Gardens are not the discreetest of spots, or Boucher and Lancret painted in vain. In fact, did not all the trouble begin in one? Thus I might have written a week ago but, since then, I have made the acquaintance of a gardener-author, the subject of whose work is his employer and no less a figure than François-Joseph Talma, the French tragedian.
Having read extracts from the reminiscences of Talma’s gardener, M Pierre Louette, printed in the little theatrical “periodical” The Mask, I can affirm boldly that to one gardener at any rate his master was a hero.
Hitherto I had known of Talma only what is commonly known: that he was a man of great sensibility and an actor of power and magnetism; that he was born in 1763 and lived as a boy in London, where his father practised as a dentist. I knew that he was a personal friend at first of some of the leading Revolutionaries and later of Napoleon himself.
• 100 years ago: Harold Lloyd’s energy lacks genius of Charlie Chaplin
Down to Talma’s day, all actors in Brutus and similar classical plays having worn the clothes of their own period, it was left to Talma to be so sensible and original as to don the toga. I have no information as to the public reception of Talma’s innovation, although we shall come later to an amusing instance of its impact on one pair of eyes.
I knew also that when Charles Lamb was in Paris in 1822 he supped with Talma and made a pun in Latin, calling from his host the comment, “Ah, you are a rogue, you are a great rogue!” which was true.
Four years later he died.
• 100 years ago: Lord Curzon’s daughters are ‘studies’ in heredity
The gem of Louette’s recollections is, I think, the episode of the sand. Sand being needed for the paths on Talma’s estate, Louette was told to inquire about a supply and, as he was to be in Paris that night, to report at the theatre.
Here is the story: “I arrive later at the theatre; M Talma is on the stage, in the role of Sardanapalus. I who had never seen him in any costume, being in the wings, open my eyes as wide as a carriage-way without being able to recognise my master.
“I am much surprised when I see, coming straight towards me, a man dressed as a sovereign, in the full heat of his role, who said: ‘Well, shall we have some sand?’ As for me — I could not answer him. For the moment he went back on to the stage and I recovered myself; and I recognised him, only the second time.
“He said to me, ‘How is it that you have not answered me, Louette?’ I replied, ‘Monsieur, I did not recognise you; you frightened me, but we shall have some sand.’ Judge by this the action of this great man, to mix sand into the very middle of his part!”
An excerpt from the gossip column, A Wanderer’s Notebook, by EV Lucas
• 100 years ago: Music halls full of festive fizz despite the jazz
Comments are closed.