Vie et aventures des cantatri...

Title:	"Vie et aventures des cantatrices célèbres"
Author:	Escudier, Marie & Léon
Published:	1856	E. Dentu
URL:	http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k49820s.image.r=Maupin.f99.langEN

Description:

This is one of the sources that Gabriel Letainturier-Fradin cites, and appears to be his source for a number of things that had otherwise seemed to be unique to him. One section even claims to be in her own words, taken from a letter she wrote, however no source for this letter is given. The letter is the earliest source I have seen to date for the character Maréchal.

The only copy I have at the moment is a rather muddy PDF and a rather poor OCR transcription of it. Fortunately, two members have taken it upon themselves to do translations. Rappar and his wife have translated the whole thing and new member Clorinde has taken it upon herself to translate the letter and a bit of the surrounding text—see the comments below.

The text that follows is taken from rappar's email. He has incorporated Chlorinde's work.

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Translator’s note : I tried to stick to the text and faithfully reflect the elaborate style of the 18th century.

p.96
Miss Maupin

Around 15 years ago, Theophile Gaultier – then a novice – had a book published, glistening with vigor, poetry and style which, as soon as it came out, obtained an enormous success in the literary world. Mademoiselle Maupin carries to an eminent degree this hallmark of individuality that distinguishes the works of this eminent artist. Assuredly, Theophile Gaultier had a most fortunate inspiration by giving us the in-depth portrait of this strange, exceptional woman, whose life offers all the interest, the seduction of the most marvelous novel. What an eventful career than that of Miss Maupin’s ! What tantalizing anecdotes! What prodigious adventures! What an exuberance of vitality and life! What burts of boldness! What explosions of passion! What a radiance of intelligence!

This woman who sang like a mermaid, familiar with equitation as a light horseman, fought like a black musketeer; this woman who merged in her an angel’s face and a devil’s sprit, is indisputably one of the most curious types whose record that History has transmitted. Multi-facetted person, she presents to the observer the most diverse features, the most bizarre contrasts. At first glance, you are more surprised than charmed by the aspect of this imperious-toned, decicive-manned, fast and sure-handed virago. But all of a sudden, those menacing glares become softer, that cruelly harping voice has ravishing inflexions; an ineffably charming smile brushes those lips which an instant before expressed hatred or disdain; in one word, the woman reappears with her grace, her gentelness, her exquisite delicacies. A charming metamorphosis, to which the most enchanting fictions of Ancient Mythology do not even come close.

Miss Maupin has remarkably been the subject of discussion for novelists and chroniclers. She has been attributed a multitude of adventures, undoubtedly very original, but some of them are obviously stamped with an exaggeration quality. An educated choice was necessary in such a historical work as the one we undertook.

Born in 1673, Miss Maupin was the daughter of a secretary working for the Comte d’Armagnac, named Daubigny. She married while still very young; her husband, having been commissioned in the provinces, did not take the precaution to bring her with him. During his absence, she met someone by the name of Séranne, a provost, who fell in love with her and taught her weaponry. The master and his young pupil went to Marseilles and intergrated the Opera as singers.

Nature had gifted Miss Maupin with a voice as beautiful as pleasant; however this voice had not been perfected by any method, by any education, and the young singer always felt the insufficiancy of her musical education. She would compensate these imperfections by means of natural and expressive acting, a real feeling of the situation, and a flexibility of talent which would allow her to carry out with equal success both serious and comical genres.

Lully’s works were still fully in vogue and popular; Miss Maupin brought to these opuses her vivid intelligence, and her sojourn in Marseille was crowned with brilliant ovations.

However, a most curious adventure, scandalous even, of which we shall not repeat the details here, forced our actress

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to leave this city. Shortly afterwards, an unexplainable caprice determined her to seek refuge in a convent. Not two weeks had passed, and she was already terribly bored with cloister life. But how to fool the vigilance of the superiors? This is the expedient that suggested her fertile imagination: one night, she set fire to the convent and escaped by the favorable conditions of the chaos caused by the arson.

Following these various incidents, she arrived in Paris and was accepted at the Opera. She started with the role of Pallas in “Cadmus” in 1695. The spectators applauded with fervor. To show her gratitude, she stood up in her machine, took off her helmet, and saluted the assembly, who responded with a renewed clapping of hands. She went on to successfully act in “Atys”, “Psyche”, “Armide”, etc. Under the influence of her talent full of verve and brilliance, the repertory of Lully underwent a metamorphosis; she knew how to give interest and life to these melodies at times faded, and built the foundations of the reform,which was to be a few years later, carried out in our opera.

After Mlle Rochois’s retirement in 1698, she shared the lead roles with Miss Desmatins and Miss Moreau, and succeeded in fully eclipsing these two singers, whose debuts had made a sensation.

It was during that period that certain incidents occured which showed off some sharp edges of her personality.

Miss Maupin often dressed in male vestments either to amuse herself, or for the purpose of vengeance. An Opera actor, named Dumesnil having insulted her, she waited for him one evening dressed like a horseman at the Place des Victories, and urged him to draw hissword. On his refusal, she gave him some whacks with a cane, and took his watch and snuffbox. Daumenil decided the morning after tho relate his story at the Opera, notwithstanding adding circumstances as to highlight his bravado [unreadable]

“Mind you, gentlemen, Dumesnil said, I was

P.98
assaulted by three vigorous ruffians, one of them who was armed with a pistol threatened to blow out my brains. I disarmed this wretch, knocked him over at my feet and neutralize him, all in a few seconds; and on seeing this, his comrades wisely retreated.”

Miss Maupin let Dumesnil talk, then looking him down disdainfully  :
“you lie”, she exclaimed, “you’re nothing but a coward ; you haven’t been assaulted by several people; I alone did it, and as proof of my claim, behold your watch and snuffbox that I return to you.”
Dumesnil was covered in shame.

At a ball given by Monsieur at the Palais-Royal, Miss Maupin disguised as a man, engaged in inappropriate speech in front of a young lady. Three of this lady’s friends demanded satisfaction. Without hesitation, Miss Maupin went outside, drew her sword and killed them all. She returned to the ball coolly, introduced herself to Monsieur, who obtained her grace. This anecdote is reproduced by M. Féris, in his Musicians’ Biography.

She often went to the foyer of the Opera in her male garb, mixing with groups of lords, men of letters, artists and distinguished foreigners, who came to this salon to spread or to listen in on the news of the day. Presented here is an adventure that does justice to her emotions and personality.

Among the regulars of the foyer was a Baron by the name of de Servan, a gentleman from Périgord of dubious nobility, an epitome of impertinence and fatuity. Built like Hercules, vociferous, quarrelsome, swordsman, de Servan had all the earmarks of a braggart. His conversation, which was but a series of scandalous chronicles, usually described his supposed good fortunes, the amount of which, if you believed him, was prodigious. One evening, when he was enumerating his romantic escapades, he happened to slander a young person belonging to the ballet corp, Miss Pérignon, whose irreproachable conduct had always defied defamation. The claims of the baron

P.99
raised an angry clamor among the personnes presents; but, despite the unequivocal rebuke incited by his confabulations, de Servan persisted nevertheless with an imperturbable self-assurance in the assertions he so rashly ventured. Miss Maupin, who had heard the entire conversation huddled up in a corner of the foyer, stayed silent and still. She let the baron spout off, then suddenly drew forward and stood up proudly :

• really, she exclaimed, I admire patience of these gentlemen. Your inpertinent and ludicrous lies deserve, not a refutation, but a prompt and exemplary chastisement. You are a foul liar, I say!
• What! Who are you, Sir , to speak to me in this manner? said the baron quivering with rage.
• The Chevalier de Raincy*, more gentleman than you are, and ready to teach you a lesson, replied La Maupin, flashing a contemptuous glare at de Servan.

It was a good lesson indeed. The baron had his arm broken by a pistol shot, and amputation was deemed ineluctable. Imagine his shame the moment he learned that he was debilitated by a woman. The damage to his reputation was irreparable. He retired to his lands in Périgord and never showed his face in Paris again.

* a village North-East of Paris; now the suburbs.

The conduct of Miss Maupin at this occasion earned her the most heartfelt congratulations from her comrades; and her reappearance at the Opera a few days after this incident was a resounding triumph.

Having attained the apogee of her reputation, Miss Maupin left the lyric scene to make her way to Brussels, as she was called by a magnificent engagement. The capital of Belgium was a haven for a great number of dilettantes, men of taste, and distinguished foreigners. Our arts and our literature were more and more revered with each passing day, and French opera began to take root there. One can estimate the immense sensation that was bestirred by such a singer, who merged the charms of talent and beauty, and the

P.100
prestigious aura of the most extraordinary adventures. Her appearance at the theater occaisioned frenetic applause.

The most noteworthy men – by their social position – rivaled with attentions to pay her hommage. The Elector of Bavaria came out victorious over his rivals. But after a few months, this prince had tired of his brilliant conquest, and Miss Maupin was sacrificed to the countess of Arcoss, a grand lady of vulgar beauty, but prodigiously witty, conniving and coquettish. In cutting ties with the famous singer, the Elector send her a purse of forty thousand pounds along with the order to leave Brussels and, strangely, the Count of d’Arcos in person took it upon himself to deliver both the injunction and the gift. Miss Maupin, glared at him with contempt, took the purse and threw it at his head, telling him it was a worthy reward for a … man like him.

Forced to leave Belgium, she took refuge in Spain. The marvelous and picturesque tales she had heard about this country pleased her imagination, and she had reason to believe that for an artist of her talent all the elements of desirable success were present. But her prediction proved cruelly mistaken; the Spanish theatre, flooded with insipid productions, did not provide her with means to appear to her advantage. She turned down, for the love of art, the proposal of several managers; a sacrifice made all the more painful by the fact that she had nearly used up all of her last resources.

At this extremity, she resigned herself to accept the modest employment of chambermaid to the Countess Marino, whose husband was then minister to Her Catholic Majesty. If chroniclers are to be trusted, the lady’s character was exceedingly difficult and capricious. The maid suffered a long time without muttering; eventually, she decided to resign her laborious office. But before moving away, she had her revenge with one of the mischief her fertile and ingenious imagination.

P.101
Now let us speak one of the most witty biographers of Miss Maupin :
“once she had to do the hair of the Countess of… for a court ball. She picks up in the kitchen half a dozen of little pink radishes with their leaves, nails them with big black hairpins and, while doing the Countess’s hair, sticks – without her knowledge – the radishes behind the bun. With that, she had two tufts of white marabou in front of her.

• ah my dear, she said mirroring in the glass, my hair is lovely tonight; you have excelled.
• Madam , said Miss Maupin, only at the ball will you form an opinion of your hairstyle.

On there, the Countess goes alone; the minister being ill; she arrives at the ball a quarter of an hour later. People queued to meet her.

• My goodness, Madam, one said, how you have here a spring hairstyle, gardening, I might even say, market gardening!
• Ah! Madam, another said, your hairstyle is crunchy [translator’s note : pun on the expression “à croquer”, meaning “pretty as a picture”]
• Ah! Monsieur, the Countess said, blissfully happy with the effect of her marabous.

Eventually, one of her friends was frank enough to tell her she was absolutely ridiculous, and the likely victim of a dirty trick from her maid. Consider the exasperation of the Countess. Whispers, jibes, bursts of laughter grew every moment and made her feel dizzy. Red from shame, choking with rage, she left the ball. Once in her palace, she didn’t find her chambermaid, who had cautiously already slipped away”

Miss Maupin came back to Paris, and reappeared on the stage of the Opera; but this reappearance did not spark the same enthusiasm as her beginnings. The audiences were cold, reserved, harsh; however the artist had lost none of the advantages which once earned her so many admirers. Her eyes had retained all their vivacity,

P.102

her face its freshness, her acting its animation, her voice its volume. Hence nothing apparently seemed to explain the cold welcome she was the victim; however this change is explainable in the most natural way.

During Miss Maupin’s leave, deep modifications had proceeded in the audience tastes ; its musical comprehension had enhanced; it had watched the production of new subjects on the lyrical scene, and it had become more demanding because it could establish more comparisons. With her voice devoid of method, her flippant style, her acting full of energy- in which however the nuances of passion were not always marked – Miss Maupin wasn’t anymore in harmony with the spirits of an audience who began to appreciate the posture, distinction, long studies, et all exquisite delicacies of the art. However, she had  the courage to struggle against the general disinterest, and left the Opera for good only in 1705, at the age of 32 years.

[ Clorinde excellent translation from here – my changes in italics]

Her lack of musical education is confirmed by her own account. One can read interesting revelations on this subject in one of her letters, where she recounts one of the early incidents in her musical career in the following words:

“After having left Marseille, I was singing in cabarets in the cities I passed through. Although my audience was pretty uncultured, I tried to be as expressive as possible with my voice, my diction, and my bearing. All of this became, for me, a object of study and observation of the means of captivating and moving my spectators. I even tried to compose lyrics and music for some little songs, which were received well enough in my open-air audience. Absorbed by this singular goal which occupied all my thoughts, I was hardly aware of the harsh poverty and disgusts that my vagabond life imposed on me.

“Chance brought me to Poitiers, where I was singing in a fairly mediocre cabaret one evening; I was in good voice and was a great success. I noticed a man in the audience who was about fifty years old, with a very intelligent appearance, but whose ruddy complexion made his alcoholism obvious a league away. This person's appearance was even more striking as he was dressed in a bizarre manner. His shabby coat gave view to a sort of old waistcoat of worn-away blue velour with visible vestiges of some former embroideries. This person, who in this way wore out his theatrical costumes, was an old actor from the provinces. His constant drunkenness had finally gotten him expelled from the city's theater; he was called Maréchal. Gifted with naturally high spirits, very cheerful, a very convivial companion at table, idle people would rival to invite him. Also, he was constantly between one glass of wine and the next, if not completely drunk.

“Maréchal, after very attentively hearing me sing, didn't applaud me, but came to me and said:

“I'm an old soldier in this field; I know about voices and talent. If you want it, little girl, in four or five years you'll be the prima donna of the Opéra in Paris. I'll give you lessons; I don't have anything else to do... it will amuse me.

“I accepted gratefully.

“Maréchal was a good musician and above all a passionate actor. Nobody knew the innumerable resources of his craft like he did, from the most low-brow comic to the highest level of dramatic effects. How a man of such intelligence became and remained a mediocre opera singer was a contradiction as shocking as it was inexplicable.

“Thus I accepted Maréchal's task. He conducted my lessons with almost brutal severity and harshness; but during his lucid moments, when his drunkenness forsake him, he gave me an education that was, for me, a veritable revelation. Unfortunately, his invaluable lessons came to an end. More and more subjugated by alcoholism, Maréchal fell into a stupefaction that bordered on idiocy. It was an act of generosity to put him in an asylum designed for unfortunates of that nature.

“He had counseled me many times to move to Paris and to attempt, at whatever price, to get hired at a small theater, saying he was certain that, once I got in somewhere, and if I kept working at it, I would end up making a name for myself. Thus I left Poitiers for Paris, still earning my keep by singing along the way.
“Two months after that, I debuted at the Opéra. In that sense, I completely surpassed all of Maréchal's predictions.”

(In the last paragraph, Escudier writes:)

Mademoiselle Maupin passed away in 1707, barely thirty-four years old. One remembers that she had a heartfelt reconciliation with her husband in the last years of her life, an upstanding man who had withstood all of the scandalous eccentricities of his wife with perfect resignation. I add that she made up for her past excesses with exemplary conduct. For all that, it is more for her eccentricities and excesses than for her talent that she is accorded the fame which she still enjoys today. Despite the glowing reviews which some of her contemporaries gave her, the impartial critic has definitely placed her in the class of second-rate singers.