Queens of the French Stage

enjoy not only renown in the theatre, but consideration in society; she was beloved by the greatest soldier of her time; she was on terms of the closest friendship with the greatest poet,

s Lundis, and Michelet one in his Histoire de France; Lemontey pronounced an eloquent éloge of her before the Academy; Régnier has allotted her a chapter in his Souvenirs et études du théatre, and M. Larroumet has consecrated

ed by an admirable biography, containing much information about the early part of her theatrical career, of which, up to that time, little or nothing was known. These letters, besides affording us a valuable insight into Adr

Marie Bouty. Soon after Adrienne was born, her parents removed to Fismes, between Rheims and Soissons, and, about the year 1702, migrated to Paris, where they resided in the Rue des Fossés-Saint-Germain-des-Prés, c

s later, to her faithful friend d'Argental, she declares that a divinity "furious and jealous" seated hers

le misère

t, la grossi

unate man distinguished himself by "setting fire to the four corners of his room, and concealing himself in the chimney, which he had previously stopped up with the coverlet of his bed." His intention apparently was to make his escape amid the confusion w

some plays for their own amusement, and met to rehearse at a grocer's shop in the Rue Ferou. The young people had the hardihood to attempt Polyeucte, Adrienne playing P

resentation in the courtyard of her h?tel in the Rue Garancière, where she had a stage erected, and asked a large and distinguished company to witness the performance. Struck by the novelty of the entertainment, a great ma

and in verse, called Le Deuil, the joint work of Hauteroche and Thomas Corneille. In those days, we may observe, a tragedy was almost invariably

her. But the little actress's talent triumphed over sartorial disadvantages, and her impersonation of the faithful wife of Polyeucte struggling against the memory of her first love was perfectly extraordinary for one of h

e spirit of his r?le that, as he uttered the words: "Soutiens-moi, ce coup de foudre est grand!" he fell to the

ot wind of this entertainment, composed of two pieces from their own répertoire; and, indeed, several of them had assisted at it. The popularity of the national theatre was just then much weakened by the rivalry of the Opera and the unlicensed playhouses of the fairs in the neighbourhood of Paris, and they feared that

that the performances should cease. Madame la Présidente's guests, accordingly, were disappointed of their comedy; but it was performed none the less, for the Grand Prieur de Vend?me, head of the Order of Malta, learning of what had occurred, invited Adrienne and her comrad

n the provinces, had left France to accept an engagement at the Polish Court, where he had remained for some years. He seems to have owed his admission to the Comédie-Fran?aise to the patronage of no less a person than the Grand Dauphin himself, for, though an excellent teacher, he was an actor of but moderate ability, and was, moreover, so singularly ill-favoured that for some time he could not appear on

e and comical face proved a source of merriment to the less seriously disposed pat

Voleurs, and paid several visits to the Chatelet to study and converse with the prisoner. The play, as might be expected, drew crowded houses, and the grateful author sent Cartouche a hundred crowns as his share of the profits. But that worthy, whose vanity had at first been flattered by the idea of figuring as the hero of a play, now complained that the

"decided to become her second master, Nature having been her first." He accordingly took her to live with him,[63] gave her lessons, and found her opportunities for acting in s

pré, whose husband had formerly been manager of the Brussels theatre, and who had just obtained from the magistrates of Lille a three years' monopoly of dramatic performances in that tow

of hard work and of compulsory pleasure," says M. Larroumet, "with the companionships of the coulisses, the persistent attentions of young men of fashion and garrison officers, the error

g a lengthy engagement at some important theatre, now journeying with some travelling company from town to town,

cannon of a besieging army, first, under the Duke of Marlborough, and, afterwards, under Prince Eugène, to whom the citadel surrendered on October 28, 17

, early in the year 1711, we find her occupying a similar position at the Strasburg theatre, one of the finest houses to be met with out of Paris, with a salary of two thousan

, H. de Troy le père, Jean Baptiste Van Loo, and, it is believed, Nattier. None of these portraits, unfortunately, have

ercised a terrible power over hearts, to have been able to transform beasts into men, to have caused the feeble and mediocre Coypel to paint such a portrait. An inspired artist of our time, our first sculptor, Préault, told me that he knew not a word of the history of Mlle. Lecouvreur when he saw this engraving. He was very affected by it, enraptured, and he seized upon i

ress, she possessed that innate sense of attitude which we admire in our own day (1892), in M. Mounet-Sully and Madame Sarah Bernhardt, and which alone would have sufficed to make of them great actors." M. Larroumet declares the portrait to possess "the inconte

ence to Fontaine's work. "It is a truer, a more human, a more lifelike, a more familiar Adrienne," remarks M. Monval, who stigmatises the portrait by Coypel as "a

and M. Larroumet have formed of Coypel's portrait, we cannot but think that the latter

temporary writers, we see no reason to doubt the fidelity of either. In both we find a high forehead, fine eyes, a slightly aquiline nose, a well-shaped mouth, with

rters, would be as unreasonable as to look for a general appreciation of her dramatic talent. But the number of those who decline to admit her attractiveness is very small, and not above suspicion of prejudice, while the evidence to the contrary is abundant and authoritative. "Without being tall," wrote, in 1719, the author of Les Lettres historiques s

, a well-poised head and shapely shoulders, eyes full of fire, a pretty mouth, a slightly aquiline nose, and very pleasing manners; al

val, though, with one or two exceptions, none of them can be said to come within the category of love-letters, reveal an ardent and imperious need of

ys M. Paléologue, in his fine study of the actress, "she has their melting tears, their touching grace, and their voluptuous modesty. But her true originality among the women of her time lay in the conception that she formed of love. We know the singular change that this sentiment had undergone beneath the dissolving influence of the morals of the Regency; all that had made up to that time for the nobility and poetry

s always a pledge of the heart. She loved not by caprice, not by vanity, but by a

suddenly, an event which occasioned his mistress such terrible grief that she is said to have seriously contemplated destroying herself. To the baron succeeded a certain Philippe Le Roy, "officer of the Duke of Lorraine," by w

of this woman who loved so much that have come down to us. It is much to be regretted that the rest of this corresponden

year 1710, is in reply to one from Clavel

ienced as I am. I hope to be better now, since I have reason to believe that thou lovest me still and that thou art well. Take care of thyself, I beg of thee, since thy health is as precious to me as my own. I shall be charmed to learn that thou art enjoying thyself, provided that I lose by it nothing of what

or imaginative, worthy of comparison with the famous letter of Manon Lescaut," it would appear that Clavel had promised to marry Adrienne, or, at least, given her reason to be

good will, but that does not adjust matters. I speak to you plainly, as you see, and I tell you frankly things which are able to make you think of me as one whom you ought to avoid. Here is a chance to take your own part. Have no consideration. Make no promise that you do not intend to keep; were it necessary for you to promise to hate me, it seems to me that it would be easier for me to bear than to find myself deceived.... I tell you again, my dear Clavel, that your interests are dearer to me than my own. Follow the course which will be most pleasing to you. I know you to be of a disposition which will prompt you to behave generously and perhaps to surpass me; but yet once ag

at lengthy period of solitude, accepted the protection of Comte Fran?ois de Klinglin, son of the préteur royal, or first magistrate, of Strasburg. To him, at the beginning of the year 1717, she bore a second daughter, Catherine Fran?oise Ur

sociations, and, having obtained permission to make her début at the Comédie-Fran?aise, at the close of the theatrical year, she set out for Paris. Her two children she left at Strasburg, where she had them educated with great care, and on her death, in 1730, made ample provis

Great, then on a visit to Paris, was to be present at the Opera that evening, the house was crowded, for the débutante had brought a great reputation with her from the provinces, while not a few playgoers remembered her performances when a child at Madame du Gué's an

ithridate, which will be remembered as one of Mlle. de Champmeslé's most brilliant creations, speedily followed by other triumphs as Bérénice, Irené in Andronic, Al

such as no actress had ever before enjoyed. "A lofty soul, great enthusiasm, constant study, a passionate love for her art," says Sainte-Beuve, "all combined to make of her that ideal of a great tragédienne, which until that time does not appear to have been realised to this degree. Mlle. Duclos w

ion of the verses of the great seventeenth century dramatists and the brilliant successes of Mlle. de Champmeslé, this monotonous chant passed from the Rue Mauconseil to the Comédie-Fran?aise, where, at the time of Adrienne's appearance, it had become so firmly established that to the great majority of the company and a large number of their patrons any revolt against its sway seemed something like sacrilege. So long as Baron had remained on the stage some check had been imposed on this deplorable custom, for

er and more natural modes of speech. "The charming Lecouvreur," wrote the Italian actor Riccoboni, the jeune premier of the Comédie-Italienne, in his didactic poem, Dell' arte rappresentativa, "is the only one who does not follo

Although her voice is very weak," says the author of the Lettres historiques, "she pleased the public at first, and continues to please it; because it finds in her a novel style, natural and the more agreeable, in that she has studied how to control it and to proportion it to her strength; and thus one might say that the weakness of her chest has contributed to this k

nier, touched the hearts, and irritated the ears of the more fastidious critics at one and the same time. D'Allainval relates that on the evening of her début, while the theatre was ringing with the applause of the delighted audience, an elderly man, seated at the back of a box, refrained from joining in the general enthusiasm, and contented himself with remarking from time t

ble an occasional "Bon, cela." Mortified by her guest's comparative indifference to her talents, she inquired in what she had failed to please him. "Mademoiselle," replied Du Marsais, "so far as my judgment goes, no actress has ever given

of his advice, and, following it religiously, soo

sustaining against her promising débutantes, but subjected the young actress to a variety of petty persecutions. Régnier, in his Souvenirs et études du théatre, cites a number of extracts from the registers of the Comédie, from which it appears that a favourite practice of Adrienne's enemies was to cause her to be fined on all kinds of pretexts: for being late for rehearsal, for not wearing the costume prescribed for her part, and so forth. On one occasion, a kind colleague inquired if she were aware that the anagram of her name was Couleuvre (viper); and during the run o

lay, in Adrienne's absence, was read to the assembled troupe by the elder Quinault, who, in the speeches assigned to the heroine, imitated the voice and gestures of the tragédienne so cleverly as to send the lady's enemies into convulsions of merriment. It was at once resolved to accept the play, and Mlle. Duclos and her friends doubtless indulged in much gleeful anticipation

itation, and in no uncertain way, in favour of the innovation. The second was the unexpected intervention of Baron, who, in April 1720, at the age of sixty-seven, suddenly resolved to return to the scene of his many triumphs, and, delighted to find that an actress had arisen who shared his own views on the subject of elocution, len

ile Dumas d'Aigueberre tells us that "her attitudes were noble and natural, that she invested the movements of her arms with inimitable grace, and that her eyes announced what she was about to say." She possessed, too, a very rare gift-the art of concealing art, of entirely subordinating the interpreter to the work. The dramatist Collé, a critic by no means easy to please, it may be remarked, declares that "her treatment of every detail of a r?le was perfect; and, in this way, caused one to forget the actress; one saw only the personage whom she happened to be representing." Yet another trait, and one which provok

h required strength." Her acting, too, was somewhat uneven; to see her at her best, Dumas d'Aigueberre tells us, "it was necessary for her to be animated either by some part which pleased her or by some object of interest." In fact, though no one had ever given such magnificent renderings of the r?les of Monime and Bérénice, she lacked the coura

of Deschamps, Antigone in the Machabées of La Motte, Zarès in Esther, Nitetis in Danchet's play

ag in the pit cried out, "La Reine boit," a sally which was followed by such merriment that the indignant actors declined to finish the play. Re-written by Voltaire, who this time prudently made the death of the heroine take pl

so loud?" cried Rohan, who was in love with Adrienne and very probably jealous of the friendship existing between her and the poet. "He is one who does not carry about a great name, but earns respect for the name he has," was the retort. The chevalier raised his cane threateningly; Voltaire laid his hand upon his sword; Adrienne promptly sank down in a swoon, or, perhaps, since she was an actress,

tter, we may presume that her rendering of them could not have been more than moderately successful. She gave, however, a very pleasing interpretation of Alcmène in Amphitryon, and Hortense in Le Florentin, in which character she made her last appearance on the stage, and, as Angélique, had a large share in the success of Piron's Fils ingrats; while to her acting in the part of the heroin

ayed, however, Queen Elizabeth, in the Comte d'Essex, "in an English Court costume decorated with the blue riband of the Garter," and the inventory of her wardrobe, published by M. Georges Monval, in his edition of her letters, comprise "douze habits à la romaine"-or what were believed to be such-of which two were of white damask, two of crimson velvet, one of yellow satin, one of blue velvet, two of white satin, and one of crimson damask, probably that worn by Cornélie in the Mort de Pompée. Several of these costumes were very richly wrought and realised prices varying from eight hundred to a th

h century, the tendency was all towards simplicity, and Rachel delighted her audiences in severely simple robes sparsely embroidered with gold and silver. Then came the discovery that the ancients, so far from affecting the austerity in dress with which they had so

At this period, actors and actresses still remained on the borders of society. If exceptionally handsome or talented, they were flattered and caressed by the beau monde, taken for mistresses, or lovers, or boon companions; but access to regular society was denied them. The extrem

fascinating, but well-read, well-mannered, modest, and unaffected, and a friend in whose discretion implicit reliance could be imposed. She numbered among her friends a princess of the blood, the Duchesse du Maine, the Duc and Duchesse de Gesvres, Madame de Pomponne, Madame de Fontaine-Martel, the wife of Président Berthier, the celebrated Marquise de Lamber

ith them frequently and visiting them at their country-houses, and giving, in return, charming little suppers, before eac

houses in Paris and at the Court, did not refuse in the assemblies which she attended to declaim some fine tirades in verse, and even whole scenes from tragedies, which delighted h

riends she complains constantly of the strain of this double life. The following letter, written in May 1728, probably to Maurice de Saxe, gives us an excellent insight into her ch

, which is delicate, as you know, obliges me to refuse or to fail some party of ladies whom I have never seen, and who have no interest in me beyond curiosity: 'Assuredly,' says one, 'she has a marvellous opinion of her importance!' Another adds: 'It is because we are not titled!' If I happen to be serious, for one cannot be very gay with many people one does not know: 'Is this the girl who has so much wit?' says one of the company. 'Don't you see that she despises us,' says another, 'and that one must know Greek in order to please her?' 'She visits Madame de Lambert,' exclaims a third; 'does not that explain the mystery?' I am still full of spiteful speeches of this kind, and more occupied than ever in my desire to become free and

in which Mlle. de Champmeslé and, after her, Racine had formerly lived, and which, in later years, was to become the residence of Mlle. Clairon-she spent the greater part of her scanty leisure, her favourite occupations being reading and music. She possessed a small but excellent library, containing some four hundred

, of course, only to be expected. Barbier, in his Journal, asserts that one Prungent, intendant of the Duchess of Brunswick, was her lover, and had "squandered with h

e been "her admirer, her friend, her lover." The biographers of the lady are divided in opinion as to whether this last term is to be taken in its literal, or in its platonic and poetic sense; but whatever may

mitié que son c

ly attached to her to t

an admirers. The actress's early experiences of the tender passion had, as we have seen, been singularly bitter; the selfishness of man had inflicted upon her the most cruel of humiliations for a loving and sensitive woman, that of being cast aside like a broken toy when she had surrendered herself in the most absolute confidence, and

surrender myself so long as I live. You will understand it yet, and the severity with which I have treated you will serve then only to render you more happy. Permit me to approach the matter with you, and to offer you my counsels. Be my friend; I am worthy of that, but choose for mistress one who possesses a heart quite untampered with; who has not

General of the Parliament of Brittany was, at the time when he made Adrienne's acquaintance, a gay young abbé and a great frequenter of the Comédie-Fran?aise, where he paid assiduous court to its chief divinity, but without obtaining anything save her friendship and esteem. Having succeeded to the f

separation and ought not to injure any one, one may speak without restraint. I assure you, then, that I love you as much as I est

ssons in declamation from Adrienne; and the actress concludes by very modestly defining he

it; but this simplicity, which chance has turned to my advantage, appears to me indispensable to a man in your profession. The first requisite is intelligence, and that you have; the next, t

's faithful ally, d'Argental. D'Argental, who was then a lad scarcely out of his teens, conceived for the actress a most violent p

s mother, Madame de Ferriol, Adrienne wrote him long and frequent letters, carefully avoiding, however, the forbidden topic, her object being to accustom him to regard her merely as a friend. But these epistles appear to have had a very different effect from the one intended by the wri

a most charming letter, which had the effect of completely allaying her apprehensions on the young gentleman's behalf. As all the actress's

March

for the future, in all that concerns you, it shall be such as you may wish to prescribe. I had requested permission to see you last Tuesday, with the intention of speaking to you in confidence and of asking you for your commands. But your reception of me destroyed my ardour

our object; but you are too much so to succeed in attaining it unaided, above all, when you endeavour to combat his inclination by the exercise of your authority, or by painting me in disadvantageous colours, whether true or not. His passion must indeed be an extraordinary one, since it has existed so long without the least hope, in the midst of disappointments, in spite of the journeys you have made him undertake, and during eight months' residence in Paris, during which he never saw me, at least not at my house, and was unaware if I should ever receive him again. I conceived him to be cured, and, for that reaso

country; he will be the delight of his friends; he will fill you with pride and satisfaction. You have only to guide his talents, and leave his virtues to act for themselves. Forget for a time that you are his mother, if this character is opp

communicate it to him; and its existence, in consequence, remained unknown to d'Argental until sixty-thr

he process of transition, seldom an easy one, had been rendered the more difficult, inasmuch as, shortly after the above letter was written, d'Argental had the mortification of seeing another take th

sordered passion." And again: "Let my life be the term of your constancy, my dear friend.... Adieu, my dear friend; I am very affected in writing to you

ent of Paris. The gravity expected from one holding such a post, however, in no way interfered with his intimacy with Adri

CE DE

G. WILL, after the pai

t when she resisted the first overtures of poor d'Argental, it is not improbable that at the time she wrote her celebrated letter to Madame de Ferriol, she had already renounced the wise resolutions with

ier, in a regiment despatched by Augustus II. to the assistance of the Emperor. Returning to the camp of the allies in 1710, he assisted at the sieges of Douai and Béthune, where he displayed such reckless courage as to call forth from Prince Eugène the admonition not to confound rashness with bravery. Two years later, he accompanied his royal father to the siege of Stralsund, and again exhibited the same impetuosity in an attempt to cut his way through the enemy and engage Charles XII. in single combat. Delighted by his courage, Augustus promoted him colonel the following year, and, at the age of seventeen, gave him the command of a regiment of cuirassiers. The Countess von K?nigsmark, on her side, worked to assure her son's fortunes by a wealthy marriage, and succeeded in securing for him the hand of the Countess von L?ben, the ri

unt of exertion seemed able to fatigue him; in war and in the chase he was capable of performing prodigies of endurance; he could break between his fingers crown-pieces and horseshoes. He was seen everywhere. On the parade ground, he brought his regiment to the highest pitch of perfection, invented new formations and tactics, and quickly made himself respected by his superior officers and ador

"Saxon Man of Sin," in appearance, vivacity, and physical strength, he did so even more closely in his vices. All poor Adrienne's wise resolutions failed her in the presence of this young hero, "to whom," says Des Boulmiers, "hearts o

while her moral qualities appealed to the better side of his nature, to that instinct of heroism and idealism which lay at the root of his character, and which, though often obscured in the midst of his debaucheries, was never wholly ex

ies of fascination and magnetism which the libertine, when he is not of vulgar race, exercises over the feminine mind," Adrienne had very early discovered the really great qualities of Maurice, an

sed by Lemontey in the éloge of the actress wh

l, made him as much a Frenchman as his victories. Under her sweet tuition, the Achilles of Homer became the Achilles of Racine. She adorned his mind without enervating it, and modified what seemed extraordinary and singular in the turn of his ideas. She taught him our language, our literature, and inspired him with the t

the all-absorbing interest in her life was but a mere episode in her hero's, loving him none the less devotedly, and deriving consolation from the thought that, if others disputed with her the possession of his heart, she alone possessed his confidence. Then came a long separation. The Duchy of Courland, which for nearly two centuries had been under the protection of Poland, fell vacant through the death of Duke Ferdinand, who ruled in the

their claims without a struggle, appealed strongly to the adventurous Maurice, and he set out for Courland. Everything augured well for his success, when, one day in May 1726

with the counterfeit presentment that she straightway declared her willingness to espouse the original. Both Anne and Elizabeth, it is hardly necessary to observe, were in blissful ignorance of the double game played by Maurice, who pursued his negotiations with much address, wooing the one lady in person and the other by proxy. Once more matters looked hopeful for the young adventurer, save that now that his father had abandoned him he was in sore straits for money.

in size and somewhat in expression like a Westphalia ham)-and this, with all his adventurous audacity, Count Maurice could not do."[81] The result was that, after maintaining his authority for about a year and performing prodigies of reckless valour, the new duke, attacked by Russia, proscribed by Poland, abandoned by hi

asm. All the great ladies of Dresden, Warsaw, Mitau, and Riga had espoused his cause, and compelled their husbands to do likewise. "Count Poicey (Grand Marshal of Lithuania)," wrote one of the ministers of Augustus II., "has gone into this affair, like Adam into sin, seduced b

of her friends in an interesting letter, in which she shows herself thoroughly conversant with the somewhat complicated state of affairs in Poland. She deplores the "disgraceful weakness" of Augustus II., who "allowed himself to be governed by the most cruel enemy of his glory (his Minister Flemmin

bled by frequent storms. Maurice returned a disappointed man; the future seemed dark, his star was temporarily hidden; a life of inaction, always trying to one of his restless, ambitious temperament, was well-nigh intolerable after the adventurous years he had spent in Courland. He sought relief in pleasure-the chase, high play, and gallantry; wearied of that, and endeavoured to kill time by the study of mathematics and the art of war and the composition of his

yself; I am too affected, too wounded, and too alarmed for the future not to reveal it, at any rate, to you. I need advice. A man capable of this calumny may very well imagine others; and that which distresses me the more is the necessity for dissimulation. To exclaim against deceit is natural, and I would prefer to pardon it rather than to be compelled to restrain both my grief and my feelings. I have been told that it is his way of thinking, that he does not intend to do me any wrong in confounding me with the generality of women. I cannot entertain this idea. That is not the language he has held to me for ten years, and ought not to be the reward of my attention to please him and to make him esteem

e autopsy and other important documents of which Sainte-Beuve speaks in his well-known study of the actress. This dossier has, however, disappeared, and it is uncertain if it is still in existence; the probability is that it has been destroyed. Sainte-Beuve's conclusion was that the Duchesse de Bouillon was guiltless, not only of Adrienne's death, which he ascribes to natural causes, but of any attempt on her life. The former opinion was, no doubt, justified by the evidence which the lost do

, by Mlle. A?ssé in a letter to Madame Calandrini, and which, she declares, had been furn

not personally acquainted, to be the instrument of her vengeance. He was approached by two men at the Tuileries, who proposed to him, after a rather lengthy conversation regarding his poverty, to free himself from his distress by obtaining admission, under favour of his skill in painting, into Lecouvreur's house, and persuading her to eat some lozenges, which would be given him. The poor abbé objected strongly, on account of the heinousness of the crime; but the two men replied that it no longer depended upon him to refuse, since he would do so on peril of his life. The abbé, terrified, promised everything; and was conducted to Madame de Bouillon, who confirmed the promises and threats, and handed him the lozenges. The abbé begged that a few days might be allowed him for the execution of these projects; an

not hesitate to maintain what he had told her. The Lecouvreur took him in her coach to M. Hérault (the Lieutenant of Police), who, on the facts being laid before him, asked the abbé for the lozenges and threw them to a dog, who died a quarter of an hour afterwards. He next inquired of him which of the two Bouillons[86

how, the adventure was made public and caused a terrible commotion. Madame de Bouillon's brother-in-law spoke of it to his brother, and told him that it was absolutely imperative that his wife should clear herself from such a suspicion, and that he ought to ask for a lettre de cachet to shut the abbé up. There was no difficulty in obtaining this lettre de cachet, and the poor wretch was arrested and taken

l, who inquired of Madame de Bouillon whether she wished the affair to be tried, as otherwise the abbé could not be kept in prison. Madame de Bouillon, dreading publicity and unable to get the abbé assassinated in the Bastille, consented to his liberation. During the t

ves of the Bastille, preserved in the Bibliothèque de l'Arsenal. The interview at the Tuileries, the conversation with the Duchesse de Bouillon, the su

e to him, entreating him to withdraw his charge against the Duchesse de Bouillon, if it were untrue, and promising, in that

st, Bouret was released on October 23, when Adrienne advised him to leave Paris at once, pointing out that the affair ha

o Lorraine, and the abbé remained to nurse him. Meanwhile, the scandal had assumed such dimensions that the Duc de Bouillon obtained a new lettre de cachet, by virtue of which, on January 23, 17

autumn. On October 18, Adrienne was playing the part of Phèdre, when, perceiving the Duchesse de Bouillon complacently watching her performance from one of th

s mes p

uis pas de ces

s les crimes une

un front qui n

e of the actress, burst into loud applause, amidst

llowing day, a sum of 1 livre, 10 sols was paid for a coach "to go to the H?tel de Bouillon, on the matter of the footmen," and similar entries occur on the 20th and 30th of th

statements he had made before Hérault and at Saint-Lazare; and on May 18, Père de Couvrigny, the Jesu

presentations to him on the baseness of the calumny of which he has been guilty. He appears very firm in maintaini

ort illness; and the firmness with which Bouret continued to adhere to his accusation against the Du

see nothing but tears, groans, and fears; in a word, all that an agitated mind can exhibit. That is the sad state to which I have been reduced for a whole year. The fury of my enemies ought to be satisfied. You are my only hope; in you I have place

letely alters his tone, and on Au

t I had to become acquainted with the Lecouvreur induced me to invent a pretext for gaining admission to her house.... I declare to you that the d

1). From that date nothing more is heard of him, though there is no reason to assume, with Mlle. A?ssé, that he was the victim of foul pl

sible in 1730; nor does the passionate, vindictive, and unscrupulous character of the duchess render her culpability any the less probable. Again, although Bouret ultimately withdrew his accusation, he persisted in it for many months after his second arrest, in spite of the prospect that a recantation would ensure his release. Thirdly, the official investigation of the affair was ve

empt against Adrienne was renewed, and that the actress fell a victim to it, as so many persons asserted at the time, and as some writers,

rds, the Lecouvreur became so ill in the middle of a piece that she was unable to finish it. When the "orator" came forward to make the announcement, the whole pit eagerly demanded news of her condition. Since that day, her health declined and she grew thin and feeble. On the last occasion on which she performed, she took the part of Jocaste in the ?dipe of Voltaire. The r?le is a somewhat trying one. Before the play began, she was seized with a violent attack of dysentery.... It was pitiful to see her exhaustion and weakness. Although I was in ignorance of her indisposition, I remarked two or three times to Madame de Parabère[93] that I felt very distressed on her account. Between the two pieces we were informed of the nature of her illness, and were astonished when she reappeared in the afterpiece, Le Florentin, and undertook a v

affair hanging over her head, the most ordinary prudence must have dictated to her, if determined on the crime, the advisability of deferring her horrible design at least until she had cleared herself from the charge under which she then lay. The daily inquiries she caused to be made during Adrienne's

e hours' health since I last saw you," she writes to d'Argental, during the latter's visit to England; while in other letters she complains of being always "insupportably fatigued," and of being "in despair in regard to her health." Moreover-

e charge brought against her by Bouret, it would be manifestly unjust to saddle her with any responsibility fo

; and the faithful d'Argental, who had been hurriedly summoned, reached the house a few minutes after she had breathed her last. Neither of her three friends, however, though each po

eive the usual renunciation and administer the last Sacraments, but accounts differ as to what occurred. Some writers declare that when he arrived the actress was already dead, or at least on the point of death; oth

ers, mon espoir

iable practice of the Paris clergy in regard to members of her profession who had died under similar circumstances, ever since the time of Molière), but interment in the

[97] Later in the day, Maurepas, in his capacity of Minister for Paris, wrote to the Lieutenant of Police, informing him that it was the intention of Cardinal de Fleury not to interfere in the matter of ecclesiastical burial, but to leave it entir

e watch and a M. de Laubinière-whom Sainte-Beuve supposes to have been a friend of the actress, but who, M. Monval thinks, was a representative of the Lieutenant of Police-conv

at the interment, the precautions taken to destroy the corpse by quicklime and to conceal the grave, all point to an intention on the part of the authorities to render a second autopsy impossible. But the most scandalous part of th

was feared even more than he was respected. Such being the case, it seems almost inconceivable that he should, so far as is known, have made not the slightest effort to save the remains of the woman who had loved him so long and so tenderly from so gross an indignity. In our opinion, the most probabl

comparison between their pompous obsequies and those of poor Adrienne, who had been denied even the privilege of "two tapers and a coffin." But the justly indignant poet went much further than this. On the same day, a meeting of the members of the Comédie-Fran?aise was held at the theatre. Voltaire attended, and, in an eloquent speech, called upon the actors to refuse

he death of Adrienne, in which he gave full vent to the

z-vous, r

prendrez, la fl

désolés font d

nt de la

la Gréce aurait

au monde, ils sou

umis, autour d'

st plus, elle est

e monde et vous

ire himself, and with it we may appropriately conclude our sketch of this celebrated actress, who was not only a great artist, but a noble, high-souled, and cultured woman, who had all the feminine virtues, save one, for the lack of which,

ost be said to have invented the art of speaking to the heart and of presenting sen

before you, Messieurs. Among those who deign to listen to me are several who honoured her by their friendship; they are aware that she was the ornament of society, as well as of the theatre; while those who kn

bute of praise as a duty: I dare even to say that, i