rage of despair, with her two hands across, she beat her forehead with
such a gloomy, death-threatening look that we all stood aghast, 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 altered it, convulsion raised
it, and so it vanished into the air as a vapour. There, then, I have
brought her to the highest pitch of glory of your tribe, self-murder;
may she now quietly repose!"[168]
* * * * *
And Garrick replies, laying his finger, with unerring instinct, upon the
one weak spot in Mlle. Clairon's acting:--
"What shall I say to you, my dear friend, about 'the Clairon.' Your
dissection of her is as accurate as if you had opened her alive; she has
everything that art and a good understanding, with great natural spirit,
can give her. But there I fear (and I only tell you my fears and open my
soul to you) the heart has none of those instantaneous feelings, that
life-blood, that keen sensibility, 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
circumstances and the warmth of the scene has sprung the mine, as it
were, as much to his own surprise as to that of the audience. Thus I
make a great difference between a great genius and a good actor. The
first will always realise the feelings of his character, and be
transported beyond himself; while the other, with great powers and good
sense, will give great pleasure to an audience, but never
----"'Pectus inaniter angit,
Irritat, mulcet, falsis terroribus implet,
Ut magus.'
"I have with great freedom communicated my ideas of acting, but you must
not betray me, my good friend; the Clairon would never forgive me,
though I called her an excellent actress, if I did not swear by all the
gods that she was the greatest genius too."[169]
* * * * *
Space forbids us to give more than a brief account of the many triumphs
of this superb _tragédienne_, who, besides worthily sustaining all the
chief characters of the classic répertoire, created forty-three rôles,
in not one of which did she fail to uphold her reputation, while the
great majority were brilliantly successful. Among the former, she was
probably seen to most advantage in Médée--in which character Carle Van
Loo painted her in his celebrated portrait--Phèdre, Hermione, Zénobie,
Didon, and Cléopâtre. 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 _Oreste_ of the same writer; Cassandre in Chateaubrun's
play, _Les Troyennes_; Idamé in Voltaire's _Orphelin de la Chine_;
Astarbé in the tragedy of that name, by Colardeau; Aménaïde in the
_Tancrède_ of Voltaire; and Aliénor in De Belloy's _Siège de Calais_,
during the run of which last play occurred the unfortunate incident
which led to her retirement from the stage.
The almost fanatical admiration which Voltaire cherished for the actress
was no doubt, in part, due to the fact that she had contributed so
largely to the success of his plays. If Collé is to be believed, she
"made" his _Orphelin de la Chine_, while as the tender and fiery
Aménaïde of _Tancrède_ (September 3, 1760), she appears to have held the
audience absolutely enthralled. "Ah! _mon cher maître_," 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 you could hear her cry on recognising Tancrède, you would be
convinced, more than ever, that silence and pantomime have sometimes a
pathos which all the resources of oratory cannot attain. Open your
portfolios and look at Poussin's _Esther paraissant devant l'Assuérus_:
it is Clairon on her way to execution."[170]
The _Mercure_--the staid _Mercure_, so chary of its praise--can find no
word to describe her acting but that of sublime. The advocate Barbier,
voicing the opinion of the average playgoer, declares that "Mlle.
Clairon carried the talent of tragic declamation to a point which had
never been witnessed before"; while d'Alembert writes: "Mlle. Clairon
has been incomparable and beyond anything that she has yet attained to."
To the great disappointment of the public, the health of Mlle. Clairon
necessitated the temporary withdrawal of the play after the thirteenth
performance, and, when it was revived in the following January, the
enthusiasm with which it was received was almost indescribable.
* * * * *
Simultaneously with her celebrity as an actress, Mlle. Clairon enjoyed a
celebrity of another, and far less enviable, kind. "Love," she remarks,
in her _Mémoires_, "is one of Nature's needs; and I satisfied it." She
did indeed. "Hardly had she appeared on the [Paris] stage," writes La
Janière to the Lieutenant of Police, in the report to which we have
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; there were
dashing cavalry-officers and sober presidents of the Parliament; there
were actors and men of letters. And few indeed--that is to say, few who
possessed any passport to her favour: high rank, a handsome presence, a
pretty wit, or, best of all, a well-lined purse and a disposition to
empty it at her feet,[171] seemed to have sighed in vain.
Poor M. de la Popelinière, to whose good offices Mlle. Clairon had owed
her admission to the Opera, did not long retain his proud position of
_amant en tître_. He was speedily abandoned for the Prince de Soubise,
who, however, was only accorded a fourth share of the lady's heart, the
remainder of that priceless organ being divided between three other high
and puissant _seigneurs_, the Ducs de Luxembourg and de Bouteville and
the Marquis de Bissy. Next Mlle. de Camargo's old lover, the Président
de Rieux, succeeded in securing a monopoly of the _tragédienne's_
affections, only 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 mourning for one of his relations, in
order to appear without shame in a black coat;" the actor Grandval, who
had had more _bonnes fortunes_ than he could count, but who proved so
accommodating an admirer that, after a few months of the lady's society,
"his colleagues had to accord him a benefit performance in order to
reestablish his affairs, which had fallen into a disastrous condition;"
and, finally, the Baron de Besenval, whose reputation for gallantry was,
in later years, to compromise Marie Antoinette, and "with whom," says La
Janière, "she became infatuated."[172]
For Besenval indeed, with whom she had had a previous _liaison_ during
her career in the provinces, Mlle. Clairon, to judge by her letters,
appears to have entertained a genuine affection. In one epistle, "she
conjures him to love 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, declares that the devotion she feels
for him has "spoiled her taste" for other admirers, and that she
"experiences more pleasure in being true to him, whether he desires it
or not, than she formerly had in being unfaithful."[173]
But let us listen to some of the reports of the Arguseyed agents of the
Lieutenant of Police, which prove what an important personage a
fashionable actress was in those days:--
* * * * *
"SAINT-MARC TO BERRYER.
"_June 14, 1748._
"I have the honour to report to you that the trustworthy person whom I
introduced into Mlle. Clairon's house assures me that the Prince de
Monaco, since his return to 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 to return to the
stage until her health is perfectly re-established, and to remember that
she has promised to take every care of her life, in order to prolong
his....
"D'Hugues de Giversac, who is very much in love with Clairon, and is
reputed to have enjoyed her favours, has made all sorts of attempts to
gain admission to the house, but I am assured that there is no
possibility of his succeeding, 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. Moreover, she does
not go out, except to Mass, and, since her illness, it does not appear
that the prince has any rivals. It has been said that D'Hugues was one,
but the demoiselle's conduct for some time past renders that improbable.
"It has been remarked that Clairon only goes out with her father and
sister, or some actors. She always makes great cheer and spends large
sums on her table. She is daily expecting the arrival of the prince and
his money. I continue the precautions necessary to enable me to operate
successfully the moment the prince appears."
* * * * *
"SAINT-MARC _to_ BERRYER.
"_June 23, 1748._
"I have the honour to report to you that Mlle. Clairon received
yesterday evening a letter from the Prince de Monaco, in which he
informs her that he will arrive without fail 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
importance has happened at this house. The demoiselle does not go out,
nor does she receive any one, save the members of her troupe and the old
person of whom I have spoken."
* * * * *
"SAINT-MARC _to_ BERRYER.
"_August 10, 1748._
"I have the honour to report to you that nothing likely to be of
interest to you is taking place at the house of the demoiselle Clairon.
She often sees her comrades of the Comédie, with whom she always makes
good cheer.
"There is a foreigner whose name I have not been able to ascertain, who
has employed a woman called Caron, formerly an _entremetteuse_, to speak
in his favour. This foreigner, although he is not acquainted with her,
has sent to Clairon a piece of Indian taffeta, a great quantity of
chocolate and champagne, and a service of porcelain encrusted with gold,
which presents were entrusted to one of Clairon's servants, 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 received from
this foreigner. The demoiselle found herself in an exceedingly
embarrassing position, inasmuch as she had disposed of more than half
the presents, having converted them into cash. Since then, the prince's
confidential servant has remained in Paris, to keep an eye upon her
behaviour, until the moment of the arrival of his master, who has been
very impatiently expected for more than a month."[174]
* * * * *
"MEUNIER _to_ BERRYER.
"_September 18, 1748._
"The demoiselle Clairon has for a long time been the mistress of [the
Marquis] de Cindré. At the end of the month of August, she asked him for
a sum of 2000 livres,[175] of which she stood in pressing need. He gave
her this sum.
"Some days later, she demanded of M. de Cindré a country-house. He could
refuse her nothing, and rented one for her at Pantin, which he furnished
magnificently.
"M. de Cindré went to visit her one evening, and, to give her an
agreeable surprise, entered by a back door, and found the demoiselle
Clairon with a young man.... He withdrew, without speaking to any one,
and without his presence being discovered. The following day, he sent
and removed the furniture which he had placed in the house, and
abandoned Mlle. Clairon.
"The young man in question is M. de Jaucourt, an officer of dragoons,
who, about two months ago, was arrested for being absent from his
regiment without leave."
* * * * *
Under date October 23, 1748, we come to an entry of considerable
interest:--
* * * * *
"The demoiselle Clairon has dismissed the Marquis de Thibouville. She
has replaced him by the sieur Marmontel, author of _Denis le Tyran_. He
is not recognisable since he has devoted himself to amusing this
girl."[176]
* * * * *
The beginning of the _liaison_ between Mlle. Clairon and the author of
the _Contes moraux_, which the latter relates, with much complacency, in
his ever-delightful _Mémoires_, written, by the way, "for the
instruction of his children," is distinctly amusing.
Marmontel had been in love with a certain Mlle. Navarre, whose heart he
had stolen away from Maurice de Saxe, much to the indignation of the
famous Marshal,[177] and who had made 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 which he went home, "fell down like a sacrificed victim," and was
for some time alarmingly ill. Mlle. Clairon came to console him, when
the following conversation took place:--
"'My friend,' said she, 'your heart needs some object of love; you feel
listless, because it is empty. You must interest; you must fill it. Is
there not a woman in the world whom you can think agreeable?'
"'I know,' said I, 'only one who could comfort me if she chose, but
would she be so generous.'
"'We must see as to that,' replied she, with a smile. 'Am I acquainted
with her? I will endeavour to assist you.'
"'Yes, you know her, and have great influence over her.'
"'Well, what is her name? I will speak to her in your favour; I will say
that you love with ardour and sincerity; that you can be faithful and
constant; that she is sure of being happy in your love.'
"'So you really believe all this?'
"'Yes; I am fully persuaded of it.'
"'Be so good as to say it to yourself.'
"'To myself, my friend?'
"'To yourself.'
"'Ah! then it shall be my pride to comfort you.'"[178]
A connection was thus formed, which, though it did not last very
long--at least the love-affair did not[179]--was not without its
influence upon the professional careers of both. Marmontel tells us that
his passion for 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 to have given the finishing touch to an art
which came nearer perfection than anything yet seen on the French stage,
and, moreover, opened the door for a reform the importance of which can
scarcely be over-estimated.
Marmontel had repeatedly urged upon the _tragédienne_ the advisability
of aiming at greater simplicity, pointing out that her acting was "too
splendid, too impetuous," and was wanting in suppleness and truth. "You
possess," said he, "every means of excelling in your art, and yet, great
as you are, you might easily rise above yourself, purely 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 the same pomp as style; while I, in
return, can only urge an irresistible feeling that declamation, like
style, may be dignified, majestic, tragic, and yet simple; that tones,
in order to be animated and deeply affecting, require gradations,
shades, unforeseen and sudden transitions, which they can never have
when strained and laboured."
Mlle. Clairon laughingly replied that she saw plainly that he would
never let her alone until she had adopted a tone and manner more suited
to comedy than to tragedy. To which Marmontel rejoined that this she
could never do, since her voice, her look, her pronunciation, her
gestures, her attitudes, were all instinctively dignified and majestic,
and that, if she would but consent to be natural, her tragic powers
could not fail to be enhanced.
For a long while, the actress refused to be persuaded; but, finally, in
1752, after Marmontel had, for some time, ceased to urge her, she
resolved to follow his counsels. Judging it best to make her first
essays in the new method before a public less critical and less
conservative than that of Paris, 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-Française. On her first evening at
Bordeaux, she appeared as Phèdre, and played the part in the way she had
always been accustomed to perform it in Paris, that is to say, with much
extravagance of tone and gesture. She was, of course, loudly applauded.
The next day, she appeared as Agrippine, and played the character from
beginning to end in conformity with the ideas which she had recently
adopted.
"This simple, easy, and natural style of acting," she tells us, "at
first surprised them. An accelerated mode of utterance at the end of
each couplet, and a regular gradation of vehemence had been usually the
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 proceeded, however,
the attitude of the audience underwent a change; murmurs of "_Mais cela
est beau! Cela est beau!_" began to make themselves heard; and, when the
curtain fell, the actress received a perfect ovation.
"After this," she continues, "I represented thirty-two of my different
characters, and always in my newly-adopted style. Ariane was of the
number, and the authors of the _Encyclopédie_, under the subject
_Déclamation_, have been kind enough to transmit to posterity the very
marked and flattering homage 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 believed it to be my duty to
make, and that I would play the same character differently, if they
would grant me the favour of a third performance. I obtained permission,
adopted the style which was the result of my studies as completely as I
could, and every one agreed that there was no comparison."
Encouraged by the success which had attended her experiments at
Bordeaux, Mlle. Clairon forthwith determined to try the effect of the
new method upon Paris and Versailles.
One day, when she was to play Roxane in the little theatre at
Versailles, Marmontel, happening to come to her dressing-room, was
surprised to find her attired like 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 experience at
Bordeaux, adding: "I am going to try it again in this small theatre.
Come and hear me, and if it be as successful here, adieu to the old
declamation!"
The result, Marmontel tells us, exceeded their most sanguine
anticipations. "It was no longer the actress, but Roxane herself, who
was seen and heard." The aristocratic audience were delighted, and
applauded her warmly. After the 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. All my costly theatrical
wardrobe must from this moment be changed; I lose clothes to the value
of 10,000 crowns; but the sacrifice is made. You shall see me within a
week perform Électre as naturally as I have just played Roxane."
She was as good as her word. It was the _Électre_ of Crébillon. "In
place of the ridiculous _panier_ and wide mourning gown which she had
been accustomed to wear," says Marmontel, "she appeared in the simple
dress of a slave, with her hair dishevelled, and long chains upon her
arms. She was admirable, and, some time 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
tears and transported with admiration, 'It is not I who am the author of
that--it is herself; she has created the part.' And, indeed, the
infinity of shades which she introduced, and the manner in which she
expressed the passions, rendered it perhaps, of all others, that in
which she was the most astonishing."[180]
Paris, as well as Versailles, was quick to recognise in this change the
genuine tragic tone, and the enormously increased appearance of
probability which theatrical performances derive from a due observation
of costume. Thus, from one reform sprang another, and, warmly supported
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
_tonnelets_, their fringed gloves, their voluminous periwigs, their
plumed hats, and all the rest of the trappings which one sees in
Liotard's engraving of Watteau's picture, _Les Comédiens Français_; and
this new desire for truth ere long extended to the scenery and all the
accessories.
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]