Queens of the French Stage

several capable tragédiennes appeared, notably Jeanne Gaussin, a beautiful brunette with a rich and sympathetic voice, who created the

n, re?ois mon

ers au théat

: Za?re est

, puisque tu

, ces yeux, si p

ont fait tomber

r pathetic parts, she fell very far short of the standard to which her gifted predecessor had att

h was marked by a high degree of truth to Nature, refinement, and technical skill, combined with a real enthusiasm for her art, excited general admiration, and her début was brilliantly successful. In the classic répertoire h

umesnil was destined to maintain her supremacy for many years to come. Nevertheless, ere

ude-Clairon, and is known to fame under the last of these names-was born at Condé, a little town of Hainaut, on January 25, 1723. Her father was one Fran?ois Joseph Desiré Lerys, a sergeant in the Régiment de Mailly;

he has herself recounted, were, it must be adm

ween two and three o'clock in the afternoon. I was so feeble that every one imagined a few moments would terminate my career. My grandmother, a woman of eminent piety, was anxious that I should be carried out at once to the church, in order that I might there receive the rite of baptism. Not a living soul was to be discovered either at the church or at the curé's house. A neighbour having informed the party that all the town was at a carnival enter

ess. The future queen of tragedy was at this time, according to her own account, a delicate, sensitive child, with a confirmed dislike to needlework, in consequence of which she s

use immediately opposite the Scanapiecqs was occupied by the mother of Mlle. Dangeville, the famous soubrette of the Comédie-Fran?aise, and, one day, little Claire, having mounted a chair to survey the neighbourhood, beheld the idol of the pit taking a dancing-lesson in the midst of an admiring circle of relatives and friends. "She was distinguished," she tells us, "for every charm which Nature and youth could unite in the same person. My very bei

ilent, but enthusiastic spectator of the movements of her fair neighbour. Soon, at first almost unconsciously, the girl began to imitate what she had seen, and with such success that those who came to her mother's house thought that she had been pro

a child than the majority of visitors to the house. This proved a fortunate step, for the person in question, pleased with the little girl's intelligence, not only gave her a good deal of information about Mlle. Dangeville and the profession which she adorned, but ob

t day to hear her repeat, with scarcely a mistake, a hundred verses of the tragedy and two-thirds of the after-piece. But this feat of memory was less surprising than the extraordinary way in which the little girl had contrived to assimilate the peculiarities of every actor whom she had seen. She lisped like Grandval, she stammered like Poisson, she mimicked to a nicety the coquettish airs of Mlle. Dangeville, and the cold and dignified manner of Mlle. Balicourt;[155] in short, she tells us, she was looked upon as a prodigy by

relent, and, on the advice of one of her customers, to whom she had confided her trouble, finally decided to let the girl have her way, and took her to see the lady in question, who had promised to use her influence to further her ambitions. The lady presented Claire to Desheys, a prominent actor of the Comédie-Italienne, who was so favou

I retained everything, I devoured everything." Nevertheless, whether on account of her youth, her diminutive stature-she was very short, even for her age-or, more probably, because her precocious talents had excited the appre

f La Coquette corrigée, and Mlle. Gautier, both, in after years, prominent members of the Comédie-Fran?aise; and Mlle. Clairon was engaged to dance in the ballet, sing in comic opera, and act in a few parts suited to her age, at a salary of 100 pistoles, or about 1000 livres. As some compensation

d ever possessed. The Rouen ladies were very far from sharing the prejudices of most provincial dames, who believed themselves degraded if they so much as spoke to an actress, and the girl was invited ever

some years before; how the marquis, encountering the president at the house of a certain danseuse whose heart he had until that moment fondly imagined to be his alone, had addressed him by an opprobrious name; how the president had retorted by a blow directed at the nose of the marquis, and how the infuriated nob

nsible to the devotion of a M. du Rouvray, a handsome youth of good family, whom she met at Madame de Bimorel's house, and to the more business-

d, if not actually encouraged. Among those who frequented the establishment was an actor named Gaillard de la Bataille, "a poor, rather amusing devil," who possessed that almost indispensable qualification for a vainqueur de dames in the eighteenth century, the art of celebrating their charms in verse. To Mlle. Clairon he consecrated his muse, and every day cha

, besought her, in impassioned accents, to reciprocate the flame which was devouring him. His divinity's only response to this appeal was to call loudly for assistance; servants and lodgers, alarmed by her cries, were quickly on the scene, and "with brooms and shovels drove the wretch into the street." "When my mother ret

an through several editions, and the sobriquet "Frétillon" stuck to her for life. Mlle. Clairon was at Havre when the libel appeared, and "her anguish was beyond all power of expression." She returned to Rouen in fear and trembling, "imagining that every door would be barred ag

's mother accompanied her, and, while the troupe was performing at Lille, took advantage of the fact of her daughter being now separated from Madame de Bimorel and her other friends, to endeavour to

ht be able to restrain those about me and defend me against them. Actuated by despair alone, without any base, mercenary motive, without love, without desires, I offered and surrendered myself, on the sole condition of being prote

eport which the police-inspector, La Janière, sent to Berryer, the Lieutenant of Police, some years later, from which it appears that so violent and persistent was the p

in that town, and did not remain long without making conquests. The Comte de Bergheick, colonel of the Regiment Royal-Wallon,

let them be reassured, everything will pass off tranquilly. The Clairon was a careful girl, and, besides, adr

had been engaged to perform at Ghent, then the headquarters of the English army. Here, she tells us, she was received with enthusiastic applause, and "my lord" Marlborough[157] laid his immense fortune at her feet. But Mlle. Clairon was, above all things, a patriot, and "my lord" and his immense fortune had no attractions for her. "The contempt which the English nation affected for mine," she says, "rendered every individual belonging

report, however, it appears that "conscious that her talents were too sublime for the provinces, and that she was destined to shine in a greater sphere," she came on her own initiative to the capital, where she was for some months w

y the public seems to have left a good deal to be desired. We also gather that she was dissatisfied with the treatment she received from her colleagues-a fact which can hardly occasion surprise if there be any truth in the story that, immediately upon entering the Opera, she had publicly announced her intention of soundly boxing the ears of any lady who dared to address her by the odious name of "Frétillon,"-and soon determined to seek fame and fortune on anot

reputation was concerned. Led by her old employer, La Noue, and Mlle. Gaussin, several members of the troupe banded themselves together to oppose the admission of the now notorious "Frétillon" by every means in their power. The latter, on her side, did not lack for supporters, and, for some weeks, a war of pamphlets raged, in which the characters of the different combatants were torn to shreds, to the

e troupe of his Majesty's French players to cause the demoiselle Clairon to forthwith

The Duc

sailles, Septemb

e Comédie in rotation were called, were, therefore, not a little surprised when the young lady informed them that it was her intention to make her first appearance as a votary of Melpomene. But their surprise gave way to profound astonishment, when, after they had consented and suggested to her the parts of C

ct. I became hot with indignation, but pride sustained me, and I replied as quietly and as majestically as I could: 'Messieur

erhaps to hiss; they remained to applaud, and to applaud enthusiastically, for, long before the first act was over, it was apparent to all that a great tragédienne was before them. "It was Phèdre herself in all her sovereign splendour, in all the majesty of passion," and seldom indeed has that immortal queen of sorrow met with so worthy a representative. "The 19th of this month," says the Mercure, "the players have revived at the theatre Racine's tragedy

G-- sur le début de Mademoiselle Clairon à la Comédie-Fran?a

One gains in examining her a pleasure which the other senses share with the sight. Her figure is shapely, she carries herself very gracefully. A modest and pleasing manner interests one in her favour. Although she is not a finished beauty, one must resembl

d also several important r?les in comedy, among them the Dorine of Tartuffe. But her acting here was distinctly inferior to her performances in tragedy; a circumstance which is not a little singular when we remember that the reputa

e a demi-part in the troupe of the Comédie-Fran?aise. In the following December, she

before and never since have so many celebrated players appeared together upon one stage. And of this brilliant band, Mlle. Clairon was the ruler; ruling not so much by force of talent, for Mlle. Dumesnil had greater natural talent, no

he stage with no very definite idea as to the tone or attitude she would assume in certain passages, trusting to a happy inspiration, which, it must be acknowledged, seldom failed her.[161] With Mlle. Clairon, who made her art the subject of the most profound and unremitting study, every tone and every gesture had been carefully rehearsed beforehand, and the character elaborated in its minutest details. So numerous indeed were her private rehearsals that she insensibly carried with her her theatrical air into private life, and her friends laughingly declared that

in any kind.[163] Favart, though severely reprobating the extravagance of the admirers who had medals struck in the lady's honour,[164] cherished for her the most profound admiration. "Mlle. Clairon," he writes to the Count Durazzo, "is raised so far above criticism by the superiority

in sentimental scenes, but acknowledges her immense superiority to the latter "in parts requiring little energy and much dignity," such as the heroines of Corne

e more natural method of speaking and acting of which we

gedy is bad, and I do not retract a single word of what I have said about it; but the actress is admirable. She improves every day; she is ridding herself little by little of her declamatory style, and making great strides towards natu

expression, the result of a profound study of physiognomy, which enabled her, without opening her lips, to convey

melancholy, grief, love, pity, gaiety. She painted not only the passions themselves, but all the shades and differences which characterise them. In terror, for example, she expressed dismay,

's tribute, which appeared in

nce, upon the spectators. Her first speech, or at least the first part of it, is delivered with scarce any motion of the arm; her hands and her tongue never set out together, but one prepares for the other.... By this simple beginning, she gives herself a power of rising to the passion of the scene. As she proceeds, every gesture, every look, acquires new violence; till at last, transported, she fills the whole vehemence of the play and the whole

his Danish correspondent, Sturtz-a really masterly description, which suffers but little from the fact

and yet I was disappointed. It seems the quality has forestalled the b

trod the stage as Queen of Carthage,[166] worthy that rank and above the mob of queens; she inspired every sentiment; she displays every passion, and, I dare s

ISELLE

RS and JACQUES BEAUVARLET, afte

jump on a sudden to a giddy, wanton joy. Mme. Clairon, though exulting at her new-born hope that ?neas might stay, keeps always the dark colour of sorrow; when her eye brightens through her tears, she looks, as Ossian expresses it, 'like the moon through a watery cloud.' Her characte

enchantment of art a colossal head of Jupiter in a cameo the size of sixpence. Were I in a temper to find fault with her, I might mention her too articulate declamation, the cadence of every motion; but then I might as well charge Raphael with having too carefully marked his contours, which are the admiration and the models of every age. True it is that compound of excellence is a mere compound of art; were it possible to note action, as music, then she wo

ghast, and her cry raised horror in every breast. I cannot say that she killed herself well, though, but she died well; her weakening voice was not a childish, whining tone, but imminent dissolution a

, with unerring instinct, upon the one

, that bursts at once from genius, and, like electrical fire, shoots through the veins, marrow, bones, and all, of every spectator. Madame Clairon is so conscious and so certain of what she can do, that she never, I believe, had the feelings of the instant come upon her unexpectedly; but I pronounce that the greatest strokes of genius have been unknown to the actor himself till circumsta

us inani

t, falsis terr

mag

, my good friend; the Clairon would never forgive me, though I called her an excellent

y seen to most advantage in Médée-in which character Carle Van Loo painted her in his celebrated portrait-Phèdre, Hermione, Zénobie, Didon, and Cléopatre. Among the latter, taking them in chronological order, should be mentioned Arétie in the Denys le Tyran of Marmontel; Fulvie in Crébillon's Catalina; Azéma in the Sémiramis of Voltaire; électre in the Ore

she appears to have held the audience absolutely enthralled. "Ah! mon cher ma?tre," writes Diderot to the exile of Ferney, "if you could see her crossing the stage, half-leaning upon the executioners who surround her, her knees giving way beneath her, her eyes closed, her arms hanging down, as though in death; if

oicing the opinion of the average playgoer, declares that "Mlle. Clairon carried the talent of tragic declamation to a point which had nev

porary withdrawal of the play after the thirteenth performance, and, when it was revived in

ave already had occasion to refer, "than every one began to fight for her, and the crowd of lovers was so great that, in spite of her inclination towards gallantry, she was embarrassed to choose among them." There were princes and dukes; there were marquises, and barons, and counts; there were impecunious chevaliers and wealthy farmer-generals; t

nly to lose them, however, the moment he showed a disinclination to loosen his purse-strings. Then came an assortment of admirers, drawn from the nobility, the Parliament, financial circles, the stage, the army, and foreign visitors to Paris, and including the "Baron de Kervert," who is described as a rich Englishman, but whom we have failed to identify; a Polish nobleman, the Comte de Brotok, "who made a brave show before he became acquainted with her, but, in less than four months, had lost coach, diamonds, and snuff-box, and was obliged to pretend that he was in m

her for ever"; in another, she informs him that a letter which she has just received from him has "restored her to life," and that, however much he may love her, his passion must of necessity be inferior to hers; and, in a third,

agents of the Lieutenant of Police, which prove what an im

MARC to

14,

o his regiment, has not allowed a single day to pass without writing to Clairon; he shows much affection for her, and, among other things, he begs her constantly not

and that Clairon's door is closed to him. It has been remarked that, since the departure of the prince, she has not received any one, except actors and actresses and, frequently, an old attorney, who is a friend of Clairon's father.

great cheer and spends large sums on her table. She is daily expecting the arrival of the prince and his mon

MARC to

23,

il at the end of next week. But Clairon considers that this is a feint on his part, and that he will arrive sooner, in order to surprise her. Apart from that, nothing of im

MARC to

st 10

to you is taking place at the house of the demoiselle Clairon. She often

with a letter from the foreigner, promising her a considerable allowance, if she will become his mistress. The story goes that she wrote to the Prince de Monaco, to inform him of the advantageous proposal she had received from this foreigner. The prince despatched, on the instant, an old confidential servant, with instructions, in writing, enjoining on the demoiselle Clairon to return everything which she had

ER to

mber 1

s] de Cindré. At the end of the month of August, she asked him for a sum of

try-house. He could refuse her nothing, and rented on

e demoiselle Clairon with a young man.... He withdrew, without speaking to any one, and without his presence being discov

cer of dragoons, who, about two months ago, was arres

48, we come to an entry o

s replaced him by the sieur Marmontel, author of Denis le Tyran. He is n

ux, which the latter relates, with much complacency, in his ever-delightful Mémoires

ade of him "the happiest of lovers and the most miserable of slaves." One day, he learned that his enchantress had jilted him, in his turn, for the Chevalier de Mirabeau, upon

eel listless, because it is empty. You must interest; you must fill

o could comfort me if she chose

e, with a smile. 'Am I acquainted wit

r, and have great

ll say that you love with ardour and sincerity; that you can be fa

ally believ

fully pers

as to say it

elf, my

yours

l be my pride to c

r the actress had the effect of "rekindling his poetical ardour"; while, on her side, Mlle. Clairon was induced by the representations of the young author to adopt a more natural style of acting, which may be said t

ely by using more temperately those powers of which you are so prodigal. You cite to me your own brilliant successes and those which you have gained for me; you cite the opinion and the advice of your friends; you cite the opinion of M. de Voltaire, who himself recites his lines with emphasis, and who pretends that declamation requires

y than to tragedy. To which Marmontel rejoined that this she could never do, since her voice, her look, her pronunciation, her gestures, her attitud

she obtained permission to visit Bordeaux, where, in addition, she would have the advantage of performing in a theatre more suited to the style she proposed to adopt than the large salle of the Comédie-Fran?aise. On her first evening at Bordeaux, she appeared as Phèdre, and played the part in the wa

he signals for applause; they knew that it had only been usual to applaud such passages; and, as I did not resort to the style to which they had become accustomed, I was not applauded." As the play proceede

which I received. However, being still fearful, and doubting the judgment of the public, as well as my own, I determined to perform Phèdre as I had played it at first, and I saw, to my delight, that they were dissatisfied with it. I had courage enough to say that it was an experiment which I had b

nts at Bordeaux, Mlle. Clairon forthwith determined to tr

a sultana, without panier, her arms half-bare, and, in short, in correct Oriental costume. He complimented her upon her appearance, upon which she told him of her

he play, her friend went to congratulate her upon her success. "Ah!" said she, "don't you see that I am undone? In all my characters the costume must now be observed; the truth of dress must be conjoined with that of acting. Al

afterwards, she was still more sublime in the électre of Voltaire. Voltaire had made her recite this part with an unvaried and doleful monotony; but, when spoken naturally, it acquired a beauty unknown to himself. On hearing it acted at his theatre at Ferney, where she went to visit him, he exclaimed, bathed in t

ted by the celebrated actor Lekain,[181] who was keenly alive to the absurdity of dressing the characters of ancient Greece and Rome in a half-modern fashion, Mlle. Clairon was able to effect a veritable revolution. Henceforth, the actors were forced to abandon their tonnelet

representations. I omitted to mention that the players have been put to some expense. They have had a scene painted, or, to speak more correctly, a palace, in the Chinese fashion; they have also observed the costumes of the country in their dress. The women wore Chinese gowns, were without paniers and ruffles, and h

a majestic presence, a dignified carriage, enthusiasm, and dramatic intelligence; it was necessary for the player "to transport himself into the times and the places where the characters which he was representing had lived," to recover, in fact, a little of the spirit of Rome, Sparta, or Athens. "Not only," sa

ts, and portraits; and unsparing in her condemnation of those members of her profession who were too indolent or too careless to follow her example. Grimm relates an imaginary conve

ood offices to secure him a début at the Comédie-Fra

appeared at

ademoi

if you please-over there, near that Japanese ornament.... Monsieur, I thank you. That is satisfactory; your movements are easy; you have no stiffness, nor ungainliness; but you have no dist

that of Nero

ur, before I listen to you, have th

was an emperor w

Rome for pleasure? How did he rise to be emperor? What were his claims, his birth,

f Nero answers some of yo

hall ask you. And how can you play the part of Nero, or any other that you wish to, unless you a

in order to grasp the sense of his r?le, it was

r a wrong impressi

nès, a young man of twenty-five, with a considerable fortune. The marquis, who was by way of being a poet, began his wooing by inditing sonnets to the lady's eyes, which, however, were very coldly received. Thereupon, changing his tactics, he sent her a Périgueux paté, in w

his feathers." For her sake, he parted with a fine estate in Champagne and laid the proceeds at her feet. And every day he came to visit her "in

hom she was having words, happened to remark that Monsieur le Marquis had turned Mademoiselle's

, quitted the lady for ever. Mlle. Clairon wrote demanding the return of a portra

t périt, tu le p

dont tu m'

a ressent

semble dava

of night, in a hackney-coach, and with his features concealed by a cloak. Ultimately, it transpired that the mysterious admirer was the Marquis de Bau

to noblemen of this particular rank-and, finally, the lady formed a liaison with Joseph Alphonse Omer, Comte de Valbelle d'Oraison, "who h

n, which was undoubtedly reciprocated; for her liaison with the Comte de Valbelle lasted for nineteen

at she "could not spend two hours without seeing her or writing to her." It was she who commissioned Carle Van Loo to paint his celebrated portrait of Mlle. Clairon as Medea,[191] and presented it to the actress. It was she, too, who, in 1759, persuaded the Russian Court to invite the great actress to leave France and take up her residence at St. Petersburg. The terms offered were extremely tempting,[192] and Mlle. Clairon hesitated long before refusing them. But her passion for the Comte de Valbelle was then at its height, and she could not reconcile herself to the idea of being separated from her lover. Then the count offered to make her his wife, and accompany her to Russia, and so anxious was the Czarina E

, during his first visit to France in 1742, and prophesied a great future for her,-though this, of course, was in comedy-came to Paris, with his wife, after the conclusion of peace in 1763, on their way to Italy. A warm friendship sprang up between the great English actor and the Queen of the French stage, and so delighted was Garrick with the tragédienne's talent

tie Acc

t the base, the f

e Clairon illus

it n'a poin

ouronné

rend ce qu'e

RRI

of the actress, caused a gold medal to be struck in the lady's honour. On the face of

Am

elpo

ait F

e

DA

1

iderably discounted by the publication of the following mordant epigram, from the pe

fameuse

frapper un

que prix qu

sous, fut-ce

jamais au

jadis sa pe

men, retired from the stage ten years earlier than she would otherwise have done, vowing that it was "impossible to live any longer with such a creature." As for the younger actresses, they positively trembled before her; while, with the exception of Voltaire, whose admiration for her she condescended to reciprocate, there is said to have been not a single dramatic author of the time whom she had not ins

lty or perplexity. It was through her influence, joined to that of the Comte de Lauraguais, that the absurd custom of allowing the more distinguished members of the audience seats upon the stage itself-a custom which seriously hampered the movements of the players and was utterly destructive of all scenic illusion-was finally

d was preceded by a letter from the actress to the author, in which she announced to the public that she hesitated to exercise her profession any longer, owing to her fear of the excommunication to which it subjected her. The bigots, ecclesiastical and lay, who were very roughly handled in the book, were exasperated to the last degree; the Grand'Chambre issued a decree ordering the ob

, the sworn foe of the philosophers. La Harpe hated her, it is said, because she had contemptuously refused to act in his plays; Fréron, because of her friendship with the elders of the Holy Philosophical Church, and, mor

history as the original representative of Rosine in Beaumarchais's Barbier de Seville.[196] Fréron, who prided himself on being one of the first to discover the tale

ed to listen to any proposition of fortune, at the expense of her innocence," followed by a paragraph written by Fréron hi

the opprobrium of a dissolute life. One may accord a certain measure of esteem to the performance of the actress, but the seal of contempt is always stamped upon her person. It is in vain that, after having acquired a disgraceful celebrity through vice, she affects a grave and reserved manner. This tardy and false decorum only se

and announced her intention of quitting the stage forthwith, and for ever, unless condig

e declared, to move a step without enduring torments; and his friends contrived to obtain a suspension of his sentence until he should be in a fit state to leave his bed. As may be supposed, this was not for some days, and, in the meantime, the

r determination to retire from the stage if Fréron were not punished,

s, the moment she was ushered into his

f bad taste, such as this wretched Fréron, who refuse you their suffrages. I, on the contrary, have often a very disagreeable task; I strive to do my best, and am criticised, condemned, hissed, and ridiculed; yet, I remain at my post. Let us both

desertion of the entire troupe, unless speedy justice were done to the modern Melpomene. "This line of conduct," writes Bachaumont, "has greatly disturbed M. de Saint-Florentin. This Minister has written to the Queen, stating that the affair has become one of the vastest importance; that for a ve

irony of Fate, barely two months had passed before Mlle. Clairon

joyed the confidence of all the tragic heroes," had a dispute over a bill with a surgeon named Beno?t, whose professional services he had had occasion to seek, under somewhat discreditable circumstances. Dubois declared that he had paid the bill; Beno?t was equally positive that he had not, and commenced proceedings to recover the amount owing. The actor's colleagues, annoyed to find one of their number mixed up in such an af

d, she warmly espoused the cause of the cashiered actor, and, rushing, with dishevelled hair, into the presence of the Duc de Fronsac-son of the Maréchal de Richelieu-who in days gone by had been in the h

hat on April 15, about three hours before the play was announced to begin, an order arrived from Versailles, to the effect

e failure of its mission; the "Gentleman" had professed himself unable to do anything without consulting his colleagues. Thereupon, five members of the troupe, Mlle. Clairon, Lekain, Brizard, Molé, and d'Auberval, declared their intention of refusing to play.

ppearing, did not take the trouble to dress, and went home in the sedan-chair which had brought her to the theatre. The remainder of the players, who were very reluctant to acquaint the public with this unwelcome news, were at a loss what to do. Ultimately, towards six o'clock, one of them left hi

nutes passed thus, and then the actor briefly explained the impossibility of performing the tragedy in question, and proposed to play Le Jou

hissed by the audience, who cried in a kind of frenzy: 'Calais!' Several persons in the pit, who were aware that it was through the intrigues and machinations o

her and her father in the pit. This pandemonium, which might have become a scene of bloodshed, if the Guards on d

de Sauvigny, wife of the Intendant of Paris, was nursing her, when an inspector of police arrived and intimated that he had an order from the King to conduct Mlle. Clairon to For l'évêque. Madame de Sauvigny protested against the arrest of her "best friend," but the exempt was inexorable, an

m. "Very true, Mademoiselle," he replied, "for wh

ompanying her. But, as the carriage in question happened to be a vis-à-vis, and the exempt refused to lose sight of his prisoner, th

leroi and Madame de Sauvigny; the courtyard of the fortress was crowded every day by the carriages of those who came to offer her their sympathy, and she was permitted to give delightful little supper parties. In less than a week, a complaisant phy

, May

. This letter has interrupted for some moments the indignation and grief which consume me. Never has my health occasioned me so much anxiety,

re than six specified persons. It is said that Dubois has tendered his resignation; it is to be hoped that it will be accepted, and that we shall be at liberty this eveni

tions on the past, the present, and the future; not that I fear to submit them to your intelligence and your friendship, but because my letter might be opened, and they might misinterpret me; and I do not wish to afford them an

RON.

to return to the theatre, and, about the middle of June, it was common knowledge that the actress had requested permission to retire from the stage. The Maréchal de Richelieu, First Gentleman of the Chamber, refused her request, asserting that he would never consent to

great man though he was, was not above humouring the whims of his distinguished patients,

rom its master, who assured her that it was "a temple where incense was bur

stay, she performed several times in the little theatre of the chateau, playing Aména?de in Tancrède and électre in Oreste, and the delighted poet wrote to d'Argental

nd, on being recognised, was loudly cheered by the occupants of the pit, who cried: "Le Siège de Calais et Mlle. Clairon!" and refused t

erected into a Royal Academy of the Drama, which would have the effect of giving a legal status to its members, and would pave the way for the removal of the ecclesiastical ban. A petition was accordingly drawn up, which had the support of the Duc de Duras, the Duc d'Aumont, and several other impo

eu, pair de France, First Ge

de France, First Gentlem

ssiduity and the greatest attention, finding herself compelled, on account of her health, to quit th

ign

hal Duc de

c de Du

Paris, Apri

nsented to recite some of her famous r?les at the houses of her aristocratic friends, and Horace Walpole writes, under date August 23, 1767: "Arrived in Paris at a quarter before seven; at eig

layed Zelmire in De Belloy's tragedy of that name, at the H?tel d'Esclapon, Rue de Vaugirard, at a performance arranged for the benefit of Molé.[204] Again, in December 1768,

Dido, and the second, that of Roxane, in the tragedy of Bajazet. After the play, she was presented by Madame de Villeroi to her august spectator, who drew a ring from his finger and placed it on the finger of the actress; but I know that, in spite of this royal courtesy, he had not the happiness to succeed with the illustrious Clairon. In her quality of Dido, she will n

na?de. But five years of retirement had naturally not been without their effect upon her powers, and her acting seems to have caused general disappointment. Perhaps her unfortunate

. But Louis XV. was not such an admirer of the lady's acting as Voltaire-indeed, he seems to have preferred Mlle. Dumesnil-and when, three years before, Mlle. Clairon had caused him to

irants to histrionic fame, several of whom were destined to make their mark in years to come. Among these may be mentione

egularly for many years. Her early letters are chiefly of a professional kind: advice as to the way in which certain parts are to be played, as to the costumes suitable to those p

ught certainly to refuse to have anything to do with her. A man should avoid the first, for fear of accidents, and never have to reproach himself with having corrupted the other. But if she be a married woman or a widow, that is current coin, the property of every one, and you will be doing

obably written in the summer of 1772, we find a person mentioned wh

ns to allow the rest to live. I shall not keep the child at my house; he is a little devil, and that annoys and wearies me. But since he bears a close resemblance to the Margrave (of Anspach), whom I am expecting t

a Louise, and that potentate's favourite nephew. Born in 1736, and married, against his will, by his father, to a princess of Saxe-Coburg, "who resembled a faded lily which

a nose like a trumpet, an enormously long peaked chin, and a long ungainly neck." On the other hand, he was well-educated, sensib

s not without its attractions; perhaps ere long, she thought, the faded-lily princess might wither away altogether, in which event the consort of the left-hand might become the consort of the right. Moreover, her vanity was naturally flattered by the homage of a man twelve years her junior, and that man a Serene Highness! And, finally, it happened that she had just quarrelled violently with the Comte de

to all her friends in Paris, and set out for Anspach, whence she wrote to the faithless V

is period of her career are her own letters to her old pupil, Larive, with whom she continued to corres

that are lavished upon me, it would be impossible for my heart and my vanity not to be satisfied. My house does not grow less full; the greatest ladies do me the honour of

der date Octo

eting ungrateful people, of seeing or hearing anything which recalls them, the opportunity of doing good-all this renders my life infinitely sweet. Add to all these blessings the certainty of making the happiness of the sweetest and kindest being I have ever known. After you had seen him, you would love him: that is nothing; o

killing her"; in another, that she has had to send for a French cook, because the Anspach cooking "displeased as much as it disagreed with her";[207] in a third, that she has had to abandon an attempt to establish a theatre at the Court, "because the

to serve under a ma?tresse en titre, as had those of France; they resented the interference of a woman-especially a foreigner-in the counsels of their master, and one of them, if Mlle. Clairon is to be believed, actually carried his resentment so far as to conspire against her life. Moreover, although the poor Margravine herself was compelled, through fear of

red over the Margrave in a highly beneficent manner; destroying abuses, reforming the finances, encouraging agriculture, and so forth. She also beautified th

KELEY, COUNTE

DS MARGR

SP

wing by SIR J

ent. In the course of her travels, she had met the Margrave, whom she had known when she was a child, and who invited her to Anspach. She came, and her stay was a long one. She infused new life into that dull German Court; she organised a theatre in a disused coach-house, and wrote little plays for it; she had a garden laid out in the English style, under her directio

of visiting the French capital; Mlle. Clairon decided to accompany him. In Paris, the Margrav

low him, and sent instead a long and reproachful letter, wherein she informed him that "his frenzied passion for a woman of whose character, unfortunately, he alone was ignorant, his indifference to public opinion, the license of his new morals, his want of respect for his age and his dignity, obliged her to see in him only one who had thrown aside all restraint and decency in compliance with the dictate

venir of her seventeen years' residence at Anspach is a kind of

nfatuated did he become with that lady that, on his wife's death in 1791, he married her. In the following year, the prince-in the face of an eloquent letter of remonstrance from Mlle. Clairon-sold his margr

and it was here that she now took up her residence. She lived a very quiet life, receiving and visiting a few old friends, and occupying the rest

return to France, at the house of her former pupil, Larive, has left

r of dignity. I never heard any one speak with so much emphasis, for she retained her tragic tone and airs of a princess; but she gave me the impression of

she subsequently asserted, that they should not be given to the world until ten years after her death. One day, however, in 1798, she learned, to her astonishment, through an article in a Paris

there can be very little doubt which portrait comes nearer the truth. Partly, no doubt, for this reason, they had only a moderate success; and though several copies bear the words "Seconde édition" they were, as a matter of fact, not reprinted until 1822, when they appeared in the well-known Collection des Mémoires sur l'art dramatique. The most interesting part of the book, in our opinion, are the cha

and so forth. Sometimes its presence was announced by "a long-continued and piteous cry," which so terrified an elderly admirer who happened to be present on one occasion, that he "had to be conducted to his carriage more dead than alive";[211] sometimes by a loud report like that of a musket; at others by "a noise like the clapping of hands"; and fin

natural history collection, which had realised 90,000 livres. In her old age, however, she fell into great poverty, though to attribute her financial losses to the Revolution-which swept away so many fortunes-as have several writers, would appear to be without justification, as on Fructidor 26, Year III., at a time wh

r, she was reduced to great distress, as witness the following appeal addressed to Chaptal, the Minis

of a generous disposition, it is to you alone that I should address myself. Seventy-nine years of age, almost in want of the necessa

RON.

dest boast of the braggart in Candide; Clairon, for whose smiles a King (according to Grimm) had sighed in vain, and a Serene Highness-not in vain; Clairon, whose classic features had been pai

ited by Lemontey, who describes her as a little, withered old woman, feeble and sickly, but still retaining something of her majestic manner, and who spoke to him in a voice which had lost but little of its power and sweetn

le, to whom she recited a scene from Phèdre with a maje

y 31, 1803, six days after c

had caused to be struck in her honour; but, for some reason, these souvenirs were not accepted. The native town of the great actress showed itself less indifferent than the State, and

ran?aise, they were transferred to Père-Lachaise, and there re-interred, Samson pronouncing an éloge over the grave. In 1889, at the solicitation of M. Caille, an inhabitant of Co

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