Queens of the French Stage

discussion than the young girl whom Molière married, at th

deed as the daughter of the late Joseph Béjart, écuyer, sieur de Belleville, and of his widow, Marie

de Bourgogne, the first home of the regular drama; in the centre, in the Rue Vieille-du-Temple, was the theatre which took its name from the quarter, the Théatre du Marais, where Corneille's Cid was first performed; while nearer the Seine, the playgoer could make choice between the Italian troupes, the Trois Farceurs, Gaultier-Garguille, Gros-Guillaume, and Turlupin,[1] and open-air entertainments on the Pont-au-Change, the Pont-Neuf, and the Place Da

sitates between one of the unlicensed playhouses of the fairs in the neighbourhood of Paris and a troupe of amateurs, several of which were to be found in the capital; while another of Madeleine's bi

father, a paternal uncle, a "chef du gobelet du roi," and divers other relatives and friends, she appears before the Civil Lieutenant of Paris[2] to request permission

re, it must be admitted, not a little singular in a young lady of eighteen-for on that day is baptized at Saint-Eustache "Fran?oise, daughter of Esprit Raymon

nt, as it was regarded in those days, did not prevent the son of the former (by proxy)[3] and the mother of the latter (in person) standing as sponsors to the littl

said of the father of M

r the universal peace of Christendom," and fought on its behalf at the battle of La Marfée, at the head of a body of cavalry which he had raised at his own expense. In consequence of this, he was condemned to death, by a decree of the Parliament of Paris (September 6, 1641), but took refuge in Flanders, with the Duc de Guise, against whom a similar sentence had been pronounced, and remained there until the death of Richelieu, followed by that of Louis XIII., left him at liberty to return to France. When, in 1647, Guise went to Naples, to endeavour to exploit the revolt

seph, Madeleine, Geneviève, Louis, and "a little girl not yet baptized," children under age (i.e. under twenty-five) of the said deceased and herself, she represented that "the inheritance of her deceased husband being charged with heavy debts without any property wherewith to acquit them, she feared tha

which has afforded material for a controversy which has already lasted for nearly two hundred and fifty years and seems not unlikely to continue till the end of all things, for the most fantastic theories, for a small library of books and pamp

ne Béjart had had a little girl; while, on the other hand, the birth of Marie Hervé's child, which was of no public interest, and which, moreover, probably took place not in Paris, but in one of the adjacent villages,[4] was known to very few. A young girl grew up with Madeleine, who

his widow, Marie Hervé. Forty-two years later, the old scandal, which in the interim had been partly revived by M. Fournier (études sur la vie et les ?uvres de Molière) and M. Bazin (Notes historiques sur Molière), received another severe blow by Eudore Soulié's discovery of the deed of March 10, 1643, already mentioned, wherein Marie Hervé requested permission to renounce the succession to her husband's property, and which confirmed the statement made in th

t to become a mother, for the second time, not, of course, by the Comte de Modène, who had been in exile for nearly two years, but by some new lover. Fearing that if Modène returned and learned the fact, he would refuse to resume the liaison, which she hoped might one day be regula

t the two eldest children, Joseph and Madeleine, described in the deed of March 10, 1643, as minors, were over twenty-five, and that their age was purposely understated to make their mother appear younger than she was, and so facilitate the fraud. This point has been contested by Mr. Andrew Lang, in his admirable article on Molière in the Encyclop?dia Britannica, but is really of no importance, as if M. Loiseleur had exercised a little more care, he would have fou

h this belief, they held another, to wit, that Molière had been, previous to his marriage with the younger sister, the lover of th

one or other of them into ridicule, he seldom failed to avail himself of it, though he made an exception in the case of Floridor, who was too great a favourite with the public for them to tolerate any attacks upon him. In his Impromptu de Versailles, played before the Court in October 1663, Molière satirised several actors of the H?tel de Bourgogne, and, among them,

e], and of having formerly lived with the mother [Madeleine]. But Montfleury is not listened to at Court."[7] From this passage it is evident that Montfleury intended Louis XIV. to bel

deavoured to substantiate it had he received any encouragement from the King. Any way, Louis XIV. appears to have satisfied himself that the charge was merely the outcome of jealousy and spite, and when, in the following

persons at this period. One Sebastian Aubry, a connection of the Béjarts, was entrusted with the commission; but, instead of executing it, he informed Lulli, who promptly invoked the protection of the law. An inquiry was held and numerous witnesses called for the prosecution, among whom was the widow of Molière. In order to discredit the testimony of these witnesses, Guichard drew up a memorial, in which, besides making the most infamous charges agai

attacked Molière in a play called élomire hypocondre, ou les Médicins vengés-élomire being, of course, an anagram of Molière. This play, intended as a reply to the great dramatist's repeated attacks on the medical profession, was a fatuous production, dull, confused, and encumbered with an absurd number of characters; and the company of the H?tel de Bourgogne, to whom it was submitted, very prudently declined to accept it, notwithstand

men?a trop ta

berceau qu'il y

elqu'un

ffect of stimulating its circulation, as, in the following year, a new edition was clandesti

provincial actress, who was making the bonne fortune of numbers of young gentlemen in Languedoc at the time of the auspicious birth of her daughter. That is why it is very difficult, in the face of such promiscuous ga

ing than that of friendship. In this they show a singular want of consistency, for, as M. Gustave Larroumet, than whom Molière has no more ardent admirer, very justly observes, the two suppositions are inseparable, and those who admit the probability of the s

efly as may be, since the subject is not

fice to discharge the ordinary working expenses, and its chief was, on one occasion, imprisoned in the Chatelet, until the bill of an importunate candle-merchant had been settled. When the company left Paris, in the spring of 1646, on its twelve years' wanderings through the provinces, she accompanied it, and, in addition to playing in nearly every piece, appears to have superintended the costumes and

might never have created his inimitable soubrettes.[10] She was, moreover, remarkably handsome, tall and graceful, with hair of a peculiarly beautiful blonde hue, and La Fontaine, Loret, and other contemporaries speak of her in terms of unfeigned admiration; while she seems to have possessed some literary abil

hened by the accession of two actresses, Mlle. du Parc and Mlle. de Brie,[11] both destined to rise to eminence in their profession. Molière promptly fell in love with the former, who, however, rejected his addresses, as she subsequently did those of Pierre C

contrary opinion, but, though generally so correct, he appears in this instance to be arguing from a false premise. He assumes that the Comte de Modène returned to Paris in the summer of 1643 and resumed his former relations with Madeleine, which fact, he says, makes a liaison between her and Molière altogether improbable. But the count's biographer, M. Chardon, asserts that

t that time anything more than friends-possibly only acquaintances-there is not a shred of evidence to prove; for the rumours we have spoken of relate mainly to the early years of the Illustre Théatre. Indeed, so little is known about their movements previous to

the parish of Saint-Sauveur, and, six months later (June 5, 1640), we find her discharging the same duty to a child of one Robert de la Voypierre, described as a valet-de-chambre at the Church of Saint-Sulpice.[13] After that, it is true, nothing more is heard of her for three years. Now, where was she durin

and imprisoned in the Chateau of Vincennes, apparently on a charge of treasonable correspondence with Modène. Thereupon, Madeleine, apprehensive of sharing their fate, her connection with Modène being well k

e months of May, June, and July, when M. Loiseleur is of opinion that he replaced his father as tapiss

found to maintain, it could not have been Molière, unless Madeleine was a member of a troupe of strolling players, which performed several times before the Court at Montfrin, during its stay there in the la

have received a far superior education to that which a little Bohemian could have obtained. According to one account, she lived for some years in Languedoc, "with a lady of distinguished rank in that province," and did not return to her family until 1653, when the company, relatively more stab

he did her utmost to bring it about. According to Grimarest, one of the oldest of the poet's biographers-who believed Madeleine to have been Molière's mistress, and that she was, moreover, the mother of Armande, though he does not go so far as t

lle. de Brie had deprived her. "She did not fail to exaggerate to Molière the satisfaction he would derive from educating for himself a child whose heart he was sure of possessing, and whose disposition was known to him, and assured him that it was only at that innocent age that one could hope to meet with that sincerity which was found but rarely among persons who

s family and Armande's, that of the author of La Fameuse Comédienne has a basis of truth. Madeleine did, no doubt, play an important part in bringing about the marriage, but the reason which prompted her to do so was very different from that stated by the author. Sincerely attached to both her sister and Molière, she honestly believed that a marriage between them would be to their common advantage, securing to the o

ne traced by Molière's own hand in that exquisite little scene between Cléonte and Covielle in the third act of the Bourgeois gentilhomme, where Armande plays the part of the charming Lucile. Cléonte, incensed by Lucile's seeming indifference, determines to break with her, and calls upon the valet to "assist him in

le readily obeys, and proceeds to draw a most unflattering portrait of the young lady. But no sooner does the valet point out some fa

egin with, her

y are full of fire-the most brilliant, the most piercing

She has a l

in other mouths; and that mouth, when one beholds it, inspires d

or her figure,

she is supple and

a carelessness in her

and her manners are engaging and have a nameles

-"As to h

at, Covielle; the finest

"Her conve

conversation

It is alway

d boisterous gaiety? Is there anything more annoyin

, she is as capricious as

agree with you; but everything is becoming

NDE

ntemporary drawing in the collection of M

emps, which she contributed to the Mercure of 1740, describes her as "of middle height," with "very small eyes," and "a large flat mouth"; but adds that she had "an engaging air," and "performed every action with grace." The elder Grandval is in accord with Mlle. Poisson: "Without being beautiful, she was piquant and capa

oiffure, or of her figure by the fashion of her costume." And Mlle. Poisson records that she "showed most remarkable taste and invariably opposed to the mode of the time." She seems indeed to have had some claim to be considered the arbitrix of feminine taste in dress, for the Mercure galant of 1673 ascribes to

eral finished performers to the French stage, and "had in her blood the passion and instinct of the theatre." With her charm of manner and exquisite taste in dress, she combined many accomplishments: "she had a very pretty voice, sang with great taste in both French and Italian, and danced ravishingly." She had received a long an

in "la r?les de femmes coquettes et satiriques," which accorded so well with her own temperament, and also in those of ingénues, Armande had no superior in her day and probably very few since. Her acting is said to have been characterised by great judgment, while her by-play was remarkably effective. "If she but retouches

ced at the Palais-Royal the previous December. The part allotted to her, which is that of a self-possessed young woman, with a good deal of shrewd common-sense, a turn for irony of a rather caustic brand, and not too much consideration for the feelings of others, suited her admirably-perhaps rather more so than poor Molière at that time imagined-and secured her a somewhat similar r?le in the delightful I

ande. The play, the subject of which was borrowed from the Spanish dramatist Moreto's El Desden con el Desden (Scorn for Scorn), is the story of a fair princess, who until then had professed to despise love and had driven her innumerable suitors to despair, but who suddenly finds herself wounded to the heart by the skilfully feigned indifference to her charms shown by Euryale, Prince of Ithaca, who ultimately succeeds in winning her hand. Though far from being one of Molière's happiest efforts, as it was hastily strung together-the first act and the commencement of the first scene of the second are in verse, and the rest in prose-while the author's natural flow of wit and humour was checked by the necessity of accommodating himself to courtly conventions, it met with a very favourable reception, and, moreover, served to establish Armande's reputation as an actress. This was, no doubt, Molière's intention, as the whole play appears to have been conceived expressly to bring into relief th

hese plays, but in the much discussed Tartuffe, now played for the first time, she again filled the leading feminine r?le. How she fared on this occasion we have unfortunately no information; but when, in February

in malgré lui, Angélique in George Dandin, and Elise in l'Avare, and, on June 4, 1666, the

ntelligent pupil will readily make herself acquainted with all that can be learned; if she does not evolve from her own resources the sentiment of the character, she will only swell the alarming number of vain attempts which theatrical history records. Célimène is twenty years of age, and her experience is that of a woman of forty. Coquettish and feline with Alceste, frivolous and back-biting with the little marquises, cruelly ironical with Arsinoé, in each act, in each scene, she shows herself under a different aspect. Contemporary, or very nearly so, of Mesdames de Chatillon, de Luynes, de Monaco, de

de secured a brilliant triumph. Her performance was "a charm" and "an ecstasy," Robinet tells us; and though Robinet was in the habit of dea

the same reputation. Célimène depends for her fascination not so much on beauty of face or form as on her expression, her smile, her manners, her conversation; "elle a l'art de me plaire," says the infatuated Alceste. Armande possessed the same kind of attractions, and was "very affecting when she wished to please." Célimène is haughty and imperious. "It is my wish; it is my wish," she cries when Alceste he

one of the most remarkable instances of collaboration in dramatic history,[17] in which she appeared in a different costume in each of its five acts-a very unusual extravagance in those days-and is described by the enthusiastic Robinet as "marvellous"

an unworthy wife, who repaid the kindness and affection lavished upon her by the great man whose name she bore with ingratitude and contumely; while there are not wanting those who go so far as to accuse her of the grossest infidelity, and to assert that her misconduct was in some measure responsible for the dramatist's untimely death. When, however, we come to sift the evidence against her, we shall find that these extreme views are based on very insufficient or very suspicious

ife in several of his plays: the école des femmes, the Impromptu de Versailles, the Mariage forcé, George Dandin, and, of course, the Misanthrope. That this is true of the last-named play cannot,

No young woman should know anything beyond her household and religious duties; her reading is to be confined to the Bible and the Maxims of Marriage; her only objects in life are to be the salvation of her soul and the comfort and happiness of her husband. In order to put his theory to the test, he adopts a little girl called Agnès, and has her carefully brought up

to be the slightest ground for such a supposition. In the first place, Molière espoused the woman of his choice; while Arnolphe sees his cherished scheme come to nothing, through the appearance on the scene of the youthful Horace. In the second, the brilliant and witty Armande bears as little resemblance to the unsophisticated

wife, which the former introduces at the beginning of the play. The company is supposed to be rehearsing

hat it is? You ought to have written a pl

ilent, wife; y

st shows what it is to be married, and how strangely wedlock a

-"Pray b

ld be capable of depriving us of all our good qualities, and that a hus

-"What l

t. I would justify women in many things of which they are accused, and I would make hu

rdinary play, represent fictitious characters; they appear under their own names. In these circumstances, it is surely inconceivable that the dramatist should have introduced this dialogue, if he had for one moment imagined

mmes," only to be roughly disillusioned when the carefully brought up Dorimène frankly avows her passion for "toutes les choses de plaisir"-play, visiting, assemblies, entertainments, and so forth-at the same time expressing a hope that he does not intend to be one of those inconvenient husbands who desire their wives to live "comme des loup-garous," since solitude drives her to despair, but that they may dwell together as a pair "qui savent leur monde." Angéli

o, besides, had nothing wherewith to reproach herself." But the resemblance in the situations goes no further. If Dorimène, in her craving for "toutes les chases de plaisir" and Angélique, in her imperious temper and cold irony, bear some relation to Armande, the foolish and cowardly Sganarelle, who allows himself to be cudgelled by Dor

have something in it of the tragic and heroic quality." But, though the large number of verses from Don Garcie which Molière has incorporated with his role of Alceste would seem to lend some confirmation to this theory, the fact remains that writers are practically unanimous in regarding the Misanthrope as, primarily, a pathetic autobiography of its author under the cloak of fiction. "This Célimène, so frivolous and so charming, so dangerous and so seductive, this incorrigible coquette, who does not understand what a noble heart she is wounding even unto

c wit which belonged to Armande; to his own r?le all the weakness of a high-minded man struggl

s yeux aux défauts

ue ardeur qu'elle

s voirs, comme

cela, quoi que

foible; elle a l

s défauts, et j'a

en ait, elle

lus forte, et, sa

temps pourra p

holding in his hand the proof of Célimène's perfidy, the letter written by her to his rival, Oronte, calls upon her "to justify herself at least of a cr

s fou, dans vos

pas l'amour qu

.

soup?ons méri

z pas que l'on

et veux mal à

ncor, pour vous

tre part, atta

un sujet de pl

es. And few, again, can doubt the sincerity wit

tout mo

c?ur l'attach

ds efforts n'ont r

s péchés que je

is really nothing in the Misanthrope which gives us the right to assume that Armande was anything worse than an incorrigible coquette. "Célimène is impeccable; she has neither heart nor feeling."[21] Nor do the remainder of Molière's

and the rest, would have been only too ready to avail themselves of such an opportunity of humiliating the man whom they so bitterly hated. Yet though, like all the rest of the world, they were aware of Molière's jealous nature, and made this weakness the object of their unsparing ridicule, none of them went so far as to accuse him of being that which he appears to have

anonymously at Frankfort, in 1688, by one Rottenberg, a bookseller who made a speciality of such sensational works,[22] bore the title of La Fameuse Comédienne, ou Histoire de la Guérin, Guérin being the name of Armande Béjart's second husband, whom she married in 1677. Although the demand for it was considerable, and five editions were printed within ten years of the date of its publication, the charges against Armande which it contain

aine, Racine, nor Chapelle were capable of committing such an infamy; that Blot had been in his grave more than thirty years at the time of the publication of the libel ascribed to him, and that the chief argument advanced by M. Charles Livet, the editor of the latest edition of the Fameuse Comédienne, in favour of Rosimont, namely, a resemblance between the style of the book and a theological work entitled La Vie des Saints, which he published in 1680, seems to us too fanciful to merit any serious consideration. In the cases of Mesdemoiselles Guyot and Boudin,

areer of Molière and his wife. But that is all that can be said in its favour. "Possessed," remarks M. Larroumet, "by a ferocious hatred against Armande, hatred of the woman and the actress, the writer has only one object-to render her odious. What she knows of the actions of her enemy she perverts or, at any rate

bounds in letters, conversations, details about matters which could not possibly have been known, save to the parties immediately concerned, with the result that her attack fails miserably, and

24] it may be as well for us, in the interests of truth, to follow the example of M. Bazin and M. Larroumet, and devote some

vour to gain her favours. The Abbé de Richelieu was one of the first who determined to make her his mistress. As he was very liberal, while the young lady was very fond of expenditure, the matter was soon concluded. It was agreed that

ossibility. Armande was married on February 20, 1662, and on January 19, 1664, she bore Molière a son. The intrigue must then have taken place between these two periods-which is to make her infidelity begin at a very early date-since M. Bazin tells us that the Abbé de Richelieu left France in March 1664 with the expedit

ly had she arrived at Chambord, where the King gave this entertainment, than she became infatuated with the Comte de Guiche,[25] while the Comte de Lauzun[26] became infatuated with her. The latter spared no effort to obtain her good graces, but the Molière, who had quite lost her head over her hero, would listen to no proposition, and contented herself with visiting Du Parc and weeping over the indifference of the Comte de Guiche. The Comte de Lauzun, however, did not abandon hope, experience having taught him that nothing could resist him. He knew, m

f him is to be found among the persons who assisted at the fêtes where the Princesse d'élide was performed, while even if he were present, it is very unlikely that he had any attention to spare for Mlle. Molière, as he was at this time desperately in love with the Princesse de Monaco, who afterwards jilted him for the King himself. The fact

Guiche, and, furious at the lady's duplicity, "does not amuse himself by uttering reproaches, which never serve any good purpose; but, congratulating himself on having engaged her only by the day, resolves to break with her from that moment, whi

of unexampled virtue." However, in due course, Molière is advised of her proceedings, and another painful scene takes place between husband and wife. Molière falls into a violent passion and threatens to have her shut up in a convent. Armande weeps, swoons away, and appears to be on the point of expiring; but eventually revives and, instead of entreating pardon, as on the previous occasion, takes a high tone, accuses her husband of keeping up his intimacy with Mlle. de Brie, who, by a singular arrangement, still continued to reside under the same roof as her former lover,[27] and also with Madeleine Béjart, declares t

om Madeleine Béjart and the Comte de Modène stood sponsors. "If," says M. Larroumet, "we admit that the Misanthrope reflects something of the poet's state of mind and of his feelings towards his wife, the separation perhaps belongs to the moment when this play was produced, in June 1666, or later, about the month of August, after the Médecin malgré lui." M. Larroumet sees in th

are leisure at a little country-house which he rented at Auteuil, then, as now, one of the most beautiful suburbs of Paris. One day, according to the Fameuse Comédienne, he was sitting in his garden, musing sadly upon his lost

ly cure me of my passion. Moreover, there is a satisfaction open to you, which would be denied you if she were only your mistress; and that vengeance which commonly takes the place of love in an outra

is friend, here interrupted him to inq

t I should never have found any difficulty in following what honour prescribed;

f my own trouble, that you may understand how little we are masters of ourselves when once it has acquired dominion over us. As for the consummate knowledge of the human heart which you say the portraits I am constantly offering to the public prove me t

ed myself a little less unfortunate than the majority of those who contract such engagements. Thus marriage did not lessen my affection; but she treated me with such indifference that I began to perceive that all my precautions had been unavailing, and that her feelings towards me were very far removed from what I desired for my happiness. I reproached myself with a sensitiveness which seemed ridiculous in a husband, ascribing to her disposition that which was really due to her want of affection for me. But I had but too many opportunities of perceiving my error; and the mad passion which she contracted soon afterwards for the Comte de Guiche occasioned too much commotion to leave me even this appearance of tranquillity. I spared no endeavour, so soon as I knew the truth, to conquer myself, finding it impossible to change her. I employed al

me. My passion has reached such a point as to cause me to sympathise with her; and when I reflect upon the impossibility of suppressing what I feel for her, I tell mysel

ociated in my mind with her. So entirely are my thoughts occupied by her that in her absence nothing can give me pleasure. When I behold her, an emotion, transports which may be felt but not expressed, deprive me of all power of reflection.

le, "either thoughtlessly or to clear his friend from certain slanders," and reached the ears of the author. Mr. Markheim adduces two circumstances as proofs of the genuineness of the Auteuil confession: first, that the substance of it is confirmed by a similar conversation between Molière and his friends, the physician Rohault, and Mignard, the celebrated painter, cited by Grimarest, in his biography of the dramatist; secondly, the very remarkable resemblance, not only in thought but i

s défauts, et j'ai

en ait, elle

ically opposite conclusion. Let us listen to what M. Larroumet, the best-informed and most impartial of all the recent biographers of Molière, has to say upon the matter: "If we admit that the Fameuse Comédienne, in spite of its detestable inspiration, is not the work of a beginner, but of an actress endowed with the talent of a natural style, the simplest course would be to admit further that this fragment is as much her work as the rest of the book. Trained

t morsels of French prose in its most glorious epoch"-as may well arouse a regret that the writer di

ind than éliante's, and she appears to have passed a considerable portion of her time at Auteuil. The poet's friends remonstrated, pointing out that, by renewing his intimacy with Mlle. de Brie, he was giving his wife but too much excuse for her own conduct, and endeavoured to persuade him to break with her. "Is it for virtue, beauty, or intelligence that you love this woman?" one of t

sibility of reprisals, he showed himself in regard to her feeble and irresolute to the last degree. His relations with Mlle. de Brie and other women were after all but passing caprices; his passion

the Marquis de Jonzac, it took place towards the end of the year 1671. The author of the Fameuse Comédienne is discreetly silent about this, fea

the ear. In high dudgeon, Baron forthwith took himself off and joined a strolling company; nor was it until four years later that, at the urgent entreaty of Molière, he consented to return. He was then a tall lad of seventeen, exceedingly handsome, full of assurance, and "already in great request among the ladies of the theatre and also among certain ladies of the fashionable world." It did not appear at first, says the author of the Fameuse Comédienne, that time had greatly modified the hostility with which Mlle. Molière and he regarded one another. But when they appeared together in Psyché, at the carnival of 1671, Armande in the title-part, Baron as Love, there came a change. "The common praises that they received com

unes, but that he was prepared to sacrifice all for her, and that he would set more value on the smallest of her favours than on any w

evotion, and, to cut a long story short, they resol

n his comedy, L'Homme à bonnes fortunes, was not the kind of person to be deterred by any honourable scruples from making love to the wife of his benefactor, had he been so minded, we can hardly suppose that an intrigue between Armande and a member of his own troupe could have been carried on without Molière becoming aware of it, or that, when aware of it, he would have permitted Baron to retain his place in the company. Moreover, apart from the statement in th

gallant disposition and in the habit of offering incense at the shrine of any goddess of the theatre who was inclined to accept his devotion. At Rouen, in 1758, he had, like Molière at an earlier date, fallen desperately in love with Mlle. du Parc, but had fared no better at the hands of that haughty beauty than the chief of the Illustre Théatre. This rebuff

jealous of the aff

from the wind. The moment it toys with them, I murmur at it. The very air you breathe with too much pleasure passes betwee

e, for some reason, could not see his way to accept it for the Palais-Royal, was produced at the Marais on November 2, 1672. It was a poor play, the dramatist having failed to endow either the plot with interest, or the characters, apart from the amorous old senator Martian, with any special individual

sight of her suffering, to hasten her convalescence by an assurance of his full forgiveness. In the following February, Madeleine Béjart died, leaving the bulk of her property to Armande, and, towards the middle of that year, Molière removed from the Place du Palais-Royal, where he had lived for so long with the Béjarts and Mlle. de Brie, to a large house in the Rue de Richelieu, near the Académie des Peintres, which

and, in short, resumed his former mode of life. The result was a rapid aggravation of his complaint; his nights were sleepless, he was racked by a terrible cough, and, at the beginning of the year 1673, it became evident that his days were numbered. In this condition, by the irony of Fate, it fell to him to represent the folly of a man in perfect health who, imagining himself the victim of all manner of fell diseases, is ready to submit to any and every remedy that may be suggested to him,-that is to say, the exact counterpart of his own state. On February 10, the Malade imaginaire, a happy conception in the composition of which the author had doubtless contrived to find some relief from his sufferings, both of body and mind-for there is some reason to believe that his relations with his wife were again becoming strained-was produced at the Palais-Royal, and played for three nights to crowded houses. On the morning of the fourth performance, Feb

seized with a convulsion, which he endeavoured vainly to disguise by forcing a laugh. When the curtain fell, he made his way to Baron's dressing-room and complained that he was "perishing of cold." A chair was obtained, and the dying man conveyed to his home, where he was put to bed. Feeling that his last hour was at hand, he asked for the consolations of religion, and Armande and Baron hurried off to Saint-Eustache, where, however, the two priests in attendance, learning who it

o his death-bed, Molière was none the less regarded as having died without the consolations of r

stress upon the fact of her husband having communicated at the previous Easter. It has been stated that the archbishop's reply was an absol

en the King demurred to granting her request, "if my husband was a criminal, his crimes were authorised by your Majesty in person." This was certainly true, though to remind his Majesty of the fact was hardly calculated to further her cause, nor did the curé of Auteuil improve matters by embarking on a theological argument, apparently with the view of anticipating an attack upon his orthodoxy by

e cemetery of the parish, on condition, nevertheless, that it should take place without any ostentation, with two priests only, and after dusk had fallen; that there should be no solemn service on his behalf, either in the said parish

ve treated of the incident were better acquainted with the theatre than the Sorbonne, for, though the souvenirs of Tartuffe and Don Juan no doubt counted for much in the matter, Harlay de Chanvalon and his subordinate were, after all, only putting into force a rule of the Church which had existed for centuries, though in recent time

s confined to treatises and sermons. The Council of Elvira, in 305, enacted that no actor was to be received into the Church unless he had solemnly engaged to renounce his profession; if he failed to keep his promise, he was to be immediately excommunicated. At the Council of Arles, held five years later, all circus-performers and actors were excluded from the Sacraments, so long as they exercised their profession; and the third Council of Carthage (A.D. 397) denied them baptism or a

haracter of the Roman theatre and the powerful influence it exercised in perpetuating the memory of Paganism. It is to be remarked, however, that the censures pronounced against the actor emanated not from any Pope or ecumenical council, but from provincial synods, and when, in process of time, Paganism disappeared and practica

the Church of France. The adoption of these canons was a very serious matter for the theatrical profession in France, for among them was that of the Council of Arles, already mentioned, which expressly excluded the actor from the Sacraments, so long as he followed his calling. However, it was clearly understood that the penalties pronounced should not be applied to the

of the seventeenth century, thanks in a great measure, no doubt, to the patronage bestowed on the stage by Richelieu and Mazarin, in practice the greatest tolerance prevailed, and the clergy accorded to the actor the same treatment as to all other good Catholics. Thus, on January

by a great party in the Church itself that was directly responsible for the termination of this happy state of affairs and the vi

attitude changed, and they not only permitted all who came under their influence to attend the play, but even encouraged the pupils in their colleges to perform theological comedies, in which their enemies, the Jansenists, were held up to rid

who stigmatized those who wrote for the theatre as "public poisoners, not of bodies, but of souls." Racine, believing his honour touched, joined in the fray and ridiculed the bigotry of Port-Royal. Nicole rejoined with a Traité de la Comédie, wherein, relying on the teaching of the Fathers of the Church, he condemned not only dramatic authors, but those who interpreted them. "The playhouse," said he, "is a school of Vice. The profe

rm of indignation among all sections of the clergy; Jesuit and Jansenist united in denouncing the play, its author, and his calling. A curé of Paris, one Père Roullé, demanded that the writer, "this demon clothed with flesh and habited as a man, the most notorious blasphemer and libertine that has appeared for centuries past, should be delivered to th

opportunities of applying them. In 1671, Floridor, the famous tragedian of the H?tel de Bourgogne, fell dangerously ill and sent for the curé of Saint-Eustache to give him absolution. The curé flatly refused, save on condition that the actor would engage, i

to penetrate its intention," became much alarmed, fearing that the enemies of her husband were organising a riot, and that some indignity to his remains was intended. She accordingly determined to endeavour to appease it, and going to a window, threw out

pall, being preceded by two priests and six enfants bleus carrying lighted tapers in silver sconces, and followed by a considerable n

the gate was closed and the keys had been forgotten. While awaiting their arrival, the mourners were able t

passé ce

tre à l

mme a fait u

nt renom

s su si b

ade im

la mort pour

urther incident. Molière was interred in the middle of the cemetery

ton du Tillet, "is cracked down the middle, which was occasioned by a very noble and very remarkable action on the part of his widow. Two or three years after Molière's death, there was a very severe winter, an

brought to consent to a reconciliation? On the other hand, to pretend that she was an irreproachable wife seems as hazardous as to affirm her misconduct. There is no smoke without fire, and the separation between her and her husband-a separation lasting for five years-is a highly suspicious circumstance. Its immediate cause may, of course, have been merely incompatibility of temper-for the account of the matter given

but an actor, not only an actor, but a manager. The financial affairs of the troupe, it is true, were in the capable hands of La Grange; but Molière made himself responsible for its efficiency, and though the Impromptu de Versailles no doubt conveys an exaggerated idea of his difficulties in this direction, they were probably considerable. The jealousy between the two principal actresses, Armande and Mlle. de Brie, must have been alone a fruitful source of trouble. In these circumstances, it is not difficult to understand that the little trials of domestic life, which in the majority of men arouse but a passing feeling of annoyance, should have presented themselves to him as

any so soon after her husband's death was commented upon very unfavourably;[36] but it would appear to have been dictated by stern necessity. In the face of the formidable competition of the H?tel de Bourgogne, the troupe of Molière, a

Baron at their head, resigned their places and passed over to the older theatre; while, shortly afterwards, Lulli obtained the king's permission to make the theatre of the Palais-Royal the home of French opera, and the unfortunate Moliéristes found themselves

ère; and, in May 1659, on the death of Joseph Béjart, stepped into his shoes as the jeune premier of the troupe. As an actor, he appears to have been altogether admirable, the type of the perfect lover, as understood in those days, and, according to the anonymous author of the Entretiens galants, to see him play with Armande in such a piece as the Malade imaginaire was a sight not

which had attended the troupe was due to his skill in gauging the public taste, his untiring energy, and his personal popularity. To him, too, we owe that wonderful Registre, a perfect mine of accurate and detailed informa

for himself the exclusive right of representing musical pieces. It was a fine house, fitted up with every convenience, "with a stage," says Samuel Chappuzeau, in his work on the Paris theatres of the time, "large enough to allow the most elaborate machinery to be worked." La Grange proposed that the troupe should a

f Parisian life, as it had been during the first half of the century, than to any lack of talent on the part of the company, which, indeed, comprised several excellent performers of both sexes; and the establishment of the Opera threatened to reduce its already diminished receipts still further. Accordingly, Louis XIV. decided that it should join forces with Mlle. Mo

674, the share of each player only amounted to 1481 livres, a striking contrast to the takings at the Palais-Royal during the last year of Molière's life; while, on one occasion, at the beginning of the second season, l'Avare was played to a house of

y Charpentier, brought in 24,000 livres in nine performances; while the Devineresse, a comic-melodrama, by the same playwright and Donneau de Visé, on the adventures of La Voisin, the poisoner, was played for forty-seven consecutive nights, almost a record for those days. Another success was achieved when Thomas Corneille turned Molière's Don Juan into verse, "eliminating the speec

secured a great personal triumph in the part of the bea

the wings awaiting her turn to go on, and addressed her in the manner of an ardent and favoured lover. "Never," said

given him "a score of rendezvous," and demanding how she could have the audacity to treat him thus after such an intimacy as had existed between them. Armande thereupon sent her maid to summon some of her colleagues, who arrived to find their leader and the stranger almost beside themselves with passion. As well as her outraged feelings would permit, the actress explained the situation to her friends, declaring that she had never set eyes on the gentleman before her in her

er ordinaire était de faire plaisir au public," and promised her a liberal reward, if she could arrange a rendezvous. In this she had been successful; Mlle. Molière had accepted his proposals, and they had met repeatedly at Ledoux's house. The actress had, however, strictly forbidden him, for prudential reasons, to address, or even approach, her at the theatre, which instructions he had faithfully observed until that evening, when, as she had failed to

e to Mlle. Molière, both in appearance and voice, that it was almost impossible for any one not personally acquainted with the latter to tell one from the other, and who had already succeeded in duping quite a number of persons. This woman was also arrested, and a decree of the Parliament of Paris, dated October 17, 1675, sentenced the two delinquents "to be flogged, naked, with rods, before the principal gate of the Chatelet and the house of Mlle. Molière," and to be afterwards ba

a lapse of a hundred years, the same r?les are resumed, that of Armande by the queen, that of the entremetteuse Ledoux by the Comtesse de la Motte, that of the woman Tourelle by the girl Oliva, finally, that of Pré

e Molière," he wrote, "is infamous both in law (i.e. by profession) and in deed. Previous to her marriage, she lived continually in wholesale prostitution; during her married life, continually in public adultery. In short, the Molière is the most infamous of all infamous women." The obvious extravagance of these charges, and the fact that Guichard assailed with e

ière, as one of his recent biographers reminds us, was not, during the years which followed his death, regarded as the mighty genius which he is now admitted to have been. Save to a few, like Boileau, who fully comprehended the extent of the loss which literature had sustained, he was merely an amusing actor and an excellent author, whose premature death they deplored, but whom they never dreamed of apotheosizing.[40] As for Armande, she was still young and

eluctant admission by declaring that her second husband was a veritable tyrant, who brooked no opposition to his will and did not hesitate to enforce obedience by blows. All disinterested witnesse

ruit the place which she herself had so long occupied. The defection of their great actress was a paralysing blow for the players of the Rue Mauconseil, and, coupled with the death of La Thorillière, which occurred shortly afterwards, rendered their position so precarious that, by a lettre

slé. At the Easter recess of 1694, she retired from the stage, with a pension of one thousand livres. From that time we hear but little of her. She appears to have lived a very quiet and uneventful life, for the mos

isgust, eloped with a M. de Montalant, a middle-aged widower with several children. Making a virtue of necessity, Madame Guérin gave her consen

ung man published an edition of the Mélicerte of Molière, which he had rendered into verse, preceded by an introductio

orne and whose works she had both inspired and interpreted. Nevertheless, posterity has decided to ig