Voltaire's Orphelin de la Chine, produced on August 20, 1754, where, in the part of Idamé, Mlle. Clairon secured one of her most brilliant triumphs,[182] was the first play in which they ventured to act on their ideas. "On returning from Fontainebleau," writes Collé, "this tragedy has been revived, and has had nine 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 had their arms bare. Clairon even affected foreign gesticulations, placing frequently one hand or both on her hips; holding for some moments her clenched fist to her forehead, and so forth. The men, according to the characters they represented, were attired as Tartars or Chinamen.[183] The effect was excellent."[184]

Mlle. Clairon was not content with restoring to the figures of the past their correct costume; she sought to make them live again in all the distinctiveness of their times, their countries, and their nationality. To be a great tragic actor or actress, it was not enough, in her opinion, to have a sonorous voice, 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," says she, in her Mémoires, "ought one to acquaint oneself with the history of all the peoples of the world, but to investigate it thoroughly; to render oneself familiar with it, even in the minutest details; to adapt to each rôle the peculiarities which the nation to which the character belonged ought to exhibit."

"Well! no matter; your face interests me. Be seated, Monsieur, and let us talk.... Ah! go and fetch me my work-basket from yonder console, at the end of the room, so that I may see you walk, 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 distinction. Have you never had occasion to observe men of quality in society? What, Monsieur, are the characters in which you are most proficient, and which you propose that I should listen to?"

"And you were under a wrong impression, Monsieur."[185]

The marquis loved the lady very dearly. For her sake, he abandoned a former enchantress of the name of Mainville, "who had already plucked some of 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 an equipage of the most brilliant description, with two tall lackeys in the rumble, and a running footman preceding it, all superbly habited."[186]

Finally, however, she killed his love with a bon mot. A fair colleague in the green-room, with whom she was having words, happened to remark that Monsieur le Marquis had turned Mademoiselle's head. "Yes," snapped the actress, "away from him." M. de Ximenès, be it said, was not an Adonis.

To M. de Ximenès succeeded a gentleman who, for some time, baffled the curiosity of Berryer's inspectors by invariably visiting the actress under cover 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 Bauffremont, who having recently married—and not for love—a lady of a very jealous disposition, had strong reasons for desiring to hide his identity.[188]

The discreet M. de Bauffremont was followed by yet another marquis; he of Rochechouart—Mlle. Clairon appears to have been extremely partial to noblemen of this particular rank—and, finally, the lady formed a liaison with Joseph Alphonse Omer, Comte de Valbelle d'Oraison, "who had received from Nature all the graces that go to the making of an amiable man, and whom Chance had made the richest noble in Provence."[189]

Let us hasten to add that here, at any rate, Mlle. Clairon seems to have experienced a genuine passion, which was undoubtedly reciprocated; for her liaison with the Comte de Valbelle lasted for nineteen years, and, as we shall presently see, might have been regularised, had the actress been so disposed.

With her triumph in the Aménaïde of Tancrède, of which we have spoken elsewhere, Mlle. Clairon reached the height of her fame. She ruled with despotic sway not only the theatre, but the world of fashion as well. At her house, in the Rue des Marais—the same house which had been successively occupied by Marie de Champmeslé, Racine, and Adrienne Lecouvreur—she received the cream of the society of both Court and capital:[190] Mesdames d'Aiguillon, de Villeroi, de la Vallière, de Forcalquier, and others; and in turn, was a frequent guest at their tables and also at that of Madame du Deffand. The Princess Galitzin, wife of the Russian Ambassador at the Court of Vienna, formed so deep an attachment for the actress that 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 Elizabeth to secure the services of the tragédienne, that she promised, through the Princess Galitzin, to accord him the same rank as he held in France, "and the emoluments necessary to sustain it." Mlle. Clairon, however, fell ill, and illness gave her time for reflection. She remembered that she was seven years older than her lover, who was a very gallant gentleman indeed, and very far from an example of fidelity; as her charms waned, she could hardly flatter herself that he would become more constant. She remembered, too, the difference in station; she thought of the indignation of the count's family, and she asked herself whether, in years to come, he would not reproach her with having taken him at his word.

Finally, she came to the conclusion that "the soul capable of rejecting all the advantages which are offered is a thousand times more noble than the one that accepts them," and declined to expatriate herself.[193] The Princess Galitzin was not the only distinguished foreigner to seek to perpetuate the genius of Mlle. Clairon. Garrick, who had seen her act at Lille, 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 that he commissioned Gravelot to engrave a design, representing Mlle. Clairon "in all the attributes of Tragedy," her arm resting on a pile of books, on which might be read the names of Corneille, Racine, Voltaire, and Crébillon.[194] By her side stood Melpomene crowning her with laurel. At the top of the frame, on a ribbon encircled by an olive branch, one read:—

"Prophétie Accomplie."

And on a tablet at the base, the following verses:—

The pride of Mlle. Clairon, in those days, knew no bounds. "Madame de Pompadour," said she, one day, "owes her sovereignty to chance; I owe mine to the power of my genius!" She treated even the most distinguished of her colleagues with haughty disdain, and often with the grossest discourtesy; and poor Mlle. Dangeville, the object of her childish adoration and the most sweet-tempered and inoffensive of women, 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 insulted. The public she appears to have regarded very much as a queen might her subjects. On the occasion of a free performance at the Comédie, given by order of the King, she came on to the stage between the two pieces and threw handfuls of silver into the pit; and the worthy Parisians, quite gulled by this piece of theatrical quackery, cried, as they scrambled for the money, "Vive le Roi et Mlle. Clairon!"

Nevertheless, in spite of her arrogance and absurd pretensions, Mlle. Clairon had the interests of her profession sincerely at heart. She was, according to her own expression, the chargé-d'affaires, the advocate, and the postillion of the Comédie-Française, and it was always to her that her comrades turned when in any difficulty 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 abolished. A word from her was sufficient to secure the payment of the overdue royal pension to the Comédie, which the semainiers had vainly solicited from the Comptroller-General; and she laboured zealously, if unsuccessfully, to free her profession from the ban of the Church, which had weighed so long and so heavily upon it.

Mlle. Clairon had many enemies: enemies in her own profession, enemies in the fashionable world, and enemies in the Republic of Letters. Two of the most formidable among the last-named were La Harpe and Fréron, the critic, 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, more especially, with its Patriarch, Voltaire, under whose blistering ridicule he had long writhed. La Harpe contented himself by making epigrams about her in society; but Fréron went further, and dared to attack her in print.

There had recently appeared at the Comédie a young, charming, accomplished, and, mirabile dictu, virtuous actress, named Mlle. d'Oligny, best remembered in theatrical 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 talent of this lady, could not resist the temptation of contrasting her blameless life with that of Mlle. Clairon, and proceeded to do so in a remarkably effective manner.

In his Année littéraire, under date January 17, 1765, appeared an éloge in verse of Mlle. d'Oligny, "who had never consented to listen to any proposition of fortune, at the expense of her innocence," followed by a paragraph written by Fréron himself, which, although she was not actually mentioned by name, no one could have the least doubt referred to Mlle. Clairon:—

"One will be grateful to the author for having laid stress, in his just éloge of Mlle. d'Oligny, on her irreproachable conduct up to the present. May we always bear in mind that the Muses are chaste, and that they ought never to sing of libertinism and prostitution! Talents of the rarest order, or regarded as such, do not efface 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 serves to form a revolting contrast with a youth of infamy, and I do not know whether one does not prefer that a creature of this species should constantly show herself what she has been, rather than appear what she is not. The frankness of libertinism is, in point of fact, less shocking than the mournful simulation of dignity."[197]

Terrible was the wrath of the insulted actress. To the Gentlemen of the Chamber she flew, and announced her intention of quitting the stage forthwith, and for ever, unless condign punishment was immediately inflicted on this vile scribbler who had dared to traduce her.

To pacify her, an order was issued for the arrest of Fréron and his incarceration in For l'Évêque. But when the police proceeded to his house to execute it, they found the critic in the agonies of gout: agonies so acute that it was impossible, he 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 devout Queen, Marie Leczinska, whose father had stood sponsor to one of Fréron's children, and who regarded that worthy as the champion of the Faith against the attacks of the philosophers, intervened on his behalf and obtained a further respite.

Mlle. Clairon, far from mollified by this badinage, returned home, and called a meeting of her friends and the members of the Comédie, presided over by the Duc de Duras, at which it was determined that the Comte de Saint-Florentin, Commandeur des Ordres to the King, should be threatened with the 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 very long time no matter of such serious import has been discussed at Court; that, in fact, the Court is divided into two factions on the question; and that, despite his profound respect for the commands of her Majesty, he much fears that he will be compelled to obey the original orders of the King."

After the Easter recess of that year, the Comédie-Française was announced to open with De Belloy's phenomenally successful tragedy, Le Siège de Calais, then at the height of its popularity. All the boxes had been engaged for several performances, and there was every indication of a most successful season. An unexpected incident ruined everything. "An actor named Dubois, who," says Grimm, "had for the last twenty-nine years enjoyed the confidence of all the tragic heroes," had a dispute over a bill with a surgeon named Benoît, whose professional services he had had occasion to seek, under somewhat discreditable circumstances. Dubois declared that he had paid the bill; Benoît 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 affair, brought the matter to the notice of the Gentlemen of the Chamber, who gave them permission to decide upon it themselves. They, accordingly, held an inquiry, found that Dubois had lied—indeed, he confessed as much—and, at the instigation of Mlle. Clairon, and with the approval of the Gentlemen of the Chamber, expelled him and another actor named Blainville, who had given evidence in his comrade's favour, from the troupe.

A meeting of the company was hurriedly summoned, and a deputation sent to one of the Gentlemen of the Chamber who happened to be in Paris, to endeavour to obtain a rescission of the order, for that evening at least. But the deputation returned and reported the 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. Cost them what it might, they were absolutely determined never to appear upon the stage with Dubois again. Such was the position of affairs, when, at half-past five, the Comédie opened its doors. Let us listen to Collé's account of the scene which followed:—

"After this first tumult had somewhat subsided, the actor wished to commence his speech, but the audience declined to hear any more. Some minutes passed thus, and then the actor briefly explained the impossibility of performing the tragedy in question, and proposed to play Le Joueur in its place, or to return the public their money; only to be received with renewed cries, more violent than before, of 'Calais! Calais!'

"A moment later, Préville, the idol of the public, came on to the stage and endeavoured to begin the first scene of Le Joueur, but was interrupted, hooted, and 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 of Mlle. Clairon that the players had so signally failed the public, shouted: 'Calais, et Clairon en prison! Frétillon à l'hôpital![198] Frétillon aux cabanons!'

"No doubt the majority of those who uttered these blasphemies were partisans of the Dubois, who had been posted by her and her father in the pit. This pandemonium, which might have become a scene of bloodshed, if the Guards on duty had chosen to interfere, lasted until seven o'clock, when the audience had their money returned to them."[199]

The following morning, there was a consultation between Sartines, the Lieutenant of Police, and the Gentlemen of the Chamber, when it was decided to make an example of Mlle. Clairon and the other recalcitrant players. The actress, who happened to be unwell, was in bed, and her friend Madame 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, and Mlle. Clairon informed him that she would submit to the orders of the King. "All that I have," cried she, in her best stage manner, "is at his Majesty's disposal—my property, my person, and my life are in his hands. But my honour is untouched, and of that not even the King can deprive me."

Madame de Sauvigny insisted that Mlle. Clairon should proceed to For l'Évêque in her own carriage and announced her intention of accompanying her. But, as the carriage in question happened to be a vis-à-vis, and the exempt refused to lose sight of his prisoner, the noble lady was constrained to seat her friend upon her knees, and in this singular fashion they traversed the streets of Paris.[200]

At For l'Évêque, the famous actress was treated more like a distinguished guest than a prisoner. The most comfortable room available was allotted her, and furnished in luxurious fashion by her sympathising friends, the Duchesses de Duras and de Villeroi 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 physician having certified that further detention would be prejudicial to the lady's health, she was permitted to return home, under certain conditions, which she alludes to in a letter to Garrick, in answer to one of sympathy from the English actor:—

"PARIS, May 9, 1765.

"My soul, penetrated by a treatment as barbarous as it is unjust, had need, my dear friend, of the pleasure that your letter has brought to it. This letter has interrupted for some moments the indignation and grief which consume me. Never has my health occasioned me so much anxiety, never have the mischances to which I am subjected been so multiplied, so violent. But be tranquil; my courage is superior to all my misfortunes.

CLAIRON."[201]

When she reached Ferney, Voltaire was ill, but no sooner had she declaimed her part in his Orphelin de la Chine, than he professed himself completely cured. During her stay, she performed several times in the little theatre of the château, playing Aménaïde in Tancrède and Électre in Oreste, and the delighted poet wrote to d'Argental that in the latter character "she had shaken the Alps and Mont Jura"; while, in a letter to Monnet, he declared that she had "made him feel twenty years younger."[202]

On leaving Ferney Mlle. Clairon went to Provence, to visit the Comte de Valbelle. While there, she attended the theatre at Marseilles, and, on being recognised, was loudly cheered by the occupants of the pit, who cried: "Le Siège de Calais et Mlle. Clairon!" and refused to desist until the governor of the province, the Duc de Villars, had promised to do all he could to persuade the actress to gratify them.

At the beginning of November, she was again in Paris, where great pressure was brought to bear upon her to induce her to reconsider her determination to retire from the stage. On one condition only would she consent to forget the horrors of For l'Évêque, namely, that the Comédie-Française should be 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 important personages, and submitted to the King. But, owing apparently to the maladroit way in which the Duc de Duras, who had charge of the memoir, presented his case, it was refused; and, at the following Easter, Mlle. Clairon demanded her congé, which was accorded her. Here is the ordre de retraite:—

"(Signed)
"The Maréchal Duc de Richelieu.
"The Duc de Duras.[203]

"Executed at Paris, April 23, 1766."

For some years after her retirement from the stage Mlle. Clairon resided in a house near the Pont-Royal, where Marmontel speaks of her receptions as "numerous and brilliant." She frequently consented to recite some of her famous rôles 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 eight to Madame du Deffand's; found the Clairon acting Agrippine and Phèdre; not tall, but I like her acting better than I expected. Supped with her and the Duchesses de Villeroi and d'Aiguillon."

Although she never again appeared on the boards of the Comédie-Française, the great tragédienne performed on several occasions in private theatres. On February 19, 1767, she played Zelmire in De Belloy's tragedy of that name, at the Hôtel d'Esclapon, Rue de Vaugirard, at a performance arranged for the benefit of Molé.[204] Again, in December 1768, she appeared as Dido and Roxane in Bajazet, at the little theatre belonging to the Duchesse de Villeroi, before the King of Denmark and the Prince of Saxe-Gotha. Grimm writes:—

"The Duchesse de Villeroi has reserved to herself the right of doing the honours to Mlle. Clairon in her little theatre. This celebrated actress played there twice, in the presence of the King of Denmark, the Hereditary Prince of Saxe-Gotha, and a little chosen company, for the theatre can only accommodate a hundred and ten persons. The first time, she played the part of 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 not have found him tender enough; in her quality of Roxane, she will not have found him sufficiently humble; in her quality of Clairon, she will not have found him sufficiently penetrated with admiration. In fact, notwithstanding the infatuation of the Court and the town for the young monarch, he has had the misfortune to displease the heroine of the Théâtre-Français."[205]

Finally, on the occasion of the fêtes at Versailles, in honour of the marriage of the Dauphin and Marie Antoinette, in the spring of 1770, Mlle. Clairon appeared as Athalie and Aménaïde. 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 choice of a gown, "half-brown, half-yellow, which gave her the appearance of a shrivelled-up old woman," had not a little to do with her comparative failure as Voltaire's heroine.

An impression prevailed at this time that had Louis XV. only condescended to express a desire that Mlle. Clairon should return to the Comédie-Française she would have consented to do so. 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 be informed that she was prepared to play at Versailles as often as his Majesty might command he had replied, to her intense chagrin, that he found the other actresses very capable.[206]

On her retirement from the theatre, Mlle. Clairon had opened a kind of dramatic academy. Here she trained a number of aspirants to histrionic fame, several of whom were destined to make their mark in years to come. Among these may be mentioned the beautiful Mlle. Raucourt, herself, in her turn, the Queen of the Comédie-Française, and that excellent actor, Larive.

In a letter, which, like the above, bears no date, but which was probably written in the summer of 1772, we find a person mentioned who was to play a very important part in Mlle. Clairon's future life:—

The Margrave was not handsome, in fact, his appearance was distinctly unprepossessing. He had "a retreating forehead, sunken eyes, a nose like a trumpet, an enormously long peaked chin, and a long ungainly neck." On the other hand, he was well-educated, sensible, and good-natured; "the best prince in Germany," said the Austrian Chancellor, Kaunitz, who was certainly in a position to judge.

At Anspach, Mlle. Clairon remained for seventeen years. Our chief source of information in regard to this period of her career are her own letters to her old pupil, Larive, with whom she continued to correspond regularly. In the earliest of these, she can hardly find words to describe the joys of her new life.

"Would to Heaven, my dear child, that I had you near me! I should then be able to say that never had I been so happy. Every comfort, no kind of vexation, consideration, a commodious and beautiful house, a well-ordered, pleasant, and honourable life independent of the caprices which formerly troubled me, the impossibility of meeting 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; one cannot form any idea of this good prince, unless you live with him. I see him every day, and am equally astonished at his frankness and the noble simplicity that characterises all his actions. It is for such sovereigns that it is just and right to sacrifice one's life, and I feel no regret at having sacrificed mine to him."

But this enthusiasm does not last long, and, before twelve months have passed, we find Mademoiselle complaining of everything at Anspach, from the air to the cooking. In one letter she tells her correspondent that "the air of the country and ennui are 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 there are scarcely a dozen persons there who can carry on a conversation in French, while the rest do not understand a word of the language"; and, in a fourth, that "the women of this country are destitute of every grace to which your eyes are accustomed."

The fact of the matter was that the Court of Anspach did not approve of the advent of Mlle. Clairon; it feared that her installation would, sooner or later, be followed by an invasion of her compatriots, who would seize upon all the most lucrative posts in the State, and generally upset the established order of things. Neither had the Ministers been educated to serve under a maîtresse 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 her husband's anger, to treat her rival with courtesy, and even to invite her to her table, the other ladies of the Margrave's family, like the Duchesse of Würtemburg and the Margravine of Baireuth, absolutely refused to recognise the ex-tragédienne, and the feminine portion of the Court seems to have taken its cue from them, rather than from its nominal head.

ELIZABETH BERKELEY, COUNTESS OF CRAVEN, AFTERWARDS MARGRAVINE OF ANSPACH After the drawing by Sir Joshua Reynolds
ELIZABETH BERKELEY, COUNTESS OF CRAVEN,
AFTERWARDS MARGRAVINE OF
ANSPACH
After the drawing by SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS

In the course of the year 1789, Mlle. Clairon found herself called up to face a rival influence. The eccentric and "infinitamente indiscreet,"[208] but charming and accomplished Elizabeth, Countess of Craven, descended upon Anspach. The countess had separated from her husband in 1780, since which she had spent the greater part of her time in wandering about the Continent. 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 direction, at the Margrave's palace of Triesdorf, near Anspach; she founded a little academy for the encouragement of literature and the arts, and found means to amuse even the unamusable Margravine. Finally, she stole away the heart of the Margrave from his grey-haired Egeria, and wrote to her husband, with whom she still corresponded, that she was to be "treated as a sister."

The prince returned an evasive answer; Mlle. Clairon caused a watch to be kept upon his movements, and discovered the fatal truth. So long as the Margrave remained in Paris, the deceived sultana, by a great effort of will, succeeded "in concealing beneath a countenance always calm, and sometimes laughing, the rending tortures of mind and body." But when the prince returned to Anspach, she declined to follow 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 dictates of a depraved heart, or as one whose disordered intellect, while it excited pity, evinced also the necessity of restraint; that the veil was now lifted, and she knew herself never to have been anything but the hapless victim of his egotism and his divers caprices; and that, therefore, with infinite pain, she laid at his feet all the boons she had received from him, and bade him adieu ... adieu for ever."

And so ended the last romance of Mlle. Clairon, and the only souvenir of her seventeen years' residence at Anspach is a kind of fancy bread, which is called "Clairons Weck" unto this day.[209]

As for the faithless Margrave, he was too happy in the society of Lady Craven, who shortly afterwards took up her residence at Anspach, to care much what became of her predecessor in his affections; and so infatuated 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 margravates of Anspach and Baireuth to the King of Prussia, and migrated, with his wife, to England, where he died in 1806. The Margravine survived her husband more than twenty years, and died, at Naples, in 1828.

In 1785, during one of the visits to Paris which she had paid in company with the Margrave, Mlle. Clairon had purchased a country-house at Issy, 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 of her time with collecting objects of natural history, which had always been one of her favourite occupations, and the writing of her Mémoires.

"I had pictured to myself that she was very tall; and, on the contrary, she was very short and very thin; she held her head very erect, which gave her an air 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 being clever and well informed. I sat beside her at table, and enjoyed much of her conversation. Larive showed her the greatest respect and attention."[210]

Early in the year 1792, Mlle. Clairon completed her Mémoires, which she entrusted to Henri Meister, the friend of Diderot and the Neckers, who was leaving Paris for Germany, on the condition, so 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 journal, that they had been published in Germany, whereupon she hurriedly brought out a French edition, bearing the title: Mémoires d'Hippolyte Clairon et Réflexions sur la déclamation théatrale.

These Mémoires, written in an absurdly solemn and grandiloquent style, even for the time, and "interspersed," says the admiring editor of the English edition, "with precepts of practical morality which would do honour to our greatest philosophers," reveal to us a very different Clairon from the Clairon of the police-reports and of the memoirs and correspondence of her contemporaries; but, unfortunately, 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 chapters which the actress devotes to reflections upon her art, some of which may still be read with profit by candidates for histrionic fame. But what aroused most attention at the time the work was published was the celebrated history of the lady's ghost—the spectre of a young Breton whom she had pitilessly left to die of love, and who had vowed on his death-bed to haunt her for the remainder of her life.

Never was there so persistent and vindictive an apparition—though the term apparition is perhaps a misnomer, as the shade of the departed never actually showed itself. It was perpetually visiting her at the most unexpected times and in the most unexpected places—at her petits soupers, while she was riding in her coach to shop in the Rue Saint-Honoré, 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 finally, by "a celestial voice singing the most tender and pathetic airs."[212] No solution of these singular phenomena was ever forthcoming, though the assistance of the police was invoked in order to probe the mystery. But the most probable explanation is a little plot on the part of some friends of the young Breton to read the lady a much-needed lesson.

On her retirement from the stage, Mlle. Clairon had been in possession of a comfortable fortune, producing an income of some 18,000 livres; and though this had been considerably reduced by the financial jugglery of the Abbé Terrai, the loss had been subsequently repaired by the sale of her jewellery, art treasures, and 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 when money was exceedingly scarce, we find her writing to a M. Pérignon, advocate, requesting him to find her a secure investment for a sum of 24,000 livres; while so late as October 9, 1801, when she made her will, she would appear, to judge by the various bequests she makes, to have been still in easy circumstances.[213]

On the other hand, there can be no question that between that date and her death, fifteen months later, she was reduced to great distress, as witness the following appeal addressed to Chaptal, the Minister of the Interior, and in response to which she received an order on the Treasury for 2000 livres:—

CLAIRON."[214]

In good truth, an object-lesson for the moralist to dilate upon! Clairon, the haughty, the incomparable Clairon, the idol of town and theatre; Clairon, to have met whom in society was the proudest 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 painted by Van Loo and sculptured by Lemoine; Clairon, in whose honour gold medals had been struck, and whose praises "bards sublime" had chanted—forced to beg her bread at the door of a Minister!

At the time when the above letter was written, the old actress had removed from Issy, and was living in the Rue de Lille with a Madame de la Rianderie,[215] the widow of an officer in the Gardes-Françaises. Here she was visited 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 sweetness. Observing a little boy who had accompanied the historian, she motioned him to approach, saying: "Make that child come here. He will be very pleased to be able to say one day that he has seen and spoken to Mlle. Clairon."

Animated to the last by the pride which had dominated her whole life, Mlle. Clairon bequeathed to the nation her marble bust by Lemoine and the gold medal which Valbelle and Villepinte 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 placed a commemorative tablet on the house in which she had been born. In 1876, however, the house collapsed beneath the weight of years, and the tablet was buried under its ruins.[216]

The remains of Mlle. Clairon were interred in the cemetery of Vaugirard, where they remained until its suppression in April 1837, when, escorted by a deputation from the Comédie-Française, 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 Condé, the sociétaires of the Comédie-Française decided that the tomb of the famous tragédienne should be completely restored, and voted for that purpose a sum of one thousand francs.

INDEX

A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, V, W, X, Z