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."
Such a result could, of course, only be attained by constant study; and
she herself was an indefatigable student of historical works and the
classics, as well as of statues, monuments, 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 conversation between Mlle. Clairon and a young actor, which
Mme. d'Épinay declared that she had dreamed, and which, no doubt,
correctly illustrates the _tragédienne's_ views on this subject.
The young actor has come to enlist Mlle. Clairon's good offices to
secure him a _début_ at the Comédie-Française, and the following
conversation takes place:--
"Have you yet appeared at any theatre?"
"No, Mademoiselle."
"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?"
"Mademoiselle, that of Nero in _Britannicus_."
"Is that the only one? Well, Monsieur, before I listen to you, have the
kindness to tell me who Nero was."
"Mademoiselle, he was an emperor who lived at Rome."
"That he lived at Rome is correct. But was he a Roman emperor, or did he
reside at Rome for pleasure? How did he rise to be emperor? What were
his claims, his birth, his parents, his education, his character, his
inclinations, his virtues, his vices?"
"Mademoiselle, the rôle of Nero answers some of your questions, but not
all."
"Monsieur, it is necessary to answer not only these questions, but all
the further ones that I shall ask you. And how can you play the part of
Nero, or any other that you wish to, unless you are as well acquainted
with the life of the personage whom you are representing as with your
own?"
"I was under the impression, Mademoiselle, that in order to grasp the
sense of his rôle, it was quite sufficient to be acquainted with the
play."
"And you were under a wrong impression, Monsieur."[185]
In the midst of her histrionic triumphs, Mlle. Clairon continued her
career of gallantry. To Marmontel succeeded the Bailli de Fleury,
"understudied" by a M. de Villeguillon, an officer of Musketeers. Soon
both these gentlemen were discarded in favour of the Marquis de Ximenès,
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 _pâté_, in which he had
caused to be inserted, in the guise of truffles, six rouleaux of fifty
louis each. The rouleaux were much more to Mlle. Clairon's taste than
the verses had been, and, when her generous admirer presented himself
that evening, her door was no longer closed to him.
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.
This injudicious speech was duly reported to the marquis, who, stung to
the quick, quitted the lady for ever. Mlle. Clairon wrote demanding the
return of a portrait of herself which she had given him. It came, and,
with it, these cruel verses:--
"Tout s'use, tout périt, tu le prouves, Clairon;
Ce pastel dont tu m'a fait don,
Du temps a ressenti l'outrage
Il t'en ressemble davantage."[187]
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:--
"J'ai predit que Clairon illustrerait la scène,
Et mon esprit n'a point été déçu:
Elle a couronné Melpomène,
Melpomène lui rend ce qu'elle en a reçu."
--GARRICK.
The following year, the Comte de Valbelle and a M. de Villepinte,
another warm admirer of the actress, caused a gold medal to be struck in
the lady's honour. On the face of this medal was Gravelot's allegorical
design; while the reverse bore this inscription:--
L'Amitié
Et Melpomène
Ont Fait Frapper
Cette
MÉDAILLE
EN 1764.
The pleasure which the lady derived from this piece of adulation must
have been considerably discounted by the publication of the following
mordant epigram, from the pen of the dramatist Saint-Foix, of whose
works she appears to have spoken slightingly:--
"Pour la fameuse Frétillon
Ils ont osé frapper un médaillon;
Mais à quelque prix qu'on le donne,
Fut-ce douze sous, fut-ce même pour un,
Il ne sera jamais aussi commun
Que le fut jadis sa personne."[195]
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.
In the spring of 1761, there was published, at Amsterdam, a little
volume, entitled _Liberté de la France contre le pouvoir arbitraire de
l'excommunication, ouvrage dont est spécialement redevable aux
sentiments génereux et supérieurs de Mlle. Clai_.... This book, which
was the work of one Huerne de la Mothe, an advocate of the Parliament of
Paris, had been inspired by Mlle. Clairon, and 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 obnoxious work to be burned by the public executioner in
the Place de Grève, and poor Huerne de la Mothe was struck off the roll
of advocates. Mlle. Clairon, however, who felt herself to be the cause
of his misfortune, did not allow him to suffer by his championship of
her profession, and persuaded the Duc de Choiseul to nominate him to a
lucrative post in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
* * * * *
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 refused to abide by the Queen's decision, reiterated her
determination to retire from the stage if Fréron were not punished, and
demanded an audience of the Prime Minister, the Duc de Choiseul.
"Justice!" cried she, in tragic accents, the moment she was ushered into
his presence. "Justice, Monsieur le Duc!"
"Mademoiselle," replied the Minister, with mock gravity, "you and I both
perform on a stage, but there is this difference between us: you choose
the parts which you prefer, and are sure of the applause of the public.
There are only a few persons of 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 of us
sacrifice our private resentments to the good of our country, and serve
it, each in our own way, to the best of our ability. And, besides, the
Queen having pardoned, you can, without compromising your dignity,
imitate her Majesty's clemency."
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."
However, eventually, the matter was allowed to rest, and, by the irony
of Fate, barely two months had passed before Mlle. Clairon herself was
sent to For l'Évêque. And this was how it came about.
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.
Now, it happened that Dubois had a very pretty daughter, "who possessed
the power," says Mlle. Clairon, "of rendering the Gentlemen of the
Chamber as happy as they could desire to be." Like a dutiful child, 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 habit of
paying her matutinal visits, disguised as a coffee-house waiter,
besought his intervention on behalf of her unhappy father, the innocent
victim, she declared, of the machinations of Mlle. Clairon.
The young duke, who still retained for the lady some remains of
affection, promised to do what he could, with the result that on April
15, about three hours before the play was announced to begin, an order
arrived from Versailles, to the effect that Dubois was to be allowed to
take his usual part, until the King should decide on his fitness to
remain a royal player.
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:--
"The audience assembled to witness _Le Siège de Calais_; it had been
impossible to change the bills announcing the performance. When
half-past five came, Lekain, Molé, and Brizard had not arrived. Mlle.
Clairon had shown herself, but, perceiving and knowing that these
gentlemen had no intention of appearing, 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 his comrades, went on
to the stage, and began, in trembling accents, to address the audience
with: 'Messieurs, we are in despair--' He was interrupted by some one in
the pit, who shouted, 'We want no despair! _Calais!_' And, in an
instant, the entire public took up the cry and shouted: '_Calais!
Calais!_"
"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!_'