Chapter M: And Mme. Camille Flammarion

In America we have a great actress named Modjeska. She is one of the most interesting women I have ever met. She is a Pole, exiled from her own country and married to Count Bozenta. Although she has a title and is very much of an aristocrat by birth, she is possessed of those conceptions of liberty that are generally attributed to the Nihilists. It was, indeed, on that account that her own estates and those of her husband were confiscated, and they themselves driven into exile. That must have occurred about 1880 or a little before.

Then they found their way to free America, established themselves there, and the countess decided to go on the stage.

To her great astonishment, and everybody else’s, it was soon evident that the sacred fire burned in her. She became a great actress. In America we are as fond of her as if she were a daughter of our own land.

Shortly after my first appearance at the Folies-Bergère a lady asked to see me. It was the Countess Wolska, likewise a Pole, and a friend of Modjeska’s. She, too, was living in exile with her father, who had dared to write a revolutionary book called _The Polish Jew_.

It was through the kindness of Countess Wolska that I made the acquaintance of M. and Mme. Flammarion. I shall never forget the impression that Camille Flammarion made upon me the first time the countess took me to his house, Rue Cassini. He wore a lounge jacket of white flannel, edged with red lace. He had a veritable forest of hair, which formed as it were a bonnet around his head. This was so remarkable that I could not repress an exclamation. Mme. Flammarion then told me that she frequently had to cut some of the locks, for her husband’s hair grew with such vigour that he was tormented by it. Then she showed me a cushion on a divan, and remarked, “There is where I put his hair after cutting it.”

To give an accurate idea of Camille Flammarion’s style of wearing his hair, you have only to multiply Paderewski’s head of hair by twelve.

At the time of my performance of Salome at the Athénée M. and Mme. Flammarion came one evening to my dressing-room, after the performance, along with Alexandre Dumas. As there were many other people there I did not notice at first that the two men did not speak to each other. Finally I became aware of it and I asked, in great surprise, “Is it possible that the two most distinguished personalities in Paris are not acquainted with each other?”

“It is not so remarkable,” replied Dumas, “for, you see, Flammarion dwells in space, and I am just a cumberer of the earth.”

“Yes,” said Flammarion, “but a little star come out of the West has brought us together.”

Dumas began to laugh and said, “That is the absolute truth.”

I joined the conversation and declared that the little American speck of star-dust was very proud of having the honour and pleasure of bringing together two such bright stars of France.

Few people understand that Flammarion is not content with being an eminent astronomer. He counts among his assets some discoveries of the greatest interest, most of which have no relation to astronomy.

One of them in particular interested me, as was natural.

Flammarion wanted to know whether colour has a certain influence on organisms. How greatly such studies interest me is easily appreciated, since I am rabid on the subject of colour.

He began his investigations by observing plants. He took half-a-dozen geraniums, all of the same size, and put each of them in a little conservatory with glass of different colours. One of the conservatories had panes of white glass, and one geranium finally he planted in the open air.

The result was surprising, as I can testify from having seen them.

One of the plants, a very fragile one, had expanded itself entirely at great height. Another was very small but thick set. Still another had no leaves. A fourth had only a small stem, some leaves and no branches. Each plant was different according to the colour that had shaded it, and even the one he had planted under the white glass was not quite normal. Not one was green, a fact which proves not only that colour but that glass has an action upon the plant. The only pretty plant was the one that had been planted in the open air. This one was normal.

Continuing his experiments on the human body, Flammarion had panes of different colours set in the windows of his observatory. Each person who was sufficiently interested in his experiences not to be afraid of the annoyances of sitting still in light of a green colour for an hour or two, was able to feel the varied influences that colour conditions induce in the system. It is a fact, for example, that yellow causes enervation and that mauve engenders sleep.

I asked M. Flammarion if he thought that the colours with which we are surrounded have an effect on our characters, and he replied:

“There is no doubt, is there, that each of us is better satisfied with his appearance in one colour than in another? That is proved by experience, for everybody will tell you: ‘I love this colour,’ or ‘I don’t care for that one.’ Isn’t it also said that such and such a colour ‘suits’ or ‘doesn’t suit’ on such and such a person? All that appears to prove that colour must exert some sort of influence, moral or physical, or perhaps both simultaneously.”

It is only when you become intimately acquainted with Flammarion that you appreciate what a deep thinker he is.

_Photo_ _Ellis_]

In all his work he is ably seconded by his wife. She, too, is a deep thinker and a woman of remarkable initiative. She is one of the charter members of the Association for Disarmament, and she gives a great deal of time to other good works; yet these activities do not prevent her from being one of the simplest of women and most accomplished of housekeepers.

It may be interesting to describe briefly Flammarion’s country house. They live in a château at Juvisy, in the very place where Louis XIII. first conceived the project of building a royal palace. The terracing was finished and the park laid out when there occurred a slight earthquake, and Louis XIII. renounced his plan, turning his attention to Versailles. But from that day to this no other earthquake has ever occurred there. The remarkable situation of Juvisy merits a visit from any one who loves natural beauty. The panorama that is unfolded from it is one of the loveliest in France.

The château, which antedates Louis’ project, is still in existence. There it was that Napoleon stayed for a while when on his way to Fontainebleau. He held a council in the shade of a venerable tree, which, from its superb height, dominates the grassy hill in front of the château. Under the tree were installed the table and the stone bench, which are still shown, in order that the Emperor might hold a council of those who were faithful to him, and be free from the prying eyes of inquisitive persons. Behind the château is the famous lane, a great avenue completely covered by the branches of two rows of trees, where according to tradition Napoleon passed some hours in congenial company.

The château once became the property of an amateur astronomer. He had an observatory built on it, and on his death he bequeathed this wonderful estate to a man whom he had never met. This man was Camille Flammarion.

I once attended a varnishing day with Camille Flammarion. I wanted to do him the honour of going dressed in my best, and so I bought for the occasion a costume which, I think, must have been very pretty. To go with the gown I selected a hat with long ribbons hanging behind.

M. Flammarion appeared in a smoking jacket of brown velvet and a soft hat.

Everybody in this gathering of specialists and artists was acquainted with him. There was whispering to the effect that Loie Fuller was with him, and soon we had around us more people than there were in front of any single picture. I fancied that we looked very swell, but I was told later on that we were followed principally because of our reputations, because never a woman was arrayed as I was that day, and because M. Flammarion’s garb was not exactly conventional.

Our success was such that one enthusiast even cut the ribbons from my hat, probably to keep them as a souvenir of a spectacle that he thought memorable.

In other circumstances I made a display that was not less memorable though confined to a smaller number of spectators.

One evening I came home at eight o’clock and found my house full of people. I had quite forgotten that I was giving a dinner party of about forty covers. My chef had asked me, that very morning, if I would be good enough to arrange for hiring some chairs and tables. He would take care of the dinner without my being bothered with it further. But, as I did not see a spare minute ahead of me that day, I requested him to see to the accessories as well as to the menu itself, a thing that he was very glad to do. The chairs, the tables and the dishes arrived. He had made no terms regarding the accommodation, and had supposed that I would be there to receive what was necessary and pay the bill. I had not returned. They waited until seven o’clock and the chef decided as my representative to pay the bill himself. He was asked to give three hundred francs. The price seemed to him exorbitant, and he did not dare to pay the bill without my consent. He was, however, so perplexed, so afraid of seeing my dinner party a dead failure for want of chairs for the guests to sit on, that he concluded he would advance the money. Then he discovered that he had not enough with him, and the men from the caterer’s went back with their chairs, tables, etc.

The chef was at his wit’s end. He did not know what to do until a magnificent inspiration came to him. He went and told his troubles to all my neighbours, who hastened to offer him chairs, tables, dishes, glasses of every style and make. I made my entrance just as my neighbours were sending in their goods, and while the invited guests were beginning to arrive. Everybody turned to and helped lay the tables, and I believe that I have never been present at a pleasanter affair.

Some of the tables were high, others low. The chairs added to the appearance of a general mix-up. Table cloths were sadly lacking, as were knives and glasses. My chef did wonders in making us forget that the banquet arrangements were not absolutely correct. The oddest thing of all was that that evening, having met some friends, I had come within an ace of not being present at my own dinner. In short, I had forgotten all about it.

This dinner, at which there were among the guests Rodin and Fritz Thaulow, was given in honour of M. and Mme. Flammarion.

XI

A VISIT AT RODIN’S

Most people are not acquainted with the temple of art at Meudon, which the great sculptor, Auguste Rodin, has built near his house. The temple is situated at the top of a little hill, and the outlook embraces one of the most beautiful prospects around Paris.

The view to be obtained from Flammarion’s observatory at Juvisy made a great impression on me. The view, however, which one has from Meudon, though it is less sublime, stirs one more perceptibly. Juvisy simply impresses through its atmosphere of grandeur, its calm, its suggestion of the past.

At Meudon, on the other hand, everything seems to aspire towards a new life, towards new times. One feels oneself leap for joy, like the dog that precedes one in quest of the master of the house. This is the impression that you get when you reach the gate, after having walked along an avenue that is not very wide and is lined with newly-planted trees. You arrive at a fence, a very ordinary fence, that incloses nothing and which is there, I fancy, only to prevent wandering animals from getting in and those of the household from getting out. The moment you draw the latch, which causes a bell to resound in the distance, a dog rushes wildly from the house and gives you a most joyous welcome. Then Rodin appears in his turn. In his rather unwieldy body and his features, which are a trifle heavy, great kindliness and sweetness of disposition are evident. He walks slowly. His gestures are kindly, his voice kindly. Everything about him breathes kindliness.

He receives you by extending both hands, very simply and with a friendly smile. Sometimes a movement of the eyes and some words to which you pay no great attention may hint that the moment has perhaps not been well chosen for a visit, but his instinctive good nature gets the upper hand. He places himself by your side and shows you the path that leads to the top of the hill.

The panorama seems so extraordinary that you pause to take it in.

The temple stands at your right, the landscape spreads itself before your feet, and if you turn your glance to the left you note a forest of ancient trees.

Then we look at Rodin. He breathes deeply in silence while he admires the landscape. He surveys everything with such an air of tender interest that you realise he is passionately attached to this spot.

His temple, too, is wonderful, so wonderful that this accessory easily becomes the central feature in the landscape.

Rodin opens the temple door gently and then in a friendly way bids you enter. There truly silence is golden. Words are powerless. We know that we are unable to express in words some of our sensations, unless as a preliminary we have experienced them profoundly.

One ought to see Rodin at Meudon to appreciate him at his true value. One should see the man, his surroundings and his work, to understand the breadth and depth of his personality.

The visit of which I am writing occurred in April, 1902. I had taken with me a well-known scholar--he has since died under tragic circumstances, having been run over by a carriage--and his wife, who was not less scholarly than he. They had never been at Meudon before, and they were not acquainted with Rodin. They were just as simple as the master himself. When I introduced them not a word passed. They grasped each others’ hands, and looked at each other. Then, when we left, they grasped each others’ hands again, and held them for some little time. That was all.

Yet, no, that was not all. In the looks they exchanged there was a world of intelligence, appreciation, comprehension. Rodin, with his peculiar figure, his long beard, and his eyes that gaze right through you, was matched, as regards simplicity, by this husband and wife. The former, brown, tall, and thin, the latter, slight and blonde, had alike a single aim, that of not making themselves conspicuous.

In the temple there was silence--a silence profound, admiring, almost religious, the effect of which I should like to be able to reproduce.

Rodin led us to a work of which he was particularly fond. Motionless and mute, the two visitors looked at the masterpiece before them. Rodin in his turn looked at them, fondling the marble and awaiting from them some sign of approbation or of comprehension, a word, a movement of the head or the hand.

Thus, from work to work, from room to room--for there are three studios in Rodin’s temple--we made our way, slowly, silently, our artistic pilgrimage taking on something of the significance of a communion.

In the two hours we passed in the temple hardly ten words were spoken.

When the inspection of the three studios was finished, a gentleman and a lady walking across the garden came towards us, and Rodin, in a very simple way, mentioned the names of M. and Mme. Carrière, the great painter and his wife. M. Carrière and his wife are also as free from ostentation as Rodin himself and the pair of scholars who accompanied me.

We left. In the carriage that took us back I asked my friends if they could describe their impressions, their sensations. They replied in the negative. Yet on their faces there were evidences of great happiness, and I knew they had appreciated and understood Rodin. These two people are known throughout the world. They are the greatest chemists of our day, peers of the celebrated Berthelot. Since then the husband, like Berthelot, has gone to his last rest and the wife carries on their common activities. I would give a good deal to be able adequately to express the admiration I feel for her, but out of deference to her own desire for simplicity and self-effacement I must not even mention her name.

So far as I myself am concerned, I may say that Rodin is, like the great master, Anatole France, one of the men in France who have impressed me most strongly.

Anatole France has been so kind as to say some things about me at the beginning of this volume--words exquisitely expressed, and of which, although far too laudatory, I am naturally very proud.

I am not less proud of Rodin’s good opinion. This opinion I have noted in a letter the great sculptor wrote to one of my friends. Not for reasons of vanity do I reproduce it here, but because of the simplicity of its form and in grateful remembrance of the great pleasure it caused me.

“Mme. Loie Fuller, whom I have admired for a number of years, is, to my mind, a woman of genius, with all the resources of talent,” so wrote the master from Meudon on January 19, 1908.

“All the cities in which she has appeared, including Paris, are under obligations to her for the purest emotions. She has reawakened the spirit of antiquity, showing the Tanagra figurines in action. Her talent will always be imitated, from now on, and her creation will be reattempted over and over again, for she has re-created effects and light and background, all things which will be studied continually, and whose initial value I have understood.

“She has even been able, by her brilliant reproduction, to make us understand the Far East.

“I fall far below what I ought to say about this great personality; my language is inept for that, but my artistic heart is grateful to her.”

Less grateful, certainly, than I am to the man who wrote these lines. I am, nevertheless, happy to have been able to bring together on the same page the names of two masters of form who have influenced me profoundly and whom I revere affectionately.

XII