang a hosanna for
the find, and one company even went so far as to apply
the system. ... It is useless to say how quickly
they dismissed it.
Evidently Eleonora Duse, far from the theatre—
her true element—was mistaken in her ideas of the
real needs of the class to which she was born.
Shortly after the War, while Italy was fighting
against Socialism, the newer Fascismo not yet
organised, her long work at the Front a thing of
the past, she began to think again of the moving-
picture as a possible means of earning a discreet living,
and at the same time giving her an occupation that
her frail health could bear.
To Marco Praga the theatre-going world owes a
debt of infinite gratitude, for it was he who conducted
the Duse’s thoughts to a return to the stage, as the
most certain way of assuring a comfortable old age for
herself and a new glory for Italy.
Those who had the good fortune of seeing her at
any time during the two years that she played after
her return can only send blessing to Marco Praga
for the unforgettable vision of true grandness . . . the
music of her voice that must ever ring in their
ears.
After peace was declared the Duse returned to
Florence, from there taking short trips to Rome,
the mountains, or the sea, and at last settling at Asolo,
in the delightful villa owned by Miss Katherine Onslow,
first cousin to the Earl of Onslow.
In the autumn of 1920 Marco Praga, the friend and
devoted admirer, surprised her among her books and
234 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
flowers . . . and returning to Milan he gave out the
hopeful news of Eleonora Duse’s possible return to
the stage.
Several months before the visit to Asolo, Praga,
who for some years had practically lost sight of the
Duse, owing to the War separating them, received a
note from her, which simply said :
“‘ Am here for a few days only. I would like to see
you. Come.”
That same evening he went to her hotel. As he
entered her room she extended the beautiful white
hands, and without preface said:
“My dear old friend, I must work. I have only
enough money to live on for a couple of years. It is
necessary for me to; help me.”
What a joy, and what a sorrow, to think of her
acting again !
And it was for need, absolute need, that she had
sent for him, to ask his advice. And when he spoke
of the stage, she hesitated. Yes, it was for need, for
her daily bread, but no one must know it. The noble
austerity of her soul, the legitimate pride of the woman
and actress, would not permit her return to the stage
to arouse a sentiment of pity for the woman. Rather
the public take it as the vanity of the actress, of a
miserable desire for new glory, and the pleasure of
hearing her name on the lips of the world. ... And
so she made the statement later that, having regained
her health, she felt in form to return, even ifonly for _
a short while, and that she desired to work because
it seemed to her to be the duty of every loyal Italian
to make something of him, or herself, for Italy—the
Italy renovated by the War; to do something, the
best that one could, for the pleasure and the elevation
of the multitudes still debating between the shock
that the devastation left in all hearts and the relief —
that the final victory had brought.
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 235
That was what she said, and hoped the world
would believe. And it is not impossible, given her
exquisite sensibility and noble soul, that such a
thought really was in her mind.
But the years were weighing heavily on her, though
she was only a little over sixty, for illness had tor-
mented too much and too long the delicate body ; and
her desire also to carry her stone to the edifice of the
new Italy might never have been realised if petty
and cruel necessity had not impelled her on.
At Asolo, Marco Praga found the grand tragedienne
—the dear little white-haired woman—sad, restless,
doubtful. She feared her return to the stage. She,
the Duse! When at last Praga convinced her that
she was certain of success, and that Italy wanted,
needed, to see and hear her again, he left the villa,
and slowly began the descent to the Square.
“Listen,” she called after him: “ write something,
publish something. Say that you hunted me out,
to try to persuade me to play again, to do a short
tour. That it was you, urged by the others... .
And that I have not yet said ‘ yes,’ or ‘no.’ Do you
understand? I’m afraid! If they think this weird
idea is mine, I should be ashamed. ... And the
reason why No, no, no! You understand me,
my friend ? ”
_ And when Praga’s article appeared in the papers,
and it was known that her intention to return to the
stage was more than a rumour, many of the faithful
actors who had been with her twelve years before
wrote to “their signora”’ that they were ready, if
she wished to call them to her. .. . Ready to take
whatever parts she could offer them.
_ The Duse had always treated the members of her
company as ladies and gentlemen, knowing in a
marvellous way how to cancel the distance between
236 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
—_—_—
herself and the most humble of them. But woe to
he who was guilty of the smallest discord.
The actor, or actress who involuntarily committed
a fault wounded the measureless sensibility for har-
mony that she possessed as no one else ever had...
and ran the risk of becoming, no matter what his
position as actor, a negative quantity.
For those who were near her she was ever wonderful,
and at the same time it was exceedingly sorrowful to
see how, without a moment’s warning, or apparent
reason, she would change towards those who in her
heart she desired to be kind to. . . . Even those who
were not sensitive felt this changeableness and, not
understanding why, for days remained perplexed, but
never lamenting the fortune that had put them with
her, for, in the words of d’Annunzio, which they all
knew, there was a vague sense of comprehension :
“She is always different, like a cloud that from
second to second seems to change before your very
eyes without your seeing the change,” etc.
In 1920, before her plan to return to the stage,
the Duse, restless, unsettled, suddenly decided to leave
Florence and to spend a few weeks in Munich. A
telegram was sent to engage rooms, and, accompanied
by Mlle. Desirée—the Austrian lady who had been
her companion before the War, and as soon as peace
was declared with loving devotion returned—left for
the Bavarian city. |
Keeping her passport in her handbag, the Duse
was always ready to start for any country at a moment’s
notice.
Arriving at Munich they got into a taxi. Before
passing the station limits the taxi was stopped by a
policeman, whose bullet head was plainly visible under
the helmet, and their passports studied inside and
out. ,
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 237
The Duse said nothing, but when they arrived at
the hotel she refused to have the luggage taken off
the taxi. :
“Go and pay for the reservation of the rooms,”
she said to Mlle. Desirée, “‘and ask what time the
first train leaves for Italy.”
Quite calmly, undisturbed by the long journey,
she sat in the hall while the bill was being paid to the
astonished manager ; to whom the Desirée could give
no explanation other than that Madam had changed
her mind—why, even she did not know.
When they were in the train that was to take them
to Italy the Duse explained: ‘“‘ Impossible! It’s still
too soon to support the pig-headed ! ”’
She had travelled about thirty-six hours, spent a
considerable sum, only to find that Germany was still
Germany, and that Eleonora Duse was as much, or
as little, to the authorities, as the smallest personality ;
and Eleonora Duse was in the habit of being Eleonora
Duse.
“You, boys, have known how to fabricate with
your own hands, by bloodshed and by laying down your
lives, a divine and immortal drama before which one
must religiously bow, devout and humble.
“Tam taking up my work again for you, for you
young people who have heroically lived through the
massacre. ... I am here a bit worn, slightly bent
by the weight of years, white-haired and very old.
. . . Do you want me just the same? I have great
faith in you, in the new generation given us by the
War ; so strong is that faith that I am able to conserve
a little of it for myself. . . . In the past years ] have
read everything that has been written about the War.
. . . [have a little house—a refuge—up here at Asolo.
Do you all know the place? Ithink youdo. WhenI
open my window in the morning, before me as in a
nse a I NT LN OE AN ARN ORE HNC ETE eT IY Ste nn
238 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
frame is the Grappa. . . . I put two little vases of
flowers on the window-sill: and my altar is there.
And I contemplate, until the desire to light a candle
and to pray comes to me.
‘““T would like to now and always be the mother
who teaches how to love life again, who exalts kindness
and the beauty of life to the numberless sons, who,
too near, and for too long, have been compelled to face
death. And to carry to them not a word of doubt, but
one of faith !
““ ELEONORA DUSE.”’
This letter was the Duse’s open appeal to the
Italian public a short time before her return to the stage.
She made her first reappearance with Ermete
Zacconi at the Balbo Theatre, Turin, on the evening
of May 5th, 1921, in “‘ The Lady from the Sea.”
Naturally conscious as she was of the immense
souvenir which she had left, she was terrified by the
possibility of destroying, in those who had known her
in her youth, the poetry of that souvenir, made ideal
by the passing of time; and to those who had not
known her, the image diffused by writers and the
tales of those who had seen her. . . . So presenting
herself on the stage of the Balbo Theatre that memor-
able evening, she was oppressed by a tremendous
anguish, which became deadly, almost paralysing her
with fear, when, upon her entrance, the spectators as —
one person rose and saluted her with a solemn applause -
that lasted fully ten minutes. © |
That evening there was no disillusion. She was
the Duse, the Duse, the Duse. No one in the crowded
theatre searched for adjectives. The Duse. And in
those two words everything had been said. What an
evening it was! Never had an audience in Italy
been so thrilled . . . and how proud they all were
to say afterwards: “I was there.” Hg
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 239
Among the old actors who returned to the Duse
were the two Roberts, who had met in her company
twelve years before, and who, during the years of
silence had not had the courage to act without their
“signora,’ and so had turned to moving pictures,
and even to commerce rather than go to another
company.
Some years before, in 1916, Enif Robert had passed
through a severe illness, undergoing several dangerous
operations, and while she was in the hospital the Duse
went to see her many times. By the exercise of her
strong will, her mere presence was sufficient to relieve
the patient’s suffering.
“T’m a little unknown actress, who played the
left-over parts,’ Enif Robert said to me; “but I
owe my health if not my life to Eleonora Duse, for
the gentle affection and great kindness that she
showered upon me during my hours of suffering. .. .
When worn out by pain she gave me courage, and
taught me that no matter what happened life was still
worth while. ... And in return for that I would
have willingly laid down my life, the life that she
helped me to find, if by so doing I could have saved
her a moment’s pain.”
And just such love as that she inspired in all
who had the honour and the blessed privilege to be
near her.
One day during Mme Robert’s illness the Duse
appeared on the threshold of the little hospital room,
a tiny pot of flowers in her hand; standing still she
said: “It’s just a wee four-leaf clover plant, for good
luck.” And,smiling, she advanced with her light step
to the bedside, the mere sight of her pure sweet face
instantly comforting the sick woman there.
The great woman who, by the lightest touch of
her hand, the inflection of her voice, or with a har-
monious gesture, could alleviate the sufferings of others,
240 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
for herself could find no consolation. . . . “‘ He saved
others, Himself He could not save.’ In the last ten
years of her life Eleonora Duse walked very close
to the Divine Son, bearing nobly her Cross, as in fact
she had borne it from birth, fulfilling to the best of
her ability the mission for which she was sent into
the world.
In this affirmation of truth there is no desire to
paint asad, desolate Duse ; no—for she then, as earlier
in her life, knew how to pass over profound hater
at times, in fact many times, to silence it entirely. .
She often fabricated a serenity full of gaiety that was
a benediction, a sense of well-being for those who were
able to share the hours of joy with her. . . . She was
always different—beyond analysis, and particularly
for anyone who had known her in her prime and saw
her again during the latter years.
Many, many times she gave the comfort of her
presence to the little actress, and never once during
the long illness did her interest wane, for realising the
moral importance of her assistance she continued to
offer it freely.
One day she sent three books, one of them a
translation of Emerson, whose philosophy immediately
had the effect she hoped for, giving Enif Robert,
without exactly knowing why, a new hope of getting
well. The other two books were Italian novels; a
little note accompanied them :
“T send you these three friends ; later I will come.
Keep tranquil. God sees and provides.”’
And the day of the operation :
“Serene acceptation. Calm. Collected. All will
be well. All will be well.
‘“‘ ELEONORA DUSE.”’
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 241
And two days after the operation, which had proved
most successful :
“Tam here with you, as I always am. I will not
come into your room for fear of over-exciting you.
We will see each other soon.
| “ELEONORA DUSE.”’
In the sick woman she saw only the suffering
companion who had need of comfort, and in a moment
she had effaced the distance that had hitherto existed
between the great artist and the little actress by
addressing her in the familiar second person, thus by
one word reaching Enif Robert’s heart and filling it
with gratitude.
So at the announcement of the Duse’s return it
was with joy and faith that the unimportant little
actress wrote to her “ signora’’ and benefactress.
The reply was, ‘‘Come,’’ and the Roberts, the two
ex-actors, who, alas! were no longer newly-weds,
accepted the call.
“The Lady from the Sea’ was being rehearsed
at Rome. The Duse, as I have already said, had many
copies of every play, each lined and underlined, ideas
and comments on every scene fully described, in the
continual research for the Ibsen truth.
One morning she remembered that she had still
another copy of “ The Lady” at Asolo, in which, in
the serenity of her villa, she had made various import-
ant notes. So important, that in the dust of the
stage she could not recall them clearly.
It was probably merely a question of a shade, of
a tiny particular easily passed over, for any other
actress—but for her it was of vast importance.
She immediately sent the secretary of the company
to Asolo. He telegraphed that he was unable to find
Q
242 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
the manuscript. She replied: “ Fill the trunks that
you find with all the manuscripts and send at once.”
Fourteen trunks arrived, in which she _ herself
searched and . . . found.
Though the opening at Turin met with such
brilliant success, there was quite a difference a few
months later at the “‘ Costanzi’’ of Rome (when the
immense theatre seemed frozen by the reverent cold-
ness that greeted the first performance). That evening
the reality surpassed the dream, for the younger part
of the audience had only heard of two Duses—the
revealing reality, and the exquisite affectation—and
before them there was a third Duse, of immaculate
light. . . . Instead of the young, agitated woman of
the fragrantly salt-scented hair, there came A Lady
from the Sea, white-haired—whose voice alone
rendered the entire spirituality of the drama.
In the second act, when Ellida confessed to her
husband, the very depths of the sea were sounded in
her words. The marvel of Ibsen’s understanding of
harmony, and his ability to express tragic poetry in
simple prose, were more than eloquently revealed by
Eleonora Duse’s interpretation that evening.
There was no declamation, no singing dialogue—the
actors were human beings.
The final curtain brought a quiet, respectful
enthusiasm : for the mystic charm of the grand trage-
dienne had been too superior to arouse clamorousness.
In hushed voices the audience, filing out of the
theatre, spoke of her:
“ She’s old.”
“Yes, but the divine spark is still there.”’
“ That’s true, for after the first impression you
forgot that her face was pale and lined and her lovely
wayward hair white.”
‘““She makes one think of a saint who has come
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 243
back to earth to teach mere mortals how to live... .
If I have to go without a dinner or so, in order to buy
my ticket, I shall hear her in every play she gives. . . .
Just the sound of her voice, that glorious silver tone,
is enough to make a man forget his troubles.”
She was glorious, but different from the old days ;
and the first tour brought forth nothing but praise.
In the big cities she played to full houses, with a
success that was never clamorous.
Then came a short period of enforced rest, after
which she called Ruggero Lupi, an excellent young
actor, in Zacconi’s place.
To realise the terrible difficulty of the short season
one should hear Lupi tell of the ill-fated tour of the
provincial towns. The Duse’s_ physical suffering,
half-filled theatres, small profits and little success.
She resisted, and that was all. Ether, oxygen,
remedies which were not always sufficient. On the
stage she leaned against tables or cha.rs for support,
murmuring :
fruponre ... Lupone ... I can’t go on.”
She looked frequently at her hands, much as a
very ill person does.
One evening, vith a smile of sweetest sacrifice, she
said :
“These provincial people are right. The prices
are too high to admire, to hear, to see an old woman.”’
There was no resentment in her voice, rather
a sense of humility, as of the labourer who finds
consolation in the work well done.
Detached from the world, she acted.
Detached, one might say from her body, she acted :
for to win success another time she had nothing but
her sacred pain. No longer the tenacious desire ;
no longer the strange charm that was more than
beauty, nor the legendary glimmer: merely an image
of the past as a comparison to exiled old age. In the
244 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
new world anxious for light, colour and fantasia who
would be able to understand the melancholy lonely
pilgrim taking again to the road ? Could a voice like
hers, that was almost a tender lament, be heard among
the hurried, nervous population ?
Though a considerable amount of money was taken,
the expenses of the company were heavy, for the
actors were paid by the day, while the performances
were limited to one or two at most each week; and
there were weeks, even months, when she was abso-
lutely unable to play, and the amount to be paid out
remained the same.
In the spring of 1922, owing to the Duse’s illness,
all engagements were cancelled and the company
disbanded, to be reorganised in August, 1922, when
Memo Benassi became the leading man.
They opened at Trieste in September. The re-
ception was one of fervid adoration, particularly on
the part of the women, who had organised a special
committee to pay homage to the Duse. ... The
first evening they scattered flowers all along the street
from her hotel to the theatre, and when she arrived
they were kneeling about the stage-door to exalt
the actress, and also the woman who in her sublime
strength during the years of the War had in her very
silence wrought miracles of consolation and courage.
This homage of the city liberated from Austrian rule
was a public rendering of thanks to one who had
helped towards its freedom. ;
_ At Turin, a few months later, word was received
that Sarah Bernhardt would be in Genoa in a couple
of days to play at the Paganini Theatre. The Duse
sent for the faithful Enif, and offered her a mission
that filled the timid little actress with fear.
“Sarah Bernhardt arrives at Genoa the day after
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 245
to-morrow ’’—the Duse went directly to the subject
in hand. ‘ I want her to receive my salutations. You
know how to save an annoying situation by charming
finesse, so I am sure I can trust you with this.”” With-
out waiting for a reply she revealed her plan: “ You
will select two hundred roses, rose de France—be sure
that they ave rose de France—then you will leave for
Genoa. You will take them to her at her hotel—
not on the stage—and with them this note... .
The roses must be in a beautiful bunch, untied, so that
when she takes them they will fall all about her. ... .
“You quite understand ? Yes, and I’m sure you
will do all this with finesse, in twenty-four hours.”’
Having acquired more faith in herself from the
Grand Teacher’s words than in thirty years of auto-
suggestion, Enif Robert left Turin.
“Tf the Duse has faith in me,” she thought,
_“ what does it matter what I become ? ”’
Arrived at Genoa she took the roses to the French
actress's hotel. But she could not be received because
an automobile accident had delayed the arrival, and
“Madame ”’ had only two hours to rest before going
to the theatre, so could not be disturbed.
Therefore it was Fate that took the roses, against
the wish of the giver, to the stage of the Paganini
Theatre that evening.
Sarah Bernhardt was enchanted by the delicate
fragrant shower of her own French roses that fell
about her. She embraced and kissed many times the
little messenger, with almost violent effusion, and
deluged her with questions :
‘““Where is the Duse? Here? I know that she
plays the day after to-morrow. Can I see her? I
should be so happy to have a long chat with her!”
When told that the Duse was at Turin and would
not arrive until the day of the performance, she burst
into new effusiveness.
246 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
“Oh! whata pity! Iam truly desolate! I would
so gladly have told her personally of my gratitude for
her charming thought, instead of telegraphing ! ”
And after having recerved other expansive ex-
pressions of thanks, Enif Robert was able to get away
from the loquacious Sarah.
“Well, how did it go?’”’ the Duse asked when
she saw Mme Robert.
‘““Signora, forgive me, but I found myself so con-
fused by the excess of unexpected embraces—kisses
and impulsive hugs—that.. . I didn’t make any of
the respectful, deferential speeches that you expected
me to.”
“Oh!” the Duse said gaily. “I forgot to warn
you! For the first time it is truly impressive to
see her impetuous and loudly-gay manner of precipitat-
ing herself upon a person. She is a vivacious per-
sonality, astonishingly so for her age. . . . I’m sure
that if we had met she would have said with perfect
ease: ‘I am short a leg, and what are you short
of >?’ And I would have been obliged to reply: ‘A
lung.’ . . . And that, despite our courage, would have
been an indescribable sadness.”’
While rehearsing with Zacconi, before beginning
the engagement in 1921, Eleonora Duse formed a most
affectionate friendship with Luciano Zacconi—the
youngest son of the great actor—an adorable child of
four. He was the one person, at that time, who found
no difficulty in getting close to the Duse.
Luciano knew the way to her dressing-room, and
went in whenever he saw fit, always welcomed, and
even permitted to sit on her lap. Between the two
there was a continual exchange of courtesies. The
Duse made Luciano a present of an automobile that
moved by itself, and in exchange he wrote her an
autographed letter.
Wie ee Sch gai laa
Can Oe eee Lees ie eee
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 247
The automobile moved by itself: that was fine—
but it was painted black.
“T told you I wanted a white one,” the child
announced to the great actress.
“ All right,’’ the Duse replied with loving patience.
“T will give you a white one.”
And as she didn’t want the little soul to be tor-
mented by waiting too long for the desired automobile,
she herself went to search forit. Happy in the thought
of the happiness her present would bring to the child,
she sought until she found the toy.
On the evening of the opening at the Balbo Theatre,
a few minutes before the curtain, when the Duse, more
than nervous, was anxiously awaiting the call, the door
of her dressing-room burst open, and Luciano pre-
cipitated himself on her lap, crying at the top of his
baby voice: ‘‘ Viva la Duse!”’
How the child had succeeded in eluding the severe
guards and passing unobserved through the many
corridors to the dressing-room no one ever knew. His
was the first demonstration that saluted her return,
and in the sincerity of the good wishes and the childish
cordiality she found a force and faith to more serenely
confront the great battle.
And while the Bernhardt was touring Italy, being
carried in an armchair from the hotel to the automobile,
and then to the stage,unable to stand without a support,
the Duse was still able to walk, for, fortunately, she
had both her legs, but the force she used in acting
with only one lung was even greater than that of
the Bernhardt.
The Italians under protest went to hear the Bern-
hardt, a few to the Duse, and, still under protest, to
Zacconi, who with a mediocre company was at that
time touring Italy.
‘“What’s happened to us this year?” one heard
248 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
onallsides. ‘“ Our theatres are overflowing with youth :
Bernhardt, Duse, and Zacconi! Isn’t there some
other old actor who wants to inflict himself, or herself,
upon the Italian public ? ”’
So, though business was good in every city, at least
half of the audience was composed of foreigners who
perhaps had never had an opportunity to hear the
Duse in her prime. The enthusiasm worn off after
the first year of her return, the Italians had very
little desire to hear their own Duse, and until she was
dead, with rare exceptions, they did not proclaim her
other than great.
Late in October, 1922, the Duse was announced
to play in Bologna, to be followed this time by the
Bernhardt. . . . An American writer, who all her
life had dreamed of one day seeing Eleonora Duse, had
been staying in Bologna, but unfortunately was forced
to leave the city the day before the first performance.
At the Hotel Baglioni she asked if rooms were
reserved for Eleonora Duse. When informed that
the signora went to the Hotel Brun, she telephoned to
find out at what hour she was expected—eleven
o’clock that evening. Going to a florist, she selected
the loveliest roses there, and without knowing the
Duse’s preference, they were white. On her visiting
card she wrote:
“A simple American writer sends her homage to
the greatest actress in the world.”
And the roses were sent to the hotel.
That evening at eleven o’clock, alone, the American
woman went to the station, out on the platform, and
finding a young man who, from his questions as to the
exact arrival of the train, etc., she surmised was also
waiting for the Duse, kept close to him. |
She had always pictured a tall, imposing woman,
and when a dear little old lady, dressed in black and
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 249
walking with a cane, came from the train, accompanied
by the young man, she felt only one thing—a poignant
desire to rush forward and embrace the living picture
of her own grandmother. . . . Her heart beating faster,
she followed the great woman at a discreet distance,
wanting to at least see her get into the closed automobile
that the hotel was to have sent for her. . . . By some
mistake the Brun automobile was not there, but the
Baglioni closed auto bus was. ... The Duse went
towards it. As she approached, the American stepped
aside, her eyes intent on the lovely, lovely face.
“Tf the Brun automobile isn’t here’’—the Duse
turned to her companion, Mile. Desirée, letting her
glance rest for a second on the American woman
—‘“ we'll go to the blessed Baglioni.”
Unfortunately, the young man had found a closed
private automobile. With the suggestion of a smile
she looked once more at the American, then turned
away.
Those few words were enough for the woman to
remember the voice always, and as she returned to the
Baglioni, alone, a lump kept coming into her throat.
.. . She had seen Eleonora Duse, heard her voice ;
the disillusion had been complete . . . but the reality
was more beautiful than the illusion had ever been.
In May, 1923, after months of hopeful waiting,
the same American writer, on the pretext of having
written a play for her, was admitted to the presence
of Eleonora Duse ; and for forty minutes permitted
to sit opposite her, to look into the marvellous eyes,
to hear the voice that for those forty minutes was
for her alone.
They discussed the play, which, unfortunately, was
never read by the great actress owing to the trans-
lator failing to keep his word to have it ready by the
month of August, when it was to have been taken to
her at Asolo.
250 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
Of the conversation not one word has been or ever
will be forgotten by the American woman, but the
words which rest most vividly in her memory are these:
“ Due sono la veritad—quello che st dice, and quello
che non st dice.’ (There are two truths—what one
tells and what one never tells.)
When before leaving the American found courage
to tell the Duse how she had gone to the station in
Bologna just to see her, to know what the woman, more
than the actress, was like, the Duse smiled wistfully
and said :
“Is it possible that there is one woman in all the
world who would take the trouble to go to a cold
station and to wait for a train that was sure to
be late—just to see an old woman? And you
sent flowers, also, to an actress you had never
seenie
‘“‘ Perhaps I sent the flowers as a tribute to Art.”
As she watched Eleonora Duse the American thought
she saw the brightness of unshed tears in the wonder-
fully expressive eyes. ‘“‘ But,’’ she added reverently,
“IT went to the station for the woman.”’ |
“Dear child, it wasn’t worth your while.”” The
Duse spoke sadly.
‘““ Ah! signora, much as Eleonora Duse has thrilled
me by her art, the glimpse of the dear little lady at
the station thrilled me more.”’
“ T am glad,” she said softly.
During her stay at Milan in 1922, before putting on
a revised version of ‘“‘ La Citta Morta,’’ the Duse and
Gabriele d’Annunzio met. He was in Milan for a
political conference, and at her request went to the
Hotel Cavour, where she was staying.
The blind Anna, as made over by the Duse, only
said words of renunciation and farewell to life, the
beauty and cruelty of which she had known. Before
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 251
presenting the character so entirely changed from the
original, she wanted the author’s approbation.
With her vivid sense of irony, even against herself,
she recounted the brief visit :
The poet came to meet her as she entered the room
—hands outstretched, and taking hers, he murmured :
featy friend...”
She paid no attention to his visible emotion and
nothing was said of the long-dead past—glorious, joyous
andsad. They talked of his drama, of his present work,
and even what he still hoped to do. He had only
words of praise for the modifications which she had
made. ... In saying farewell at the door of her
sitting-room, a sudden wave of memory seemed to pass
over him.
“And yet,” he said, trying to keep hold of the
friendly hand, “ not even you can imagine how much
I loved you!”
And the Duse, serious, with that charming gracious-
ness all her own, replied :
“And, to-day, not even you can imagine how
much I have forgotten—you ! ”
This was absolutely true. She had lived for so
many years an intense spiritual life, far from terrestrial
restlessness—she was restless, it is true, but it was
the restlessness of a quality essentially higher—for
she had forced herself to annihilate the tempestuous
past, that had been the means of such intense
suffering.
In January, 1923, at the Filodrammatici Theatre,
Milan, the Duse gave her last performance in that
city. ... The theatre, which had been renovated,
was badly heated. Owing to the cold, which she had
always felt intensely, her performance was painful,
her suffering plainly visible; and at the end of the
play, “‘ La Citta Morta,” instead of the three piercing
252 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
cries which she should have given, the Duse was only
able to give one.
The following day she took to her bed, and eight
days later pleurisy had developed, which kept her
confined to her room for the balance of the winter.
Despite the constant use of oxygen and camphor,
the asthma persisted without a moment’s respite ;
and yet, ill as she was, she never forgot the company
depending upon her, nor would she consent to dis-
charging them, as she had a perfect right to do.
Those who were near her then saw the most
beautiful example of courage and resistance that can
be imagined.
Feeling that she who had suffered would best know
how to be calm and quiet near a sick poe she once
again called upon the faithful Enif. . And in the
months that followed there was never a lament,
never a gesture of discouragement over her physical
condition, nor a word about the financial ruin that
the enforced repose was bringing upon her.
After patiently breathing the oxygen for the fifth
time that day she said: |
‘““Many times I have prepared myself for death.
. I wonder why I must live on...?” Then,
with a resigned little gesture: “God doesn’t want
me!” : |
With what faith she lived and suffered. .. . And
how infinitely greater—I must repeat it—-the woman
was than the actress—and as actress she had no
equal.
. Her soul was of unlimited spiritual resource,
capable of penetrating into the infinite mysteries of
religion and of comprehending what only an elect
few are able to.
In the moments of calm between the spasms of
coughing, sitting up in bed, she recounted one after
7 » fees o
ad A, i - op at: ots D: iin! A he
ee eee ee Se eet Pe Or te ey NIT ae oem Prtige st: an P
ee By el ae ee ee ea SR ee el a ee ee Eee
Ct ee a eae ee ee nee
Eleonora Duse : The Story of Her Life 253
another the delicious incidents of her life, showing by
her kind words how completely she had pardoned all
those who had wronged or misunderstood her in the
past.
Her especial gift was in being able to say in ten
words, with a photographic clearness, what any other
person would not have been able to say in a hundred.
“Read me a bit of Coué, he who helps to cure
poor suffering flesh by the force of will.”
After half an hour:
“Enough! Even certain moral medicine must
be taken in drops.”’
And later the same day, while talking of those
she had really cared for, she said :
“Oh, Yvette Guilbert, my dear Guilbert, how I
should love to see her: she who renders the old French
songs so deliciously. Yvette the inimitable. I believe
I am homesick for a sight of her, for the nostalgic
longing to hear the songs is a longing for the one who
alone knows how to sing them.”
With the oxygen near, from time to time opening
the tube, she begary to sing in a high falsetto, with
little gestures of shame coquettishly hiding her face
in a wide purple veil that she wore about her shoulders,
partly covering the white dressing-gown :
‘« Dites-moi que je suis belle,
Dites-moi que je suis belle !”’
The Duse’s correspondence was always copious.
She wrote a great deal, arriving at an epistolary style
of rare perfection.
Telegrams were her daily habit.
Telegrams that were short letters ; expensive cables
which she never considered giving up in order to save
on her annual expenses.
When the period of scarce funds came she did
without many luxuries, but it was never possible for
254 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
her to give up books, flowers, or telegrams. . . . And
there were days during the winter of 1923 when for
her post alone she spent over two hundred lire, enough
to have kept a small family in comparative ease.
During her long illness her correspondence was
piled into a basket in her private sitting-room of the
Hotel Cavour, at Milan. . . . Finally, in desperation,
she charged Enif Robert to reply in her name to the
most urgent letters; and together they went through
them.
Of the several hundred, a few are worth mentioning ©
as a proof, not only of the strange human psychology
but also of the great faith that many had in the
possibility of help from the woman with undoubted
powers of consolation, who, even when she could not
give material aid, never failed to give a word of
comfort.
An old actor asked her for . . . a grave!
He said he was too poor to procure it for himself,
and implored her to let him die content: he asked
nothing to relieve his declining days, but dying he
wanted to know that he would have a worthy resting-
place.
A Sister, head of an orphan asylum, turned to the
Duse for pecuniary help. . . . A Sister looking to the
theatre ! 3
But the Duse was not only the actress, she was,
even to those who did not know her personally, the
Grand Creature of infinite spiritual resource, who
treated the spirits of others, even in modest places.
The Sister asked also for a good word for her
little orphans.
‘“What shall I say, mio Dio, to the lonely little
ones...I... to-day? I am so, so tired, I can
no longer use my strength for the good of others.”
She said it in a tone of voice that left no doubt
of her true state of fatigue and renunciation.
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 255
So the improvised secretary wrote a few words that
later she read to the “ signora.”’
The letter began: ‘‘ Reverend Mother.”
The Duse burst out laughing as she said:
“Brava! Brava! How and where did you learn
to deal with the religious orders? I didn’t suppose
* you had such a profound knowledge of the hierarchy
of the convents! ’’ And she continued to laugh, heartily,
‘approving the words of comfort and faith in God that
the secretary read.
Then changing the subject : “‘ You write very well:
generally speaking, all women write well ; much better,
especially letters, than men, no matter how cultivated
they may be.
“T remember I wrote a letter many years ago, a
very important letter, to a most illustrious person. A
noted writer was with me, and I showed him what I
had written. ...‘ More than good,’ he said, ‘I
couldn’t have done it better, or said more, myself.’
“You understand how they put on airs? And I
thought then, that men sin when they fancy themselves
the superior sex—and how they sin! ”’
All religious orders, and particularly the nuns,
had the greatest admiration for the Duse. Ina certain
convent, in the squalid room of alittle nun, there is a
large photograph of the grand actress. The Sister,
a young peaceful soul, explained to an astonished
visitor: ‘It is a face that reflects a grand interior
beauty, and in looking at her, the living expression of
humanity, I think of our intelligent saints and some-
how feel better. What difference is it if Fate made
her an actress ? ”’
Another of the numerous letters was from a young
girl, who, after recounting at length the misery of the
entire family, asked for money to buy a new uniform
for her brother, a non-commissioned officer of the
256 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
navy, who could not join his ship unless he had
one
“ What a pity not to be able to relieve the sufferings
of those who turn to me for consolation,” the sick
woman said sadly. ‘I have always done what I
could—and sometimes even more. To-day I can do
nothing—TI am ill and alone, at the head of a theatrical ~
venture in a moment of difficulty. . . . No, I truly
can do nothing.” |
The Duse had at times provided regally for many
benefits, for money to her was never other than an
instrument for the good of others.
From the moment that fame permitted her the
free use of money, she spent at all times, and upon all
occasions, with the free hand of a truly great lady.
‘Before those who have nothing,” she said, “I
want to ask pardon for the little that I possess; give
all, in an anonymous gift.”
Again she was well enough to get up. Once more
she had beaten the dread monster back. (Alas! it was
her last victory over the inexorable disease.) And she
was full of courage, strong, ready to resume her march.
She talked frequently of producing new plays:
Pirandello had promised her something grand and
sweet, Gino Rocca also was going to give her a true
Italian mother. Edouard Schneider, the French
playwright, and her very good friend, had written
‘“Esaltation ’’ for her. Over this play she was most
enthusiastic, and ardently hoped to give it at a
future date.
While searching for a réle adapted to her, the Duse
received several hundred manuscripts, and not a few
authors had the honour of talking over their work with
the great woman ; and the writer’s own play: “ The
Mills of the Gods,” also written specially for her, was
looked upon with favour by the great Duse.
te
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 257
She had always had a reverent adoration for Paris,
and envied the French their ‘“‘ Vieux Columbier,’’ for
it was just such a theatre that she dreamed of for
herself either at Milan or Rome. This dream might
have been realised had she lived longer, for until
the time she left for the United States the project
of giving her the Filodrammatici at Milan, as a theatre
where young art, under her direction, would have its
chance, was much talked of.
Some time during the long illness of the winter of
1923, Mussolini, the Italian Prime Minister, sent
Margherita Sarfatti as his ambassadress to offer
Eleonora Duse a pension from the Government, a
sum sufficient to permit her to live without working.
When the object of the visit was timidly made
known, the Duse replied promptly, and with great
dignity :
“No, no, no! Thank you, but I do not ask any-
thing! I do not want anything! I cannot accept
anything! I am profoundly grateful—even moved.
. . . Please tell the Prime Minister that. But what
he offers is not possible! We are a young country ;
Italy is poor, everyone who possibly can must give
instead of taking—give with all his strength. ... As
long as I can drag about, as long as I can stand, I
must work! I only ask to be able to work, for it is
right that I should live by my work alone! ”’
Admiring her courage, but not quite convinced,
Margherita Sarfatti later returned to timidly insist
upon the Government’s offer at least being considered.
She found the same determination on the Duse’s part.
“No money, no! If the Prime Minister truly
wants to help me, I will ask two favours of him: to
do what he can to enable me to lease the Filodrammatici
for a season, and’’—with an exquisitely beautiful
gesture, “‘ I have a superb offer from the United States,
R
258 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
and I should like to go—to make our beautiful language
sing once more in ears unaccustomed to it. But, if
I should die over there, who would think of my
company ? So I want you to ask the Prime Minister
to solemnly assure me of the ambassador’s assistance
for my actors; in case of my illness to see that they
get their money from the American manager, or if I
die to send them safely back to Italy.”” And turning
the palms of her hands upwards towards Heaven she
invoked aid, not for herself but for the others. ‘‘ How
can I,’’ she added sadly, ““ how can I abandon them
so? No—lI could not take the chance of going to a
far-away land unless I knew that in dying I could
be tranquil for the safety of my actors.”
And when Mussolini gave his promise, and still
further insisted upon immediate financial aid, she
accepted thirty thousand lire, in order to pay her
company for the weeks that she had been unable to
work, but not one sou of the amount was spent on
herself.
The days of convalescence passed slowly, and as
soon as she was able to travel it was arranged for her
to pass the early spring in Naples, where it was hoped
the balmy air and warm sunshine would help in the
cure and enable her to fulfil a long-promised engage-
ment there.
The papers in February of 1923 published a bitter
letter from d’Annunzio to the Italian Press... .
A breath of frozen discontent seemed to have passed
over the poet’s spirits, and the letter was full of
unpleasant thoughts.
From Gardone, the refuge of the hero of the for-
midable soul, into whose life of highest poetry a thing
of profound significance had come with the golden
days of his soldier life, he wrote the message full of
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 259
displeasure, irony, melancholy, and bitterness to the
Press.
Still convalescent, the Duse, who had every reason
to complain of the cruel hostility of life that day,
heartily disapproved of the poet publically giving
vent to his rancour.
‘“‘ All this shows what it means not to have a friend
near in certain moments of discouragement which
come even to the strongest, most tempered souls.
. . . Asincere friend, one who is intelligent enough to
destroy a letter in time. . . . To-day he is suffering
intensely. ... He sought a superb death on the
battlefields, flying over Vienna, or in any of the
numerous episodes of the past, sought for, and lived
through with magnificent, courageous audaciousness.
“ He lived the War as no other Italian ; his heroic
soul breathing freely in the atmosphere of danger and
passionate patriotism.
“Then he could have died well.
‘““ Now he is bearing his cross... heis tired...
I also am tired, and yet I live. Healso lives. He, as
he so ardently wished, should be dead. .. . Still we
are both alive ... why?”
From above she sought the answer to her question,
for instinctively her eyes turned to the window, to the
dull sky of the winter morning. . . . For a moment
she was silent, far away; then serenely she talked
again on another subject.
Her faith in God had been her consolation then,
as at many other times in the immediate past.
At Naples, despite the effort she tried to make, it
was impossible for her to act. The cough was inces-
sant, absorbing the little vitality she had.
In a beautiful room of the Hotel Vesuvius, she
sat for hours each day in a big armchair beside the
window overlooking the sea. Dressed in a soft white
~
260 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
frock, the large folds falling gracefully about her, her
face no less white than the frock, she seemed as she
talked more a saint come to life than the world’s greatest
tragedienne, the woman of infinite caprices, mortal
sins and sorrows... .
Naples, the beautiful, had not been lucky for her ;
for three years consecutively she had gone there to
play, and each time, for one reason or another, she had
not been able to fulfil the engagement.
This time it was the terrible weakness as well as —
the cough that kept her confined to her room.
Often she kept Enif Robert with her for hours at
a time, the alert mind of the younger woman a delight-
ful distraction for her.
They talked very little of the theatre, and less of
what is generally supposed to interest women, but
sometimes the conversation would turn to the writers
of this and other generations. Once, in speaking of
Ibsen, she mentioned a visit she had paid to his house
during a brief Norwegian summer.
She had found the old man disgusted with every-
thing, the world at large and Art in particular. In
the house built high above the fjords, safe from the
winter snows, all was sad.
Going to a little-travelling-bag she took out a
locket containing a lock of hair.
“Tbsen’s son sent me this as a souvenir when his
father died. For me he was the grandest play-
wright of this century; and after him, Bernard
Shaw.”’
Matilde Sarao, the friend of her youth, was among -
the many visitors during the two months passed in
Naples. .. . After one of these visits the faithful
Enif found the Duse gay, serene, ready to laugh and ©
joke, as in her happiest hours.
The Sarao, accomplished writer, and most cul-
tured of women, had said to the girlhood friend :
_— .
FE A ee. |
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 261
“Courage, Eleonora! God has never abandoned
you, and He never will.”
These simple words exchanged between the two
great women, who could, had they desired, have had
a conversation of the highest and most profound
interest, have a certain significance.
The humility of the thought, and the hope it
contained, was an eloquent consolation for the Duse.
. . . And in America the following year; during the
last days of her life, she frequently repeated :
“ As Matilde said : ‘ God will not abandon me.’ ”
By the end of April she was strong enough to go
out, and even to travel. . . . At the Pergola Theatre,
Florence, she gave three performances during the
month of May; and it was while there, at the Hotel
Italie, that it was arranged for her to go to London
in June for a series of six special matinées at the
New Oxford Theatre.
The three plays to be given there—‘ Cosi Sia,”
“The Lady from the Sea,” and “ La Citta Morta ’”’—
were rehearsed in Florence. During the rehearsals
_ the possibility of a voyage to the United States was
discussed.
“Nothing is certain,’ the Duse announced; “ we
will see later ; now we will go to London, and perhaps
that will be the bridge towards the other world across
the seas. So we will leave, children; courage, and
strong hearts! At London I have my little oasis of
well-being. ... I have also many faithful friends,
and a circle of good souls who call me Sister.”
For many years the English manager, Charles
Cochran; had tried to persuade the Duse to come to
London, and when in May, 1923, she telegraphed him
that she would like to give six matinées under his
direction, he thought she was joking.
The conditions were all arranged by telegram, and
262 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
before Cochran could send her a contract she tele-
graphed that she was on the point of leaving.
While the plans were being made for London,
Mussolini, from whom nothing that is good for the
welfare of the Patria escapes notice, again offered the
glorious Italian actress an appanage, so that she could
remain in Italy free from financial worries.
She refused as before.
Remaining in Italy she wanted to work; as she
had already stated, she did not ask for, nor wish, money
that would be dead capital for the country ; instead
she desired a theatre at Rome, financed at the start
by the Government, later to be self-supporting—she
herself to act from time to time, thus having a right
to the money that the Government would pay her.
Mussolini’s exact reply was:
“Write when you think best. If it is in the
interest of the Italian theatre your proposition will be
law for the government presided over by me.”
The Duse’s admiration for Mussolini was unlimited ;
she felt and said that even across the momentary
adversity he was the man who could lead Italy to
her high destiny. . . . She had perfect faith in the
government under him. |
She would write; certain that her wish would be
granted; but, in the meantime, arrangements had
been made and it was necessary to go to London.
Mr. Cochran, upon receipt of her telegram advising
him that she was leaving, went at once to Paris to
meet her and accompanied her to London. The short
trip tired her terribly ; nevertheless, the day after her
arrival she wrote him from Claridge’s :
‘‘ Everything has gone well, and I thank you with
all my heart. JI am more than happy to be here with
you. Best wishes and salutations.”’
ate i
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 263
Her greatest preoccupation before going to London
was for Ellen Terry ; so much so that in one of her
telegrams she asked to have a box reserved for the
grand English tragedienne for the first performance—
a request which she repeated in a letter to Cochran
a few days before the first matinée.
Contrary to the expectations of many, Ellen Terry
was not at the station to receive Eleonora Duse upon
her arrival in London, owing, it is believed, to indis-
position; however, her daughter was there in her
place, and during all of the Duse’s stay was most
devoted and attentive.... For each of the six
performances she took entire charge of the stage
lights, and saw to the minor arrangements of the
scenes.
The grand Italian had a vast number of ardent
admirers among the English public, where she
was considered not only the greatest actress of
her time but the highest type of lady of the
theatre.
Mr. Cochran, who had also managed Bernhardt
for various London engagements, said :
“It would be impossible to find two women more
diverse. Sarah was born to fight and to triumph over
all difficulties. Instinctively I wrote Sarah, yet it
would have been difficult for me to have addressed the
grand Italian so. With Sarah it was natural to talk
business, even argue, knowing beforehand that I
would get the worst of it; but with the Duse, though
she was always exquisitely courteous with me, I could
never argue over money matters.’’
Six performances at the beautiful New Oxford
Theatre—six matinées with not even standing room.
Every well-known personality in London went to see
264 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life |
her, and there was enthusiasm such as the cold English
public rarely demonstrates.
And the Duse was comforted: the fine intelligent
audience accepted her white hair, the old age not in
any way veiled by artifice, the something singular
and superior that time and the illusion of the stage
could not destroy.
Those who knew of the physical orks she was
consuming found their admiration mingled with pity—
increased by it.
| “Cost Sia’”’ (Thy Will be done), a prose poem, a
simple human short story, transformed at her request
by Gallarati-Scotti, the author, into a soulful drama,
-as rendered by Eleonora Duse was the most mystic
play ever seen perhaps on any stage. ... When in
the second act she was denounced by her son, for whom
she had sacrificed her life, the Duse reached a suprem-
acy in art that had never been equalled, and could
never be surpassed. There was something so superb
in her humility, something so divine, that I shall not
even attempt to describe it.
In her dressing-room at the New Oxford Theatre
cylinders of oxygen were continually kept ready in
case of sudden illness. And when she was taken from
the stage after the first performance of “ Cosi Sia,”
overcome by the tremendous force she had used, she
fell fainting on the lounge in her dressing-room, where
ne remained in a sort of catalepsy for nearly an
our.
And still forcing her will to do her bidding the
courageous woman continued the engagement; and
even managed to find sufficient strength to see many of
her faithful friends, who overwhelmed her with kind-
ness and affection.
No beautiful young prima donna ever received more
or rarer flowers than the woman of sixty-four, nor
grander homage from great and small. . . . After each
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 265
performance they called her again and again before
the curtain, loath to let her leave them ; and when she
left the stage door hundreds of men and women
thronged the street, a dense crowd on either side from
the door to the waiting automobile. . . . And when
the little old lady in her modest black coat and hat
appeared, loud clapping and cheers rent the air:
“Duse! Duse! Long live the Duse! ”’
After the last performance, for forty minutes they
kept her before the curtain to answer the unending
applause, the entire audience crowding forward towards
the stage, throwing flowers, and calling: “ Long live
the Duse! Vzva Eleonora Duse! Come back to us,
Duse! Come back soon!”
Tears ran unheeded down the white cheeks. This
demonstration from a public little given to showing a
sentiment whatsoever moved her deeply. . . . She
was old, ill, but they wanted her. These stalwart
English people loved the frail little woman unable to
openly express her thanks ; and across the footlights,
without knowing what they said, she understood.
There were tears in the eyes of all her actors, and
there were tears in the eyes of most of the audience
. . . for what is more beautiful, or can so deeply stir
even the coldest hearts, than—in the midst of glory
—an eternal farewell... . They asked her to come
back—yet many, many in the vast audience knew she
never could.
' On the return trip from London the Duse stopped
for a few daysin Paris. In Ada Rubinstein’s spacious,
elegant, studious drawing-room, on the grand piano,
she signed her contract with Morris Gest for twenty
performances in the principal eastern cities of the
United States.
The company returned to Italy, and the Duse
eventually went to Switzerland, where she hoped to
266 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
be joined by Edouard Schneider, the French playwright,
and his wife.
Arrangements were also made in Paris for the
Duse to give a few performances in Switzerland, alter-
nating with Yvette Guilbert, which would have been
most advantageous for her, as the good kind friend
Guilbert had offered to play twice to the Duse’s once,
and to divide the proceeds. . A misunderstanding
on the part of the management brought about by the
interference of the Duse’s friends was the reason for
the project falling through.
Between Lausanne and Berne, Eleonora Duse passed
the last summer of her life, calm and peaceful after
having signed the contract that was to take her to
America in October.
But even with all plans made she was not permitted
to rest until October; for in September, tied by a
severe contract which it seems was made practically
without her consent, the poor Duse was obliged to go
to Vienna for twenty performances, but, having to
sail October 6th, it was impossible to give the stipu-
lated number.
By the help of her lawyers it was finally established
that she was to give three performances in September,
the other seventeen beginning February Toth, 1924,
after her return from America.
The three performances in the old Austrian capital
aroused the usual affectionate ovations and at the last
one she received the shower of flowers for which the
Viennese are famous and which they had never
missed giving to their favourite foreign actress.
Outwardly strong, inwardly fearful, the courage
to affront the fatigue of the long trip, and infinite com-
plications of the tour of the United States came to the
Nomad ...came through her faith in Him, the
Ruler of man’s destiny.
Bust OF MADAME ADA RUBINSTEIN.
By George Fite Waters.
». 266.
>
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
“ Signore, Se ser tu,
Commanda ch’10 venga a te
Sopra le acque.”’
“ Christ, if Thou art Thou,
Command that I come to Thee,
Over the waters.”’
267
268 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
PART IV
The Departure for New York—Touring the United States—Il]ness—
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,
BEFORE arriving at a definite decision as to whether
she dared venture to America, the Duse talked with
many of the young Italian writers, and one and all
- were impressed by the profound religiousness in the
woman who had always in the past demonstrated a
complete indifference to all matters regarding the
Church.
From the time of her return to the stage she spoke
continually of a desire to unite the Church and the
theatre, believing that the stage could reach the faith-
less far easier than the Church could. By the pre-
senting of religious plays she was convinced that many
wanderers would eventually be brought back to the
Fold.
De Flers, the French writer, speaking of his last
visit to the Duse, in 1922, said that one part of her
conversation was most significant as to the trend of
the woman’s thoughts :
‘“‘T would like, before I leave for always, to raise
myself for my art, and, by it, to the grand subjects;
sacred and mystic subjects. ... The theatre came
from the Church, I would like it to return with me.
... I have a beautiful play that is to be my first
step (‘ Cosi Sia’). You will see it one day.”
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 269
To Renato Simoni, the finest Italian dramatic
critic, she said: ‘‘ Perhaps I have lived wrong. I fre-
quently recall my father’s words, and wonder. He
told me: ‘ Remember that a woman’s place is in the
home, where she has great duties of kindness to
fulfil.” ... Have I not gone against my destiny,
leaving the normal route, running about here and
_ there—an actress without rest or peace? ’”’ Sad tears
were in her eyes; then of a sudden they dried and a
sweet light overspread her face. ... “‘ After all,”
she added, “I have lived humanly. I have given
myself to many things—to life with inexhaustible
ardour—and I am not sorry.”
And later, when mention had been made of a con-
ciliation with the Church, she answered softly :
“Tam not yet a practitioner, but I believe.”’
She had read with interest Papini’s ‘‘ Life of Christ,”’
and Maurice Blondell’s “ L’Action,” and frequently
indulged in long talks on religion with her dear friend
Tommaso Gallarati-Scotti, an ardent Catholic. At a
certain point she smiled :
“You don’t perhaps know that I am like the little
dancer who, before going on the stage, made the sign
of the Cross? Go to St. Carlo’s Church, there you
will find all the flowers I received last evening... .
I sent them as an offering to the Madonna.”’
Concluding :
“Notwithstanding all the heavy luggage that
encumbers me, I am returning to God as I returned to
Art: the best I know how. ... Yesterday I read
words from the Gospel that greatly comforted me:
Peter sees Jesus far away on the waters, and says
to Him:
“Christ, if Thou art Thou,
Command that I come to Thee,
Over the waters.”’
270 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
With the hope of finding her God over the waters,
she put her house in order ; made ready for the trip.
With the exception of her young leading man, all
the actors were nervous and fearful for the effect the
American tour might have on the poor body, tormented
and devastated by illness.
A few hours before her departure from Vienna for
Cherbourg, via Paris, the Duse sent for the entire
company. )
“We are leaving, figliols (my children),’’ she said,
“to go far away, on a long artistic pilgrimage. We
must all do our best—-stick together through thick
and thin. ... There is nothing to fear, for on the
other side of the Atlantic we have a faithful public who
even now are acclaiming us. . . . You can have faith
in me, for your return is assured, even if we should
not come back together.”’
To all of their protests she smiled serenely, and
continued :
‘““ What is to be will be. In life one must think of
everything, be prepared for anything, without stupid
sadness or fear. . . . Mussolini, as you all know,
wants to keep me in Italy, but, as yet, there is no
possibility of my having a theatre in Rome established
for me, and I cannot accept unless I give something
in return. . . . While I am away the matter may be
adjusted, and when we return—who knows? ”
With motherly sweetness she saluted them all, and
for each one she had some special word of kindly cheer.
Too preoccupied about her health to say the words
of farewell and good wishes for a safe crossing, they
offered instead many, many roses, a subtle pain in
their hearts as one by one they took and kissed the
beautiful white hand.
““ Ragazzi (boys and girls), you are going off without
a manager—in other words, without a guide—but I
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 271
trust and believe in you, and know that all will be
well. . . . I arrive before you do, so you must send
me a Cable from mid-ocean. ... We will meet in
New York. Arrivederci!”
With a limpid, tender glance she looked from one
serious face to another, gathered up all the gorgeous
white roses, and without another word disappeared
into the adjoining room.
The company was sent to Genoa to sail on an
Italian liner, while the Duse, accompanied by Miss
Katherine Onslow, her companion (Mlle. Desirée) and
a maid, on October 6th embarked from Cherbourg.
At Cherbourg she also bid farewell to her daughter,
Henriette, whom she was never to see again.
Courageous and serene she departed, and in the
same state of serenity landed at New York, after an
ideal crossing, without having suffered a moment
from seasickness.
At New York the greatest triumph of her career
awaited her, and a reception that is rarely accorded
to other than Royalty. All traffic was stopped and,
escorted by mounted policemen, the automobile that
took the Grand Actress to the Hotel Majestic passed
swiftly through the superb streets of the Metropolis,
where even the pedestrians paused a moment as she
passed.
The marvel of the reception filled her with fear—
fear that in her frail condition she would not be able
to reply to the demand that was being put upon
her.
Three days before the company’s arrival at New
York the promised cable was sent: ‘‘ We are coming
willingly, devotedly.”’ The reply reached the ship a
few hours later: ‘“‘ As a mother, I await you.—Eleonora
Duse.”’
When the actors arrived she was full of the won-
derful reception and the grandness of the New Yorkers,
272 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
but anxious as to the results of the much-anticipated
engagement.
At London she had been received more intimately,
with affectionate devotion, and she had felt at home
there among friends; but New York was immense,
exacting, rich, and formidable. There everything
was modern, of the highest class. New York was a city
that could not easily be deluded.
So in fear and trepidation she appeared, at the
first performance of “‘ The Lady from the Sea,”’ in the
vast Metropolitan Opera House.
Arthur Symons once spoke of the Duse as “a
chalice for the wine of imagination.’”’ And I doubt
if that perfect phrase, as Kenneth Macgowan wrote,
“ever fitted more perfectly than it did in the sixty-
fifth year of her life when she came out, a very remote
figure, upon the yawning stage of the Metropolitan.
Then she was doubly the chalice. To the mystery
and exaltation of her art was added a strange
element of aloofness which made her, not the hybrid
of actress and dramatic character to which this
curious art of the theatre accustoms us, but a
great person in the cast of another drama, which we
call ‘ Life.’ . . . Our imagination rose to the art of
voice and hands and body, but it rose, also, to an art
of living which brought this extraordinary woman
before us. It rose higher, I think, to the woman Duse
than to the actress ; for not only an alien tongue, but
the vast gulf of the Metropolitan intervened between
our emotions and Ibsen’s ‘ Lady from the Sea.’ Duse’s
art is more than realism, but it is founded, nevertheless,
upon the intimacy of the realistic theatre, and neither
at the Metropolitan nor at the Century, where she
played for the balance of her brief engagement, can the
living word of the playwright and the living presence
of the player fuse with the soul of the spectator. In
both houses the Duse was not so much an actress
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 273
ministering to emotion as an extraordinary person, a
legendary heroine, perhaps a goddess come before us.
And it was not quite as though she were a great woman
appearing in our midst. Behind the footlights, and
across the gulf of these abominable theatres, Eleonora
Duse became a kind of story. She seemed to be a
legend of herself.
_ “ All of which is a very murky effort to say how
strangely the figure of the Duse moved many of us on
this epochal occasion, and how oddly the art of the
Duse left our playgoing emotions cold. Concede this
anesthesia, admit that we did not suffer with the
mother of ‘Ghosts’ and the woman of ‘The
Lady from the Sea,’ then let us look more closely
at the art which, under happier circumstances,
might have left us wrung with the emotion of
Ibsen.
“ Eleonora Duse has reached an age at which actors
retain none too much of their vigour, and actresses
_ are so sapped that only the greatest—Bernhardt and
this Italian—can keep a grip on their art. Duse has
lived more truly and more fully than Bernhardt, and
given more of herself to life. . . . Duse is weak; she
cannot play more than twice a week, and two hours
on the stage leave their mark upon her as she takes her
final curtain. The Duse has never tolerated make-up
or any artifice of wig or clothing to imitate vanishing
‘youth. So to-day her Ellida Wangel would be aged,
and her fascination for the young sailor a disgusting
absurdity, if it were not for the soul and the art that
still animate her so fully. The voice and hands, of
which so much has been said, are never exaggerated.
There seems nothing studied in her actions, nothing
deliberate ; sometimes her hands flash nervously across
her face when we are most anxious to see her expres-
sion. Her movements are not an artifice but an
inevitable outcome of emotion felt in the very soul
S
274 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
and irresistibly commanding a body fashioned consum-
mately toobey. It is here in the soul of Duse and in the
mystery of the body made one with it that we sense
the ultimate of her art. And we cannot tag and
label it.
“We can be downright and documentary, however,
on one aspect of the Duse. It is the relation of her
acting to current modes. We have had, roughly,
three kinds of playing in this first generation of the
twentieth century. We have had the exploitation of
personality coloured by artifice, a thing that begins
with any one of our agreeable women stars and rises
to the brittle pinnacles of Bernhardt. We have had
the exploitation of personality fitted to type parts,
a cast of characters by mail-order, a kind of stock-room
realism. And we have had—most notably in the
Moscow Art Theatre—true impersonation, made up
of the surface art of wig and grease-paint, and of the
deep of emotional identification. The Duse gives us
a fourth art, an art unique in its combination of quali-
ties. . . . She is unforgettably a person; she is the
Duse. She is skilful with voice and body, but by
inner emotion, not by artifice. The bare, clean skin
of her cheeks speaks both sincerity and a kind of
realism that stands against the theatrical even at its
best. She turns her back on all the deliberate maskings
of face and body which make so much of the art of the
Russians, and which they make so much of. Eleonora
Duse dresses her hair differently for the ‘ Lady from
the Sea’ and the mother in ‘ Ghosts,’ and she wears
appropriately different garments; yet it is essentially
by the movements of the hands, face and voice that
she defines the gulf between the two characters.
Through the hands, the face and the voice, the Duse
remains the Duse. It is only that an inner spirit has
changed, and emanations appear before us in wrist
or smile or intonation. The Duse understands more
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 275
completely than any actress the mysteries by which
the inner spirit is kindled and the emanations arise.”’
From more than a hundred newspapers I have read
only praise for her art and admiration for the woman ;
as one of the critics of a New York paper wrote:
“Great and small from every walk of life went
to pay homage to the Lady of the Stage, the fragile
woman, of the pale face full of shadows and sweetness,
who knows how to shed light where for our eyes there
are only shadows.”
That performance at the Metropolitan was im-
memorable, unbelievable. Every seat in the house
was sold in advance, and long before the curtain rose
there was not even standing room. The total box-office
receipts amounted to over thirty thousand dollars.
The frail little lady with the dun cheeks and corded
neck had made the biggest audience ever gathered
together in the world for a dramatic performance.
. . . After the final curtain there was a moment’s
intense silence, then; with the realisation that the
het, voice was still, the frantic applause broke
orth.
The repertoire in America consisted of “‘ The Lady
from the Sea,” ‘‘ Ghosts,’ ‘‘ Cosi Sia,’ ‘La Citta
Morta,” and ‘“‘ La Porta Chiusa.”’
The premiere at New York was followed by even
greater favour from the public, and was an authentic
triumph at which it is difficult to assist in this practical
age.
The Grand Duse had won her way into the American
hearts as a queen might have, and for her it had been
one of the most trying battles of her career.
The great victory seemed to give her new energy,
for after the second performance all sense of fear for
276 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
success left her. She was gayer and even had less
asthma; and those who were near began to have
hopes of real recuperation.
New York as a city still frightened her ; the luxuri-
ous orgy of Fifth Avenue and Broadway bewildered
her ; in the midst of the universal Sah she longed
to hide her face and to humanly cry.
The great breath of freshness from Central Park
that came into her apartment at the Majestic Hotel
had truly, though momentarily, given new life to her
worn-out organism, filling the exhausted lungs with
a fleeting vitality.
The critics continued to write of her with enthusi-
asm, tireless in their praise of her unique art; and
she was contented, her only worry being the insistence
of the Press for interviews.
She lived a religiously silent life, she who was so
splendid and generous with money, spending with
avarice the poor patrimony of strength that was left
to her.
She knew only too well that in order to continue
to make good she must reserve all her force for the
performance, so it was only possible to support the
most intimate and friendly conversations in which
she could be silent at will.
None of the reporters seemed to be able to under-
stand how necessary it was to keep the door of her
apartment locked against the possibility of intruders.
Nor was it always understood that Mlle. Desirée,
her companion for twenty-five years, was merely
doing her duty in refusing admittance to all.
Before the last performance at the Century Theatre
a banquet was given, by the Italians residing in
New York, in Eleonora Duse’s honour, at which the
entire company was present—but the guest of honour’s
place was vacant. She was quite well, but—crowds
and speeches were annoying. The evening passed
Pe a . Si
Ts o>, ol
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 277
alone at her hotel with a book was more to her
taste.
The only entertainment that she permitted herself
was going to two performances of the Russian actors,
the magnificent company managed by Stanislavsky.
Morris Gest, himself of Russian descent, presented
the grand actor to the souveraine Italian actress, and
the Duse, who had always had a profound admiration
for the Russian school of acting, not only went to
the two performances, but insisted upon going on the
stage to talk with the actors, adding her praise to the
public’s applause.
At Boston the reception was warmly enthusiastic ;
and when the theatre was emptied groups of men and
women, many with tears in their eyes, gathered in
the streets all along the way from the theatre to
the hotel, impeding the passage of the automobile.
And from every side one heard in French as well as
English :
“ Tournez! Tournez! Comeback! Comeback! ”’
But the tour of the United States was nearing its
end.
““ And the trombones,’ the Duse asked Enif Robert
one day while they were chatting in her room of the
hotel at Boston, “‘ what are they doing ? ”’
For her the trombones were the actors who sus-
tained the dignified and serious parts, and who in
the productions had the side réles corresponding to
the trombones in an orchestra.
The Duse’s witticisms in her delightful moments
of frank gaiety were irresistible ; but when she used
the ridiculous name of trombones Mme Robert had
no idea to whom she was referring.
“You know the trombone? He is there as the
improvised allegrezza,’’ she explained, “‘ accompanying
the other instruments by a gesture and musical
278 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life —
cadence: the violin, violoncello, harp, bassoon, and
finally the trombone: pe pe pe pe—a pepe pepe—
and pepepepepe ! ”’
A beautiful parody on certain parts that unfor-
tunately exist in nearly all plays.
Still, on the Duse’s part there was no idea of making
fun of the men who sustained the thankless rdles in her
company; on the contrary, she always had respect
for even the least important of her actors; and especi-
ally for those who were with her then, far from the
Patria, she had more than a sense of professional duty
and sisterly artistic affection.
But woe to him who was not attentive to discipline.
An old Italian actor, for many years established
in New York, had in some way managed to be hidden
among the scenery at almost every performance.
At the last performance at the Century Theatre,
forgetting prudence in his enthusiasm, when the Duse
came off the stage after the second act to go to her
dressing-room, he precipitated himself upon her, and
falling to his knees murmured :
““ Ave, ave, ave!”
For the Duse the day of a performance was sacred,
and from the time she entered her dressing-room until
she was ready to leave the theatre she never permitted
the slightest distraction from the “stage picture ” ;
nor during the day while mentally preparing herself
did she read her letters or telegrams, or receive even
the most intimate friends. . . . Moreover, there was
a severe penalty for anyone who greeted her while
she was in the spirit of the personage—and that
evening, still wrapped up in the mental desperation of
the blind Anna in “ La Citta Morta,” the sight of a
strange man rising before her for a moment stunned
her, then brought a quick unpleasant realisation of her
surroundings.
“ How did you get in here ? ” she asked.
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 279
The tone was not exactly encouraging to the poor
man, who had already repented of his impulsive daring
and audacious act of devotion.
“Tam he pronounced his name in a fearful
whisper.
The Duse gave him a withering glance that covered
him from head to feet, then said dryly as she turned
quickly towards her dressing-room :
‘“ Benissimo, continut pure ad esserlo!’’ (Very
good, continue to be that.)
The tempest broke forth the moment she was
within the four white canvas violet-embroidered walls
that composed the portable room where she changed.
The secretary and Mlle. Desirée were sent for at
once, and angrily questioned. Neither of them had
the slightest idea how the strange man had obtained
admittance:
The following day a letter was posted in the theatre
advising the actors that there would be a fine of one
thousand lire for anyone who permitted an outsider
to come on the stage. For several weeks after a
private detective service was kept up, but the culprit
was never discovered.
Exaggerated ? No, not if one realised how integ-
rally she lived in a part. Many times crossing the
stage between acts she would pass an actor and look
directly in his face without recognising him, so com-
pletely lost in the other personality as to have for-
gotten her own.
M. Worth tells how after a triumph at Paris, such
as he has never seen a French actress achieve, he took
her to her hotel, where the minute she entered her
room she threw herself on the bed, sobbing. . . . She
had come out of the personality and for that night
at least she could give nothing more of herself to the
world. . . . Triumph for triumph’s sake meant nothing
to her ; it was the visible proof that she had not given
280 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
in vain that was her comfort and joy in her
success,
Without bidding farewell to Italy, but with the
bitterness of farewell in her heart, Eleonora Duse had
departed for America.
From time to time echoes of her marvellous
triumphs reached the beloved Patria, the Patria that
she was never to see again.
“There is no longer the weight of reality in her
art,’’ was heard. ‘“‘ She is purely spiritual. Only the
soul reveals itself. The woman is a myth—art alone
speaks.” And many, many other similar phrases that
filled the hearts of the proud Italians with joy and
made them ready at last to give her all, and more
than she had asked for, but—too late.
Never had she been received as she was all over
the United States. And she could no longer rejoice.
She did not even see the people about her; and in
the presence of the listening crowds that filled the
theatres she was alone. Applause filled her with fear,
knowing as she did that an excess of emotion could
break the fine thread that kept her tied to life. The
augmenting glory terrified her. She was thirsty for
peace. But for her there was no peace. Renuncia-
tion was less bitter than victory: and both were
equally necessary. Day by day, in the midst of the
deafening applause, she was dying. In the bright
lights of the theatre she saw only the darkness of her
night coming nearer and nearer. She loved and
feared it. She wanted and dreaded it.
In her younger days she had frequently spoken of
death, and until the last few months of her life the
subject was never far from her thoughts; but at the
end she rarely mentioned it.
A few months before she died she said to Enif
Robert, still in her place of faithful friend in time of
need ;
bd as ia ——
+
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 281
“Do you know when you wrote and asked me to
come back that you said something so just that in
reading it I found comfort for myself? You said:
“We return to you, signora, renewed, renovated as it
were by the serenity of simple home life. It is so
good to live far from the tumult of the theatre that
we could never have conceived the thought of
returning, except with you.’
“You summed it all up in those few words:
“renewed by the serenity of home life ; renovated by
the repose ’"—as I hope I am to-day.”
She could not live far from the footlights to which
prenatal influence and the unnatural birth had
destined her ; but the sublime contradiction of a great-
ness never before achieved made her long for the
silence, even in the midst of the seduction of theatrical
life.
Without giving any idea as to her reason for so
doing the Duse asked the members of her company
individually if they would remain in America, in
case she should not go back in January, as had been
planned. The reply never varied :
“ Yes, signora, I will gladly remain with you here,
or anywhere.”’
For many, many years the Duse had not travelled
with her company, but the entire tour of the United
States was made not only in the same train, but in the
same car with her actors, for, knowing of the unusual
life-insurance policy that the managers had taken
out, she seemed to be afraid of being alone.
“One never knows,” she explained when asked
how it was that she travelled with the company; “ hav-
ing that insurance they might try to kill me—-and I
don’t want to die that way.”
In fact, the backers of the Morris Gest tour, which
was to consist of twenty performances, insured the
tour with Lloyd’s in London for 360,000 dollars as a
282 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
safeguard against losses due to indisposition of the
actress, accidents or other causes which might neces-
sitate a cancellation of dates. The insurance policy
when taken out was considered unique in the history
of the theatrical profession and of underwriting practice.
So when nearing the end of the tour arranged
by Maurice Gest, the Duse decided that, despite the
terrible fatigue which kept her continually confined
to her room, it would be better to prolong her
stay in the United States than to return to Italy,
for once in Europe she would be obliged to finish the
interrupted contract in Vienna.
It was winter—cold—and at that season of the year
the sea was apt to be rough and the crossing bad.
_ Various members of her company had from time
to time mentioned the fact that they could get another
manager to book her, if she would consent to remain
longer in the United States. Word of this had reached
the great tragedienne.
In Baltimore she called the entire company together
to discuss the idea of continuing their tour.
In her private sitting-room of the hotel she looked
smilingly from one familiar face to another.
“Of course,’’ she said, “‘ the women have nothing
to suggest ? ”’ er Gh
The women shook their heads.
‘“ Benassi! ’’ She turned to her leading man.
“No, signora, I haven’t looked for business.”’
“TI suppose not ’’—she nodded wisely—*‘ you ex-
pected business to look for you. And you, Robert? ”
She looked at the stalwart grey-haired man who for so”
many long years had been one of her faithful actors.
“You were always silent, so naturally will remain
so. ... And you, Galvani”’ (another of her very
old actors), “‘ tw cht sat tanto scucito per conto tuo (who
cannot even look after yourself), cht hat mancato
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Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 283
come artista, come pittore, e come marito (who are no
particular good as actor, painter, or husband), cer-
tainly will not have any suggestion.”
But in that she was wrong, for Galvani had a
manager who was ready and anxious to book her, and
who would pay her more than Gest had.
The manager was Fortunato Gallo, an Italian, who
could get her a contract with the Selwyn Brothers.
The matter was decided, and Galvani authorised
to telegraph to Gallo.
Two days later Fortunato Gallo arrived at* Balti-
more and was presented to Eleonora Duse. He offered
her good bookings and three thousand dollars a
performance. (Maurice Gest had paid her two thou-
sand five hundred.) Difficult as it was for her to
even think of travelling, she accepted his proposition,
and he departed for New York.
Several days later Mr. Selwyn, accompanied by
Mr. Gallo, arrived with the contract ready for Madame
Duse’s signature.
She received them in her private sitting-room,
where the very formal-looking document was laid
out on the table; the contents minutely explained
by Mr. Selwyn, interpreted by Mr. Gallo.
‘“ [’m: sure it is quite in order ’’—Mme Duse looked
from Selwyn to Gallo—‘ but before I sign it I had better
have it read to me, as I would not want to put my
name to anything that I could not live up to. Will
you permit Mr. Gallo to translate it for me?” The
smile that never failed to send its luminous rays into
the depths of the hardest of hearts for a second
brightened her face.
Mr. Selwyn bowed when Mr. Gallo repeated in
English what she had said.
She rose and moved towards the door to the adjoin-
ing room, followed by Mr. Gallo.
~“ Just a moment, madam!” With a regal gesture
284 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
Selwyn drew a small gold fountain-pen from his
breast-pocket, reverently kissed it, then handed it
to her. “‘I beg you to sign the contract with this
pen, so that I may always have a souvenir of you.”
The gesture explained his desire, and unhesitatingly
she graciously took the pen.
Mr. Gallo read the contract through. It was found —
to be in perfect order, and the Duse moved close to a
small table and sat down to sign it.
The “‘E” was faint; she shook the pen, tried a
second time. Evidently there was no ink there, for
it did not write. She shook it again, with the same
result. Then she glanced questioningly at Gallo.
“Try this one!’’ He took an ordinary fountain-
pen from his pocket, and without any sentimental
gesture offered it to her.
“No,” she raised her exquisite hand in a gesture
of refusal. ‘‘ I cannot use your pen, for 4
“Why not?’ Evidently Gallo was in a hurry to
get away. ‘‘ One pen is as good as another, it’s the
name that counts.”
‘“ But if I use your pen when Mr. Selwyn believes
that I have used his, I shall be deliberately acting a
lie. No, I must make this one write.”’ She shook it
more violently.
The result was as before. She hesitated a second,
then took Mr. Gallo’s pen and clear and unfalteringly
wrote :
With the little gold pen in her hand she returned
to the sitting-room, and graciously returned it to
Mr. Selwyn.
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 285
ee
As he took the pen from her Selwyn bowed and
for the second time kissed it, then slipped it into his
breast-pocket.
“Thank you,’’ he said simply, ‘‘ I shall treasure it
always because Eleonora Duse used it to sign her con-
tract with me... perhaps her last contract,’ he
murmured under his breath.
“What did he say,” she asked Mr. Gallo anxiously.
Gallo translated Selwyn’s words.
“Tell him that ’’—a wistful expression came into
the marvellous eyes, that no amount of suffering could
ever dim—“ that .. .”
Gallo took out his watch, and made a motion to
Selwyn. .. . Without further explanation the two
managers took their leave.
When alone she dropped disconsolately into a
Cai :-, .
“He will show the little gold pen to his family
and friends, exceeding happy that Eleonora Duse
signed her contract with it; and he will be proud—
while I—I must remember that I deceived a man
who was honest with me, and—I—I shall be
ashamed.”
And for three nights she was unable to sleep, tor-
turing herself over the memory of her deception.
The respect for Mr. Gallo, ex-theatrical agent,
who had become her business manager, fell irrevocably.
‘Unfortunately, the poor man was to know it only too
_. well: as, during the entire tour, he was obliged to
write even the smallest communication that he had
_ to make to her, for she refused to speak to him again,
unable to have faith in a man capable of even so
insignificant a deception.
It is not known to any of her intimates if there
were other minor causes in their relations, before the
incident of the contract, to make her lose faith in
286 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
Mr. Gallo, but it was proven that, if not the only
cause, it was certainly the greatest influence against
him.
So great was the harmonic resonance of her rest-
less, watchful sensibility that every gesture, every
word of others invariably produced an effect, making
it more than difficult for those who were constantly
with her not to be guilty of an occasional false note
in word or action.
Memo Benassi, who played the stranger in “ The
Lady from the Sea,” tells how the Duse once told
him that he must never let her see him in the wings
during the first and second acts, so that when he
entered the scene it would seem to her that he had
truly come from far away, and with that impression
the past of Ellida would come to her immediately.
“If I see you beforehand I will not know how to
feel that sense of bewildered astonishment 40s ewe
will you be able to frighten me.’
Yet with all the truth and reality of her art there
were times when she permitted herself the luxury of
stepping for a moment out of the personage that for
at least twenty-four hours before the performance she
had been creating, making her frequently insupport-
able to those near at hand, but to the world the other
side of the footlights—the divine preceptress of dram-
atic art.
American Indians and Negroes were the people that
interested and aroused her curiosity, and many times
she was almost childish in her desire to see them.
The Southern States, she had been told, were where
the Negroes abounded, and the Indians in the West.
One of the last performances under the direction
of Morris Gest was given in Baltimore. . . . The
curtain had gone up on the first act of “ La Citta
Morta.” The blind Anna was seated, the faithful
nurse (Enif Robert) standing beside her. The dialogue
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 287
was taking place on the far side of the stage,
when, with half-closed eyes, the Duse peered curiously
out over the footlights, and without even turning
towards the nurse she whispered :
“ Tell me, are they black or white ? ”’
The cue came before she could explain what she
was referring to. When she had ended her scene she
was again beside the nurse:
Ve AL 2?
“I think they are white.’”’ Enif Robert had had
time to discover what she wanted to know, and to
look over the house to reassure herself.
“Oh, what a pity!’’ There was real disappoint-
ment in the low tone. “I had so hoped to at last
see a theatre filled with black faces.”’
The new contract called for a tour of the Southern
States—Havana, California ; several middle-west cities
—Pittsburg, Boston, and New York.
Up to New Orleans all went well, but from there
to Havana the voyage was full of anguish.
She left New Orleans knowing that her daughter
was dangerously ill and likely to have to undergo
an operation. The anxiety augmented considerably
her already over-fatigued condition, and made the
slow crossing unbearable.
Frequently Enif Robert went on tiptoe to the door
of her state-room to make sure that all was well.
Seeing the anxious loving face the Duse called her
in.
“T’m tired,” she said plaintively, “tired of
being a cardboard mother. I can’t wait to return
to Asolo, where I hope my daughter, my real daughter,
will come to spend at least the summer with me.
. . . How can I play the day after to-morrow—how
address in the name of stage maternity an imitation
son, when I know that I owe to the theatre the fact
that to-day I am far from my Henriette’s bedside ? ”
288 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
And her anguish multiplied until she was thinking of
the most desperate conditions imaginable in her
daughter’s far-away home.
Fortunately she found a cable at the hotel in
Havana advising her that the operation was not
necessary, and a speedy recovery hoped for.
After the good news she was all smiles, and even
physical suffering seemed to have ceased.
To those who devotedly, humbly reproved her for
unnecessary worry during the voyage she smilingly
replied :
MOE course you're right, but I can’t change my
temperament.”
At Havana things were not to her liking. She
thought continually of the return voyage, no doubt
measuring her strength, feeling more than ever how
far she was from the little nest at Asolo, where she
was counting upon passing a long period of peaceful
repose.
When the health inspector came aboard the boat
from Havana, he passed rapidly along the decks, look-
ing carelessly into eyes, indifferently taking tempera-
tures. Arrived at the Duse he glanced at her card,
and without the slightest warning, or before she had
time to remonstrate, he stuck a thermometer in her
mouth. She, who always had fever, by a stroke of
Fate was free from it that day. Had she had even
one degree she would have been held in quarantine
for several days at least.
In February, 1924, the company arrived in Cali-
fornia, where the balmy air immediately seemed to
give her new life. Los Angeles and San Francisco
were the last places where she had at least the appear-
ance of health.
At San Francisco, in the beautiful Fairmont Hotel
overlooking the sea, with renewed strength and energy,
she dreamed of returning to Asolo—yes, and also of
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 289
working again. Her ardent projects were fresh, miracu-
lously clear; so clear that they who had the fortune
to hear them must to-day, more than ever, weep for
what the world of Art has lost with her.
Playwrights have lost the unique interpreter, actors
will never again find the superb guide of human con-
sciousness, and the public can nevermore witness an
equal perfection.
The editor of the Oakland Examiner, published in
San Francisco, wrote what was the universal opinion
of her on the second part of her tour :
“ Nearly a generation has passed since I saw Eleo-
nora Duse, but she is still the great actress of those
days, she still joins hearts and minds with a balance
more perfect than other living artists.
“She was there, very fragile, almost wraith-like,
quite white-haired. She was there more than 6,000
miles away from the theatre where I saw her the last
time, when the public, in a frenzy, outstretched its
arms to the ‘ Divina.’ She was there with an aura
of sadness hovering over her. She sat bending forward
reading a book, immeasurably removed from the
gaping crowd. I was aware of the deep lines in her
face of marmoreal pallor, and I felt the glow of her
eyes half drooping over the book. Then the play
began. I became acquainted with the actors: the
‘son, Guilio ; the husband, Ippolito ; the lover, Decio ;
a priest and a girl relative.
“ “La Porta Chiusa,’ by Marco Praga, is not an
intellectual play. It is flimsy and theatrical in sub-
stance. It stands only because the Duse gives to
it the fire and flame of her genius.
‘“‘ Duse is there behind the piano. She spoke the
first words, and through them goes the first throb of
the drama. Her enunciation is vibrantly clear; she
has mastered the art of throwing a whisper to the
| -
290 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
gallery. The first act is pale and anemic. The lines
of it are simple, without subtlety. But the climax is
in the second act, when the son lets his natural father
and mother know that he knows the secret of his birth,
and that it is absolutely necessary that he go. It isa
scene of really poignant power. That realisation is a
blow to her. Her whole frame is shot through with terror,
with the anguish of the mother and of the peccatrice.
‘““ She sinks into a chair and seems to want to dis-
appear. She hides her face from her son; savagely
she hides it first in her arms, and after in her palms,
and later on his chest. Her hands, those famous
speaking hands, begin to talk again. Their gestures
are the gestures of resignation and despairing
futility. Her hands are rising and falling with the
voice that is sad. They have sometimes a flashing
arc of gesture, without a break, one mood changing
gracefully into another. She has accepted all with
submission. Now she smiles. She has a smile of
tenderness. The son waits. She still can do some-
thing forhim. He shall go on his expedition.
“The drama ends with a word that the Duse
repeats twice: ‘Sola!’ (Alone!) Twice the bi-syllabic
word comes from her pale lips ; first with a deep tone,
as if she is searching the inner roots of her anguish,
of her desolation, and then, raising her eyes to heaven
as if to find refuge and peace in the submission of her
destiny, she repeats the word with a tone clear and
high but slightly glazed by her repressed tears. ‘ Sola!”
she repeats, and a heroic beauty shines in her face.
In that word she puts all herself. It is a cry of loneli-
ness, wonder and age-old sadness, a cry that no one
who watched her last night will forget. -
‘The fuoco sacro of the old days is still there, in
that frail body, in that soul enriched by the years ; it
is still burning under those lines that time and care
have traced on her. The years have not quenched it.
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 291
' The performance was of absolute symmetry. A
performance of form and colour in which every acces-
sory is blended so completely that the whole appears
inevitable. The plaintively melodious voice, the out-
stretched arms, the simplicity of movement, the utter
subordination of the actress to the part, the stillness
with which she could imbue the quieter pauses in the
emotion, the most beautiful gestures—-gestures of
plastic grace—these are the things that mark the
Duse apart from others.
“She unites in her reading, in every gesture,
the tone of the highest distinction with the utmost
simplicity. Her method is realistic. But she adds
Italian grace. Her inimitable grace. Her acting is
perfect even as the terzina of Dante is perfect.’’
Continuing her studying and reading, the Duse had,
besides her personal luggage, two trunks full of books,
most of them collected along the way.
While at the Fairmont Hotel Enif Robert took her
the latest Italian novels that she had bought in San
Francisco. One was by Rosso San Secondo, called:
“The Woman Who Can Understand—-Understands.”’
. . . several hours later the Duse sent for Mme Robert.
She had already read the book, which she had
thoroughly enjoyed, and began at once a minute and
eloquent discussion of it; going most profoundly into
the subject which the author had set forth...
From that she turned to women in general, and their
true place in the world.
“Tf women, instead of trying to conquer on the
field, urged on by war-like instincts, pushing themselves
into business, journalism, and even commerce, would
remember that independence is grand, but that mixing
in affairs makes them eventually lose the gentleness
and sweetness that is the one thing given them to
hold man’s devotion.” .
r
292 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
Yet, despite this expression of an inner sentiment,
she was a keen believer in women’s rights, and a firm
friend to her sisters in distress, helping all in her
power to relieve the conditions of those who were
totally unsuccessful.
She spoke of marriage as “‘ a fundamental element
of human society, the defects of which the tumultuous
life of to-day has made more manifest and serious.
“It 1s necessary to understand.
‘““ Much, much sweetness must be used to annihilate
the daily indifference. To sweetness must be added
the knowledge of how to suffer with strength of soul
renewed each day for the combat. And if there is a
weak spot in the armour, pad it with endurance.”
To the unhappy men or women who confided in
her she explained with the charm that left no doubt
in the listener’s mind as to her being right :
“The daily prose of married life is the slow ruin
of even the grandest love. . . . One cannot live without
poetry.”
The tepid days in California passed all too quickly.
With the passing of the days her desire to stay on
in San Francisco increased, for it seemed that a strange
presentiment warned her that the cold of the North,
to which she must return, would conquer her.
“At least let me stay in the good warm sun of
the grand Pacific all of the month of April,’”’ she said
more than once, with sweet pleading in her voice, sub-
mission in her eyes. ‘I am so afraid of the cold.”
Still it was not possible to grant her plea. The
itinerary had been too precisely and unalterably
arranged for Mr. Gallo to chance postponing any of
the dates.
So with a sad heart the tired Nomad set out on the
journey that was to take her to the end of her glorious
and tormented way. |
Crossin the arid desert of Arizona, under the
RE eCLOSEDALDOOR:
gh which
POstOetne
The Porziuncola Gate, throu
Eleonora Duse passed to
p. 292.
Capponcina.
a
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 293
burning rays of the sun, the Duse again suffered atroci-
ously from the suffocating heat and the fine sand that,
despite the double windows of the sleeping-car, pene-
trated her compartment.
Certainly nothing could have been more suicidal
for the worn-out lungs.
There were hours and hours of real martyrdom for
her, when from time to time she asked wearily:
“FE fino? E finito ?”’ (Has it ended ?)
And each time she asked the question the kind,
sad eyes were more anxious.
At last the Robert, who had passed the compart-
ment in which the “signora’”’ lay, propped up by
many pillows, at least a thousand times, ran to her,
crying enthusiastically :
“Signora! Signora! the suffocating heat has
ended, there will be no more dust; I’ve seen snow.
Snow, signora ! ”’
In fact there had been particles of white in the
air against the direction of the train that to anxious
eyes were mistaken for snow.
“Oh, already ? ”’
With a quick movement the Duse raised the window-
shade, with a violent gesture immediately lowering
it again, and turning, she looked fixedly for a moment
at the little woman standing fearfully before her.
Oh, to have seen her face! First the radiant hope,
then a new inexplicable anguish.
“Oh, there is no snow?’”’ The pain was so real
on the beloved face that the Robert, moved beyond
herself, was unable to find words of comfort. “ It
seemed to me .. . Perhaps there was white in the
air,’ she murmured. ‘ I—I don’t quite know.”’
What were those marvellous eyes saying? There
was snow--yes; and there was bitter cold also in
that rapid train running, running desperately, towards
Death—towards Death.
294 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
Besides the oxygen which she inhaled frequently,
even when relatively well, and which, as she said,
was her “ one luxury,’’ she also had a preference for
eucalyptus, inhaling the perfume of the little tropical
fruit gathered under the trees in California.
She had tried everything to quiet the asthma, yet
with the most complicated respiratory cures at hand
she was always willing e try any simple new remedy
suggested to her.
No one ever had more courage than the Duse
in fighting for health. She wanted to overcome her
malady, and all of her indomitable will was back of
the force that she used. . . . She believed that she
could make herself well—-and she would.
Believing in the power of her will, with a stoic
smile she supported the cough that for years had more
or less racked her.
For long, long years she had resisted, but on the
last tap of the journey—the fatal Pittsburg—she was
to succumb in the fight.
Always delicate as to her taste in food, during the
last months in America she travelled with a _ port-
able invalid’s kitchen, enclosed in a large basket chest,
and on the train nearly all of her meals were prepared
by Mlle. Desirée and her maid ; the cooking done on a
tiny alcohol stove. ©
Her principal foods were light nourishing soups,
boiled chicken, and fruit jellies—-generally orange.
In hotels, from the time Mlle. Desirée joined the
Duse until the end, one of her most difficult tasks was
arranging with the chef for a substantial and delicately
tempting meal for the grand actress.
During the last two or three years she took cognac
or champagne as a last resource against physical fatigue.
.. . At New York a friend sent her a case of cham-
pagne (thirty-six bottles) which was packed in a special
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 295
box, for travelling, that in no way resembled any-
thing containing alcoholics. A glass of champagne
gave a shock to the nervous system, and she always
took one before going to the theatre, and at the very
end cognac was used to keep her up during the
performance.
Indianapolis—Detroit—Pittsburg—-Cleveland.
_ Four cities in each of which she was to have given
but one performance.
April came in cold and stormy all over the Western
and Eastern States. At Indianapolis the performance
began well, but the Duse was more than usually
nervous. She played with an effort—-she, who on the
stage, even in the most violently agitated moments
of ill-health, had never let her suffering be
seen. i
In fact, many times, having seen her a few minutes
before the curtain, with an expression of utter fatigue,
inhaling oxygen, one more than marvelled to see her
enter with virile freshness of walk and gesture, trans-
formed by an invisible force into an unforgettable
vision—-the vision that thousands of people will
always remember, and that no other perfection in
Art can ever cancel.
Detroit.
Cold, uncomfortable—her one desire to leave, to
leave, to leave!
It was necessary to make haste. As though pursued
by the hope of being able to reach Italy, Asolo—the
refuge longed for—she insisted upon haste.
“ Presto, presto, fighiolt !”’ (Hurry, hurry, children !)
was what she invoked during the performance. “‘ Hurry
the lines, finish the performance, leave this city, leave
the next and the next—get to the end of the contract.”’
Away! Away!
At times it seemed almost a physical impatience
296 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
that urged her on, and even when sitting down she
nervously tapped her foot to mark time.
. Where ?
Escape ... From what!
At Pittsburg she was to play at the Syria Mosque,
an enormous edifice with two galleries, and a seating
capacity of 3,850 persons. The ground floor is 206 ft.
wide and 104 ft. long, the stage roo ft. wide and 36 ft.
long. There is a box set, a smaller stage that drops
on the big one and which is used for dramatic perform-
ances, but when this small stage is in place there
are very wide corridors on either side through which
draughts pass freely: a theatre perfectly adapted for
Eleonora Duse.
And at Pittsburg the mortal blow came. On the dark,
murky evening of April 5th, when going to the theatre
at the hour of the performance, through the chauffeur’s
fatal mistake she was obliged to wait over five minutes
in the pouring rain—before a closed door.
Posters. were all over the city, and the placard
before the Syria Mosque read :
ELEONORA DUSE,
AND HER COMPANY FROM ROME, IN
‘““THE CLOSED Door.”
The old legendary habit of Assisi comes to my
mind again, making the closed door before which
Eleonora Duse waited strangely symbolical.
In vain the secretary and the property man of
the company tried to protect her from the rain and
furious icy wind, while others ran to have the door
opened from the inside.
She finally entered trembling; even the heavy
opossum coat which she wore and the automobile
cover had not been enough to keep her warm. She was
chilled to the bone, her clothes damp and her feet wet.
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 297
In the dressing-room she complained of feeling ill,
but insisted upon playing just the same, urging her
vagazzi to hurry. Well and good, but considering the
conscientious severity with which she regarded her art,
her work, the hurry was not a good prognostication.
Despite her determination that evening she did
not succeed in entirely hiding her suffering. In the
first act, in which Bianca Querceta has very little
to do, she was distracted, and only admirable in her
suave abandon.
She revived somewhat in the second act, in the
scene that she lived; hiding her face from her son’s
scorn, and in self-defence for her sin of the past.
She was grand, perfect as always in the two final
“ Sola—sola!’’ How strangely significant were the
last words that she pronounced on the stage !
In fact, “‘ Sola,’ for no other will ever be what she
was. “Sola” in Art, uniquely touched by the breath
of the gods. “ Sola ’”’ in her last agony.
Scarcely able to stand, again and again she replied
to the mad applause.
The public crowded about the orchestra, pushing
to the footlights, calling and calling for her, until at
last she returned, standing between the curtains, sup-
porting herself against an unseen chair, smiling and
bowing graciously ; when back in the wings she mur-
mured : |
“ Basta, non ne posso pui!”’ (Enough, I can resist
no more !) |
Almost as though the presentiment that she would
never again enter a theatre was before her, she lingered
longer than usual in the dressing-room ; sitting silently,
resting her head on the tired hand. The presentiment
- seemed to grow upon her that, going out of the theatre
that evening, she was leaving her Kingdom forever.
The following day she had a high fever.
For a week the malady ran its course, from
298 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
influenza developing into pneumonia, the fever always
higher, the suffering intense.
The Cleveland date was postponed, but, the manager
not believing the statement issued by Dr. Barone, the
attending physician, a doctor was sent from Cleveland
to examine the patient.
The day he arrived the Duse was feeling better,
and made an attempt to get up, collapsing almost
immediately; so that when the Cleveland doctor
insisted upon being admitted to her room, he found
her in bed.
She refused to permit him to examine her, saying :
‘“‘ Tf he is a doctor, one look at me will suffice.”’
He returned to Cleveland satisfied that it would be
impossible for her to act there or anywhere again.
Thursday before Easter several of her actors saw
her for a few minutes, most of them encouraged by the
mere fact of her having asked for the visits.
““Come and sit beside me for five minutes,’ she
said to the faithful Enif Robert, who on tiptoe entered
her room at the Schenley Hotel. “I have been very,
very ul, and have taken so much quinine that I am
a little deaf. Come very near, and speak loud.”
She became drowsy immediately, and when she
roused again she said:
“What are all you exiles doing in this forced
repose ? And it’s nearly Easter. ... But we will
leave . . . we will leave very soon. ... I want to
go back to Asolo.”
She moved restlessly in bed, mussing the adorable
silver-white hair, that seemed to suffer also in her
anguish. ,
The Robert got up and, reaching over, arranged the
stray locks. A weak, loving smile, carrying mortal
fatigue, passed over the pale face as her thanks.
Again she became drowsily unconscious, and
again she roused herself ; pushing back the pillows,
r,
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 299
she sat up, and in a clear, firm voice said a verse
in Roman dialect :
“ E dopo er serra serra,
Riecchece pe’ terra.”’
She meant to signify to the Robert, who had been
with her the winter before, during her illness at
Milan, that she was merely ill agazn.
“Come back to-morrow,’ she said when the visit
had come to an end. But the following day no one
was permitted to enter the room, where the doctor
had ordered absolute silence.
During all of Good Friday she was semi-conscious.
And on Easter even, when the church bells were
ringing the glorious tidings of the Resurrection, she
instead was approaching the Great Unknown.
In every conscious moment the asthma tormented
her.
With a gesture of inimtable grace, that marvel-
lous grace all her own that suffering had rendered
distressing, she extended a hand now to one, now
to the other, of the two faithful women who for two
weeks, night and day, had been near to help and
care for her.
The periods of unconsciousness seemed to renew
her force to further resistance. Reawakening, she was
lucid and her voice normal, and more than once she
looked fixedly at the two tireless ones: Mlle. Desirée
and Maria Ovagadro.
| On Easter morning she had the last thought for her
actors.
She wanted them all near her on that great feast
day, so that they would feel less lonely far from the
Patria and their families.
That half hour when she talked of them was the
respite from suffering that Death generally concedes—
the tranquillity just before the end. She even talked
of getting well, hurrying the preparations for departure
300 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
—resigned at last to breaking the contract—but cer-
tainly the thought that in only a few hours she would
be starting off on a different journey was far from her.
The lungs had been calmed, the only suffering
was from the inexorable asthma.
The visit from the actors was not possible, for
when they arrived, having been advised by telephone,
the signora was again drowsily unconscious.
Sad, but never dreaming of the terrible catastrophe
that was to come upon them, they returned to their
various hotels. Only one among them had a pre-
monition that all was not well, and until long after
midnight lay awake, feeling that she should have
remained at the Schenley in case the “ signora ’’ asked
for her. As an actress she had never been other than
a willing super, but she had known intimately the
woman Eleonora Duse, an honour that perhaps no
other actress who ever played with her had had.
Between periods of clearest consciousness and
drowsiness the long, sad hours of Easter Day passed.
Twice she asked for her glasses to read the letters
and telegrams that were piled in a basket in_ the
adjoining room. After glancing over a few she again
fell into unconsciousness.
Towards six o’clock she asked once more for her
actors. Mlle. Desirée told her that they had come and
gone, leaving flowers and their good wishes.
The last telegram that she read was from a dear
friend in London, who, having read in the papers of
her illness, asked if she should come to America to
comfort her.
‘No, no—-I’m better. She must not think of taking
the long trip-—I will see her in London. . . soon.”
At eight o’clock the doctor gave her an injection
of camphorated oil, awaiting the result with anxiety.
She who had been seriously ill for twenty years,
fighting willingly with all her strength to overcome
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 301
—__
disease, rebelled at the injection. “Enough of these
cures—I don’t want an injection.”
And in a voice in which the somnolence was already
heard she begged: ‘‘ No . . . to-morrow.’
Unconsciousness almost immediately followed the
injection. The doctor announced to the poor fright-
ened women that there was very little hope of her
living through the night.
At one o'clock on Monday morning, April 2tst,
she stirred, raised herself in bed, and with wide-open
eyes looked at the two devoted women petrified by
mute anguish, and asked if it was yet dawn.
“ At dawn we must leave.”’
| She asked if the champagne had been packed, and,
if it had not, the man must be sent for at once to nail
up the case. She wanted to drink, and to have the
window opened wide on the cold, dark night of the
sleeping Pittsburg, where the only sound was the
rumbling of the monstrous machines in the huge far-
awav factories.
The icy breath of the night—or was it the Grim
Monster-—in a second filled the quiet room as with a
strange, uncanny presence. The window was closed,
but too late, for like a bat attracted by the dim light
near the bed the Reaper had entered.
At 2.30 a.m. exactly she again opened her eyes,
once more raised herself on the pillows, looked fixedly
from one to the other trembling woman, made a gesture
of resignation, crossing the divine hands above her
head and letting them fall heavily on her lap.
Her head dropped forward resting on Mlle. Desirée’s |
shoulder, the eyes closed .
For always.
For six days and six nights, dressed all in white,
she lay among the white roses in a mortuary chapel
at Pittsburg.
302 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
Her actors watched by turn, kneeling at the foot
of the couch between the candles, where in an attitude
of calm peace their “ signora ”’ slept.
Day and night she was watched over by those
faithful loving men and women, never a minute
through all the long hours alone.
Upon receipt of a telegram from Italy, Prince
Gelasio Caetani, the Ambassador, in the name of the
Italian Government, went to Pittsburg to pay his
country’s tribute to the Grand Actress, and to arrange
for the funeral and the long return voyage.
Through the night, travelling from Pittsburg to
New York, they —the men of the company—watched
beside the casket, and afterwards in the church at
New York,
When Eleonora Duse’s death was announced
Gabriele d’Annunzio telegraphed from Gardone
Rivera, Lake Gardo, to Mussolini :
‘“ The tragic destiny of Eleonora Duse could not be
accomplished more tragically. Far from Italy the
most Italian of hearts has died. I ask that the adored
body be returned to Italy at the Government’s ex- |
pense. I am certain that my pain is the pain of all
Italians. Listen to my prayer, and answer.”’
To which the Italian Prime Minister replied :
“The fate of Eleonora Duse, to whom a year ago
I offered an appanage so that the sublime actress would
not have to leave Italy, has profoundly grieved me.
As soon as her tragic end was known I telegraphed to
.
4
:
7
4
our Ambassador at Washington to go to Pittsburg |
immediately to arrange for the transport of the body,
which will be at the Government’s expense.’
The British, American, French, German and Aus-
trian Press wrote articles of condolence ; every Italian
ELEONORA DUuUSE’S LAST RESTING-PLACE.
Asolo, facing Monte Grappa.
p. 302
_ Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 303
writer of note gave the public a few words regarding
her life ; hundreds of telegrams from all over the world
were sent to the management. Every theatre in
Italy remained dark for one evening as a sign of
mourning; and many companies dressed in half
mourning from the time the notice of her death was
received until the body reached Asolo.
The mortal remains of Eleonora Duse, eoarmamnrticd
by the entire company, arrived at New York on Sunday
afternoon, April 27th, and were met at the station
by the Italian Consul, a representative of the city of
New York, and several friends.
In the most private form possible the body was
taken to the Dominican Church at 66th Street and
Lexington Avenue, where on Monday, Tuesday, and
Wednesday the casket, almost buried in flowers, lay
in state. There were flowers sent from all parts
of Europe—from New York actresses, society women,
and from thousands and thousands of Italians in
every walk of life, scattered all over the United States.
On Thursday morning, May Ist, at 10 o’clock, the
Funeral Mass was celebrated. ... Martinelli, the
Italian tenor, sang, and a chorus of children invoked
peace for the soul of the Grand Departed.
From the church, through 66th Street, up Fifth
Avenue to 72nd Street, crossing Central Park to the
Mall, the hearse was led by mounted police followed
by the Italian Ambassador, the company, and several
thousand admirers. At the Mall the procession halted,
resting for five minutes in absolute silence: the men
bareheaded, many kneeling. . . . Leaving Central Park
by a west gate, they proceeded ‘directly to the pier of
the transatlantic line where the Duilio was anchored.
Covering the top of the casket there was one
magnificent wreath :
VICTOR EMANUEL TO ELEONORA DUSE.
ae
304 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
On the right side a wreath from the Italian Govern-
ment, and on the left one from her daughter; all the
other flowers were piled in an automobile directly
back of the hearse.
When it was arranged that the Duilio was to
transport the remains of Eleonora Duse to Italy,
the manager of La Navigazione Generale Italiana
announced that it would be impossible to book the
actors on the same steamer, as every first-class cabin
was sold. All of the members of the company pro-
tested : they had stuck faithfully to their “ Signora,”
and not for any reason would they consent to abandon
her on her last voyage. It made no difference what
discomforts they might have to endure, they would
travel with her. . . . If there was nothing in the first-
' class-they would go in the second, if the second was
complete they would bunk in the steerage. No
Government plan, nothing, was going to take the
“ Signora ’’ from America without them to watch over
her.
Finally arrangements were made, and the actors,
managers, companion and maid were given sleeping
accommodation in second-class cabins on board the
Duilio. Each day during the long crossing they were
permitted to descend to the steerage to be near for
a few minutes the third-class cabin transformed into
a mortuary chapel in which their beloved Teacher,
Companion, Friend—their ‘“‘Signora’’—among the
flowers and spluttering candles lay at rest.
The emotion was very great at Naples when, towards
the end of a cloudless day, the big ocean liner, a grey
speck on the horizon, was sighted.
Representatives from the foreign Sociéty of Authors,
high Government officials, many friends, and a host of
the curious were gathered on the docks awaiting the
arrival of the ‘‘ Grandissima.”’
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 305
When at length the Duwilio docked at the Immaco-
letta Nuova the obstreperous, noisy Neopolitan crowd
became silent, looking with something like fear at
the bow of the ship. There on the bridge, wrapped in
her country’s flag, the lone wanderer, returned from
her last long voyage, slept, hidden forever from human
view in the American triple casket. . . . The draped
coffin suggested a ciborium, emanating the peace that
she had asked of the earth while offering kindness to
the unfortunates who crossed her pathway.
After a last benediction the casket was raised high,
swung dizzily in mid-air, then slowly lowered in the
midst of the silent crowd. The hour of supreme offer-
ing had come, and they consigned her to the Patria
in a feast of sunshine and blue sky; but to many of
them the splendour and warmth seemed _ useless,
because the “Signora’’ was dead—dead from the
cold, in the murky fogs of Pittsburg.
The grand Funeral Mass, Italy’s last homage to her,
was said in the beautiful church of Santa Maria degli
Angeli, at Rome. The old church seen from the doors
presented the effect of a single grand altar. On an
escutcheon over the doors were the beautiful words
of Silvio d’Amico :
“Rome and the Mother Italy implore in the
hour of return from her last pilgrimage the Peace
of God for the anguished soul of Eleonora Duse.”
During the divine service and the early hours of
the afternoon, thousands of persons passed in line
through the transepts, stopping to pray at the foot
of the catafalque illumined by many candles, and
guarded by four women in deepest mourning.
The flowers, brought by all those who had even
remotely known her, rested against the side walls and
columns. . The choruses of Palestrina and Perosi
were very beautifully rendered.
306 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
The real mourning, such as she would have desired,
was at Asolo, the little mountain village where she
had found repose and almost happiness, and was
the farewell that those who loved her will always
remember.
At every station where the train stopped from Rome
to Treviso, despite the advanced hour of the night,
actors, writers, the public, were all there crowded
on the platform to deposit flowers and to bow before
the venerated casket. ... The silence of profound
emotion was felt all along the line, and in those dense
crowds there were few whose eyes were not dimmed
by tears. |
Her great love for her country, her still greater
love for humanity, was understood at last.
Automobiles were waiting at Montabelluna to take
the retinue to Asolo. The grand docks that seemed
to unite the points of the Universe were no more ;
nor the great city with its unknown multitudes, that
absorb and deaden all tenderness : there everything was
different, the open country, cut in between the moun-
tains, stretched away for miles and miles, the fresh
early summer air blew in soft caressing breaths over the -
silent people in the automobiles following the hearse
up the hill.
From every window flags tied with crépe hung
limply in the glorious sunlight ; and, despite the voice-
less silence of the village, there was the impression of
some mystic feast. On the walls notices were posted :
Lutio cittadino. (General mourning.)
The mountain town was lifeless—for there, in the
midst of the long procession winding its weary way
to the church a mile distant, lay the soul of it.
First came the village children, then five men in
breeches and wigs, one of them on horseback, according
to an old tradition ; carabinieri, fascisti, clergy ; girls
and boys carrying flags and wreaths of flowers; the
Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life 307
hearse drawn by six horses with black caparisons ; then
the family, the company, friends and the entire burg,
besides many who had come from nearby villages. . . .
Passing the Duse’s house—the lovely old Morison
palace with its pink stone walls, beautiful Renaissance
windows and green doors, the arcade and niche where
before the tiny Madonna a lone candle burns night
and day—there was a momentary halt ; at the garden
gate an old peasant woman, the caretaker, watched—
awaiting the return of her beloved mistress.
Before the little church on the green hillside the
last farewells were rendered her. Representatives of
the Italian Government, Dario Niccodemi (President
of the Italian Authors’ Society), Edouard Schneider
(for the French authors and actors), the Mayor of Asolo,
an old German actor, and a young man from Chioggia,
spoke. Words, mere words, were inadequate to express
the grief, but the communion of souls was there ; and
I think that she who hated speeches and ceremonies
must have pardoned those who spoke so reverently
beside her casket, understanding that they were trying
in a small way to express the world’s great love for
her. | | a
The day after the official farewells the Intimate
Mass was celebrated at St. Anne’s Church. Her
daughter, a few familiar friends, the company, and
~women from the mountains were the only ones present.
Women who had never assisted at her triumphs, who
knew her only as the lady of kindness and love, their
grand comforter in hours of need and desolation.
The long Mass ended, the last benediction said,
stalwart men of the village lifted the heavy bronze
casket to their shoulders, and slowly, proudly, walked
forward through the narrow alley of the cemetery,
lined by the already faded wreaths of flowers, their
touching epigrammed ribbons like trophies of a glorious
battle, to the hillside and the open grave ; the priest
j
308 Eleonora Duse: The Story of Her Life
in his white robes, the crucifer and acolytes leading —
the way. In the intense silence of the mountains,
broken only by an occasional sob, the casket was
lowered to the ground.
“Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust ; in
sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to Eternal
Life...’’ All the anguish of suffering past, no longer
the unanswerable question ‘‘ Why? ’’; no more heart-
aches for the pain of others, never again misunderstood ;
finally ‘Sola ’’ in the silence that she had so truly
loved, in the place where she had longed to be:
facing the high chain of mountains, with now and
then a speck of white smoke rising from some farm-
house in the valley; to the east the Castle of Asolo,
and below on the hillside groups of houses, and there,
under the immobile limpid Italian sky, the strange
haunting peace of infinite space.
And there her devoted, loving figliol left
her.
“Sola,’’ spiritually in the hearts of all, the divine
body hidden away in a triple casket, under a simple
marble slab hewn from the sacro moniagna, in the
beautiful little cemetery of St. Anne, at Asolo, over-
looking the magnificent Grappa, Eleonora Duse,
born Italian, child of the theatre, the world’s greatest
tragedienne, the “‘Signora’’ who knew no peace,
woman of pure ‘heart and purer soul, sleeps—eternally.
THE END
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