[...] He was forever grateful to Romains for this
play, which, because of its outstanding financial
success, enabled him from that time on to produce
the works of relatively unknown authors. After
every failure, Jouvet would put this "money
maker" back on stage to refill his coffers. For
this reason he called it his "magic play."[...]
Nerves:
[...] But in spite of the rich and unique humor
that the play [Knock] possessed and the long
hours devoted to rehearsing, Jouvet was worried
as usual about how audiences and critics would
receive it. As opening night drew closer this
anxiety increased until it finally came close to
panic. "I was worried, because, of course, I am
naturally a worrier. And one must be. One would
never know how to do anything well without this
menacing and healthy uncertainty of knowing
whether one is doing his best. I was worried and
I found ground for worrying in all sorts of
reasons and motives."[...]
[...] Every time he went on stage, even
when
completely possessed by his character, his body
succumbed to a certain nervous contraction, which
affected him to such an extent that a kind of
paralysis overcame him for several seconds. The
calmer, the more self-possessed the character to
be portrayed by Jouvet, the more difficult it was
for him to be sufficiently relaxed. Sometimes he
stiffened with fright and felt miserably
inadequate when he tried to give the impression
of ease and naturalness which a part called
for.[...]
Melancholy:
[...] Jouvet was only 41 when these recurrent
spells of melancholy took hold of him. He was
obsessed with a sense of futility and fear.
Strangely enough, it was at a time when he was
beginning to make his greatest contributions to
the stage. It might be that the absence of
friends, for whom he had a constant need, created
a void, inviting the eruption of the deeper fears
that had always lurked beneath the surface.
Jouvet could never completely yield himself to
others, but had wanted others to express their
affection for and confidence in him. This may
have been due to a compelling desire to penetrate
the masks of people, to penetrate their secrets
the more fully to undersand them. [...] But,
above and beyond all this, there is no doubt that
Jouvet deeply loved people and had an emotional
need of them. The highly sensitive actor had an
affectionate and understanding nature, and he
responded sympathetically to the call of both
friend and stranger.[...]
His return to Paris after WWII
and 4 years on
tour:
[...] But Jouvet was also a sadder and older man
on his return. His great friend, Jean Giraudoux,
had died and he would always feel the void, which
no other man would ever fill.[...] He was no
longer familiar with modern theatrical trends in
the parisian theatre, nor acquainted with the
rising young directors such as Jean-Louis
Barrault; perhaps he could never be as close to
them as he had been to the directors of an older
day. [...] It came to him as a shock that instead
of attracting talents to his orbit since his
return, he was now looked upon as a "has-been", a
man speedily going to seed. He intended with all
his power to challenge that notion. [...]
[...]He was not able to get back his
theatre
until the fall of 1945, since the Ath�n�e, then
rented, was housing a very successful play. In
the fall of 1945, installed again at the Ath�n�e
theatre, Jouvet followed a hard daily
schedule.[...] His co-workers at this period
noticed a more than usual frenetic anxiety in
Jouvet, an almost compulsive urge to labor. He
often worked sixteen to eighteen hours a day at
the Ath�n�e and at several motion picture
studios. [...] This anxiety stemmed in all
probability from the fact that he was no longer
sure of himself. He wavered in his approach to a
production because he saw so many possiblities in
it. For example, after he had done a rehearsal
scene to his satisfaction, he would later have
misgivings about his interpretation during that
same night. In the morning, he would alter the
entire scene. Jouvet always surffered to some
extent from emotional turnabouts and
indecisiveness, but never so much as now. His
tension, his wavering and sense of insecurity had
increased to an alarming degree. Jouvet's
realization that he was growing old and the
frightening anticipation of his approaching death
were added burdens to his already troubled
spirit. Although only fifty-eight years old at
this time, he was convinced that he had only a
few years to live. So many of his dearest friends
had passed away during the last few years that he
knew he would soon follow them. And, as his dread
of death took a stronger hold on him, he became
increasingly religious, in a very personal,
mystical sense.[...]
Religion:
[...] What attracted Jouvet to his religion was
chiefly its intense drama and the mystery at its
source. Always essentially a lonely man, he had
tried to communicate his ideas and feelings to
others but felt he had never fully succeeded.
Jouvet found communion with religion necessary;
in it he could lose himself to achieve a fuller,
more knowledgeable self. It was also an outlet
for his pent-up emotions.[...]
His first performance of
Madwoman of Chaillot
(1st new play after his return
to France
after WWII):
[...] With trepidation the rag-picker (Jouvet)
walked on stage. A hushed silence filled the
house as the audience watched him, about to speak
his first lines. Tenderly and firmly he began.
[...] Jouvet felt the rising tension on the part
of the audience, and he knew then that he had
recaptured them, that he had never really lost
them. [...] Jouvet had won perhaps the most
trying battle of his career [...] the younger
generation of directors and actors accepted his
leadership as had his contemporaries. And his
contemporaries once again realized how gifted
Jouvet was and how much integrity and devotion he
brought to his profession.[...] He had not lost
his place in the French theatre, he was not being
passed by, he was not being pitied.[...]
On acting and the
movies:
[...] Jouvet felt spiritually lost in the movie
world, and he considered it an immature art form.
"The actor, on stage, has an eminent position
being instrument and instrumentalist, violin and
virtuoso, playing by himself and controlling
himself, being his own music, and holding suspect
the echo of this music among those people who are
watching him, breathing to his rhythm."[...]
[...] Jouvet often pictured the actor as "a
tight-rope walker, relying on sensitivity or
mechanics to keep his balance. At some point
along the wire neither is needed, and as the
actor stands there in perfect equilibrium,
nobody, not even the playwright, can experience
his dizziness, vertigo, madness, and
intoxication".[...]
His Death:
[At rehearsal,] Jouvet began to yawn rather
frequently, and one actor told him that he looked
pale. To this he replied, "I, I have never been
pale!" His cast suggested that he rest for a few
minutes. He retreated to the bar of the theatre
and stretched out on the carpeting. He yawned
more often now, and some members of the cast
noted a bizarre sound when he opened his mouth. A
few minutes later, Jouvet closed his eyes. The
cast, now alarmed about his condition, summoned
the doctor. About a half an hour later, the
doctor arrived. He gave Jouvet an injection of
sulphocamphor and morphine and ordered a complete
rest, since the slighest exertion might prove
fatal. With the help of a mechanic, Paul Barge
carried Jouvet, sitting on a chair, to a small
staircase which led to his office. Once in his
loge-bureau, they stretched him out on a divan
and an extraordinary expression of vitality
returned to the actor. Jouvet said, 'Leave me". A
few minutes later, he complained of a pain in his
left arm. The pain became acute. Paralysis
enveloped the entire left side of his body. The
next two days, he lay motionless on the divan.
Then further complications set in, and at about
6:15 of the second evening, after receiving the
last rites, Jouvet died. [...]
All excerpts from:
Louis Jouvet: Man of the Theatre
by Bettina Liebowitz Knapp
1957 Columbia University Press
