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 IDOLS OF THE FRENCH 
 
 STAGE. 
 
 BY 
 
 H. SUTHERLAND EDWARDS. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 3 on A n : 
 
 REMINGTON & CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C. 
 
 188 9. 
 
 [All Eights reserved.]
 
 
 • * • • 
 
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 PN 
 2631 
 
 C N T K N T 8. 
 
 -0- 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MADELINE GUIMAED, 1 
 
 MADAME DUGAZON, 22 
 
 MADEMOISELLE CLAIRON 52 
 
 MADEMOISELLE CONTAT, 80 
 
 MADEMOISELLE RAUCOURT, 102 
 
 MADAME DE SAINT-HUBERT Y, . . . .150 
 
 RACHEL, 248 
 
 SARAH BERNHARDT, 273 
 
 390370
 
 IDOLS OF THE FRENCH STAGE. 
 
 MADELEINE GUIMARD. 
 
 Madeleine Guimard, a dancer, who excited as 
 
 much admiration, and scattered as many fortunes 
 
 as any woman who ever appeared on the stage, 
 
 was ugly, thin, of sallow complexion, and marked 
 
 with the smallpox. Lord Mount-Edgecumbe, in his 
 
 Reminiscences, tells us that when, at an advanced 
 
 age, she appeared for the second time at the 
 
 King's (now Her Majesty's) Theatre, she still 
 
 possessed "grace and gentility," adding that she 
 
 had never been distinguished by anything more 
 
 substantial, 
 
 VOL. II. A
 
 2 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 Althoiig-h b}^ no means the last celebrated dancer 
 who appeared on the French stage, she was the 
 last dancer of French origin who acquired celebrity 
 in France. Camargo, one of the most famous of 
 her predecessors, was Spanish by birth ; Taglioni, 
 one of the most illustrious of her followers, was 
 Italian. The four members of the Vestris family, 
 who, for about a century, directed the ballet in 
 France, were also Italians (their original name 
 being Yestri), and it would be easy to show that 
 dancing as an art was, like gloves, fans, and other 
 trifling but tasteful things, introduced into France 
 from Italy. Pope Alexander YI. and the Borgias, 
 gave magnificent ballets at a time when the ballet, 
 as a dramatic form, was unknown in France. 
 
 According, however, to Castil-Blaze, who has 
 investigated with equal care the history of the 
 ballet and of the opera in France, traces of 
 divertissements, more or less in dramatic style, may 
 be found at so early a period as that of King 
 Caribert of Paris. This sovereign had previously 
 cared only for the pleasures of hunting. The 
 chase was his sole amusement, his daily occupa- 
 tion ; and, in the pursuit of wild beasts, he quite
 
 Madeleine Gttwzard. 3 
 
 neglected his Queen Ingoberge, who remained 
 desolate at home, and enjoyed only an occasional 
 glimpse of her royal husband. In order to keep 
 him near her, Inofoberofe had recourse to the 
 charms of music, and instituted concerts at her 
 palace, consisting of hymns, chants, and national 
 songs, such being the only music of that 
 period. Caribert, however, seems to have found 
 these entertainments depressing, and preferred the 
 bugle-call of his huntsmen. 
 
 In despair at the little success by which her 
 endeavours had been attended, the Queen now 
 thousrht that a result miorht be obtained throucrh 
 entertainments of a liMiter and more enofagingf 
 kind. Dancing and orchestral music she especially 
 counted on ; and the King, kindly renouncing his 
 field sports for a few days, found the Queen's new 
 idea so much to his taste that he soon gave up 
 hunting and shooting altogether. 
 
 The spirit, however, of the hunter was still 
 strong within the breast of Caribert. Only he had 
 changed the objects of his pursuit. Two sisters, 
 of ravishing beauty, dancing like sylphs, and sing- 
 ing like syrens, now occupied in his heart the
 
 4 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 place formerly held by partridges and deer. Mero- 
 fiede and Morcovere were the medigeval names of 
 the young women who had so completely cap- 
 tivated their prince ; and soon Caribert's wife, the 
 too ingenious Ingoberge, saw that the remedy sh& 
 had contrived was worse than the evil she had 
 sought to avert. Laws in those days were loose, 
 and kings powerful ; and before long the singing 
 and the dancing, the talent, the beauty, and the 
 charm of the two sisters, had made such an im- 
 pression on the happ3^ King of Paris that he 
 married them one after the other. 
 
 Towards the end of the fourteenth century, in 
 the year 1393, a masquerade, but not a regular 
 ballet, was given, in which Charles VI. had a 
 narrow escape of his life. The Duchess de Berri 
 had given the ballet in her palace at the Gobelins,, 
 at which all the members of her Court were 
 present. Suddenly a party of masks dressed as- 
 savages appeared, when the Duke of Orleans, 
 who probably knew already who they were, took 
 up a torch in order to examine them at his ease,, 
 and set fire to the linen which, seamed with 
 pitch, covered their corsets. The flames spread
 
 Madeleine Guima7'd. 5 
 
 from one to another, and soon tlie savages, all 
 ablaze, were shrieking like men possessed. Every- 
 one rushed towards the doors ; but, in the midst 
 of this scene of terror and disorder, the Duchess, 
 who was in the secret of the masquerade, recog- 
 nised the King, and, covering him with her dress, 
 thus preserved him from the fire. The fright, 
 however, with which he had been seized, had the 
 effect of making him fall periodically into fits 
 of madness, which gradually became worse and 
 worse. Count de Jouy and the Bastard of Foix 
 had perished miserably ; and the young Nantouillet 
 would have been broiled like ham had he not 
 thrown himself into a tub of water. The Parisians 
 conceived violent suspicions against the Duke of 
 Orleans, thinking that the act was premeditated ; 
 and for many days he was obliged to remain in 
 his palace without daring to show himself. To 
 expiate his crime, he built a chapel at the Celestins, 
 and hastened to found a pious service for the 
 souls of those who had died from this accident. 
 
 Good solo dancing, moreover, if not ballets in 
 set form, might be seen at the Court of Francis 
 I. ; and the QTaceful and ingenious Marguerite de
 
 6 Idols of the Freeze h Stage. 
 
 Valois has been called the Taglioni of her time. 
 Don John of Austria, Viceroy of the Low Countries, 
 went to Paris post-haste from Brussels, travelling 
 incog., in order to see Marguerite dance a minuet, 
 after which he at once returned to his head- 
 quarters. France, however, knew nothing at this 
 time of such ballets as the Borgias were in the 
 habit of getting up. The Sovereign Pontiffs had 
 already, in 1500, a theatre which was celebrated 
 for the splendour of its decorations and the in- 
 genuity of its machinery. Throughout the six- 
 teenth century the Italian composers were much 
 occupied both with the ballet and with the lyric 
 drama; and a ballet bearing a strong resemblance 
 to an opera was performed in Paris, under the 
 superintendence of Baltazariui, rather more than 
 three hundred years ago. 
 
 Baltazarini, who, after establishing himself in 
 France, took the name of Beaujoyeux, without 
 being introduced into France by ( Catherine de 
 Medicis, was sent there at her request, and by 
 her was received, and formally appointed to his 
 prescribed duties. He came accompanied by a 
 band of violins ; and Catlierine at once arranged
 
 Madeleine Guimard. 7 
 
 for Baltazarini and his musicians to give proofs 
 of their ability as composers and executants, 
 with whom were associated Beaulieu, Master of 
 the Music to King Henry III., besides the artists 
 and decorators most in renown at the time. The 
 entertainment which Baltazarini had been ordered 
 to prepare had no name at the time, and its 
 author seems scarcely to have known whether 
 to call it a lyrical drama, a drama in dancing, 
 or by what other title. Ultimately he named 
 it a comic ballet {Ballet Comique de la Reine); 
 using the word comic, not in its narrow sense 
 as amusing, but in its wnde sense as dramatic. 
 Thus the Theatre Frangais is equally called the 
 Comedie Fran9aise, though it is, and always has 
 been, quite as much the home of tragedy as of 
 comedy. Baltazarini, otherwise Beaujoyeux, says 
 distinctly in his preface that what he has written 
 is a dramatic ballet, a play in which the action 
 is set forth by means of dancing and singing. 
 The word "opera," as standing for "opera musicale," 
 had not yet been invented. The Ballet Comique de 
 la Reine, produced in the year 1581, as represented 
 in the palace by the Queen, the Princesses, and
 
 8 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 the nobles of the Court, began at ten in the 
 evening, and it did not finish until three in the 
 morning ; and is written in the records of the 
 time that "the Queen and the Princesses, who 
 represented Naiads and Nereids, concluded the 
 ballet by a distribution of presents, offered in 
 various ingenious ways, to the princes and the 
 nobles who, in the disguise of Tritons, had danced 
 with them." 
 
 That great warrior and statesman, Henry IV., 
 was not ashamed to dance in ballets ; and Sully, 
 the Minister to whom he owed so much, used to 
 join him on these occasions — whether in a spirit 
 of flattery, or from a genuine love of kicking up 
 his heels, does not appear. From 1589 until 1610 
 more than eighty grand ballets were produced at 
 the Court of Henry IV., witliout counting minor 
 divertisements and organised masquerades. The 
 Court of Louis XIII. was a serious one, but it 
 was not witliout its ballets, which were directed 
 by the Duke de Namur. This nobleman was 
 passionately fond of dancing; but he was affected 
 with the gout, and, either from a morbid delight 
 in his own sufl'erings, or from a wish to make
 
 Madeleine Giiimard. 9 
 
 them the subject of mirth, he composed a ballet 
 called Les Goutteux, in which, to assert his rank 
 among the dancers, he caused himself to be carried 
 at their head in an arm-chair. During the per- 
 formance of the " Gout-dancers," as the Duke's 
 ballet might have been called, the Cardinal of 
 Savoy happened to be in France, and the Queen 
 paid him the compliment of asking him to arrange 
 a ballet for the Kinsf. The courtiers laug-hed at 
 the idea, not because it seemed out of place that 
 a cardinal should undertake the duties of a ballet 
 master, but because, coming from a mountainous 
 country, he could not, as they imagined, possess 
 the delicacy of taste so characteristic of people 
 dwelling, like the French, in the plains. The news 
 of these criticisms before the work reached the 
 Cardinal, who, somewhat piqued, and determined 
 to do his best, produced at Monceaux a ballet 
 entitled Les Montagneurs, in which the most grace- 
 ful tableaux were varied by some very ingenious 
 satirical songs. The Cardinal's ballet was much 
 applauded, and the laughter was all against those 
 who, by anticipation, had condemned it. 
 
 The Spirit of Gossip is said to have been repre-
 
 lo Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 sented in the Cardinal's ballet by an old woman 
 mounted upon an ass ; the Spirit of Lying by 
 a personage who had a wooden leg, whose dress 
 was covered with masks, and who carried a dark- 
 lantern. 
 
 Louis XIV. had scarcely attained his majority 
 when Mazarin made him dance before the public in 
 a ballet called Liu Prosperite des Amies de France. 
 As the Parisians of that time had never seen a kino- 
 dance on the stao-e, the Cardinal thoujjht it riMit ta 
 put forward a special announcement on the subject. 
 
 " After receiving this year," the proclamation 
 began, " so many victories from Heaven, it is not 
 enough to render thanks in our temples ; it is also 
 necessary that the gratitude of our hearts should 
 manifest itself through public rejoicings, — the siege 
 of Cassel, the capture of Arras, the Flemings drink- 
 ing beer, the Spaniards and French lighting in 
 rhythm, with Jupiter, Apollo, Mercury, the Tritons, 
 the Nereids, the Muses, a rhinoceros, and a famous 
 acrobat, Cardelin, dancing on a tight-rope, which is 
 partially concealed by clouds from the eyes of the 
 spectators." 
 
 Meanwhile, Louis the Great did his steps on the
 
 Madeleine Giiinmrd. 1 1 
 
 stage, unmindful of the fact that a tight-rope 
 dancer had, for a time at least, been placed 
 above him. 
 
 These ridiculous exhibitions did not pass with- 
 out criticism ; and in the form of Books of the 
 Ballet, pamphlets and satires, were published in 
 abundance. 
 
 The title of one of these pretended libretti was,. 
 " Grand Ballet danced on the theatre of France 
 by Cardinal Mazarin and all the troop of Car- 
 dinalists and Mazarinists. Basle : At the shop 
 of Mr Nobody. In 4o. 1G49." 
 
 " The laughable ballet of Mazarin's nieces, or 
 their theatre overturned in France." 
 
 " Ballet danced before the King and the Queen- 
 Regent his mother by the Mazarinic trio before 
 leaving France, in burlesque verses, and in six 
 scenes." 
 
 Hitherto the ballet had been exclusively a royal 
 entertainment, to be witnessed only at one of the 
 Court residences. But in Louis XIV.'s reign, after
 
 1 2 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 the arrival of Lulli in Paris, and the establishment 
 of the French Opera under the title of Acadefniie 
 Royale de Musiqu^, it became one of the favourite 
 entertainments of the lyric theatre. Lulli, at 
 once composer, conductor, ballet-master and dancer, 
 wished to get up the ballets himself; and he is said 
 to have distinguished himself personally in the gro- 
 tesque interludes of the Bourgeois Gentilhomme. 
 
 To show what a serious view Louis XIV. took of 
 dancing, it is only necessary to cite the decree by 
 which he founded that " Academic de Danse " which, 
 after a time, seems to have been absorbed by the 
 Academic de Musique, called at one time Academic 
 de Musique et de Danse. 
 
 " Although the art of dancing," began the letters- 
 patent, " has always been recognised as one of the 
 most becoming and most necessary for forming the 
 body, and giving to it the most natural dispositions 
 for all kinds of exercises, and among others that of 
 arms, and, consequently, one of the most useful to 
 our nobility, and to others who have the lionour 
 of approaching us not only in time of war in our 
 armies, but also in time of peace in the divertise- 
 ments of our ballets ; nevertheless, into the said art,
 
 Madeleine Giiima^'d. 15 
 
 as into all others, have been introduced during- 
 the late wars a great number of abuses capable 
 of bringing about their irreparable ruin. Many 
 ignorant people have endeavoured to disfigure and 
 corrupt the art of dancing as practised by the 
 greater number of people of quality ; of which the 
 consequence has been that we see very few people 
 at our Court capable of taking part in our ballets, 
 however desirous we might be of having their 
 services. It being necessary to supply this want, 
 and being desirous to re-establish the said art in 
 perfection, and to give it such development as it 
 may be susceptible of, we have thought it right 
 to establish in our good town of Paris a Royal 
 Academy of Dancing, composed of all the persons 
 most experienced in this art." 
 
 The decree concludes with the names of the 
 thirteen most esteemed professors of dancing then 
 in Paris. These gentlemen worked at first with 
 a will, and they are said to have devised a system 
 of written dances, in which the various steps were 
 indicated by signs like notes in music. With all 
 their science, however, they produced very little ; 
 and soon the Academy of Dancing disappeared,
 
 14 Idols of t lie French Stage. 
 
 or, as before suggested, was received into the bosom 
 of the so-called Academic de Musique, where, except 
 practically at rehearsals and public representations, 
 music was never made a subject of tuition. 
 
 Having thus far traced the history of the ballet 
 in France, and having already given a sketch of 
 the career of one of the most famous of French 
 ballet dancers, Mdlle. Camargo, I may now pass 
 on to Mdlle. Salle, who will always be known, 
 in connection with literature, throuo-h the verses 
 addressed to her by Moliere, and the letter of 
 introduction which, when she was about to 
 visit England, Montesquieu gave her to Locke ; 
 and to Madeleine Guimard, who inspired Mar- 
 montel with the lines, — 
 
 " Est il bien vrei, jeune et belle danmue," etc. 
 
 and who was as much the friend of painters as 
 <jf poets. 
 
 Madeleine Guimard, with all her powers of fas- 
 cination, was not beautiful, nor even pretty, and 
 she was notoriously thin. Byron used to say of 
 tliiii women that if they were old they reminded 
 him of spiders, if young and pretty of dried
 
 Madeleme Giti7nard. 15 
 
 butterflies. IMadeleine Guimard's theatrical friends, 
 of course, compared her to a spider. Behind the 
 scenes she was known as VAraignee. Another of 
 her names was La Squelette des Graces. Sophie 
 Arnould called her " a little silkworm," for the 
 sake of the joke about " la feuille des bdnejices ;" 
 and once, when she was dancing between two 
 male dancers in a pas de trois representing two 
 satyrs fighting for a nymph, Sophie said of the 
 exhibition that it was like two dog's ficfhtinor for 
 a bone. 
 
 Madeleine Guimard is said to have preserved her 
 youth and her charm in a marvellous manner ; be- 
 sides which, she had such a perfect acquaintance 
 with all the mysteries of the toilet that, by the arts 
 of dress and adornment alone, she could have made 
 herself look young when she was already begin- 
 ning to grow old. Marie Antoinette used to con- 
 sult her about her costume and the arrangement 
 of her hair ; and once when, for insubordination 
 at the theatre, she had been ordered to For 
 I'Eveque, the danseuse is reported to have said 
 to her maid : " Never mind, Gothon ; I have 
 written to the Queen to tell her that I have dis-
 
 1 6 Idols of the FixncJi Stage. 
 
 covered a new style of coifure; we shall be free 
 before the evening." 
 
 One evening, when Madeleine Guimard was- 
 dancing in Les Fetes de I' Hymen et de V Amour, a 
 very heavy cloud fell from the theatrical heavens- 
 upon one of her shapely arms and broke it, 
 A mass was said for Mdlle. Guimard's broken arm 
 in the Church of Notre Dame. 
 
 Houdon, the sculptor, moulded Mdlle. Guimard's- 
 foot. Fragonard, the painter, decorated her 
 magnificent, luxuriously furnished hotel. In his 
 mural pictures he made a point of introducing 
 the face and figure of the divinity of the place,, 
 until at last he fell in love with his model, and, 
 presuming so far as to show signs of jealousy, was- 
 replaced by David — Louis David, the fierce and 
 virtuous Republican. 
 
 David, the great painter of the Republic and 
 of the Empire, was, of course, at that time a very 
 young man. He was, in fact, only a student ; and 
 Madeleine Guimard, finding that the decoration 
 of her " Temple of Terpsichore " (as the danseuse's-
 
 Madeleine Guhnard. vj 
 
 artistic and voluptuous palace was called) did 
 uot quite satisfy his aspirations, gave him the 
 stipend he was to have received for covering 
 her walls with fantastic designs that he might 
 continue his studies in the classical style according 
 to his own ideas. 
 
 This was charity of a really thoughtful and 
 delicate kind. As an instance of bountiful gener- 
 osity and kind-heartedness, may be mentioned 
 Madeleine Guimard's conduct during the severe 
 winter of 1768, when she herself visited all the 
 poor in her neighbourhood, and gave to each 
 destitute family enough to live on for a year. 
 
 " Not yet Magdalen repentant, but already Mag- 
 dalen charitable ! " exclaimed a preacher in allu- 
 sion to Madeleine Guimard's good action (which 
 soon became known all over Paris, though the 
 dancer herself had uot said a word about it). 
 " The hand," he added. " which knows so well 
 how to give alms will not be rejected by St. 
 Peter when it knocks at the gate of Paradise." 
 
 A few months before Gluck left Paris for the 
 
 last time, an insurrection broke out at the Opera. 
 
 The revolutionary spirit was abroad in Paris. The 
 VOL. II. B
 
 1 8 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 success of the American War of Independence, the 
 tumultuous meetings of the French Parliament, the 
 increasing resistance to authority which now mani- 
 fested itself everywhere in France : all these stimul- 
 ants to revolt seem to have taken effect on the 
 singers and dancers of the Academic. The com- 
 pany resolved to carry on the theatre itself for 
 its own benefit, and the director Devismes was 
 called upon to abdicate. The principal insurgents 
 held what they called a " Congress " at the house of 
 Madeleine Guimard ; and the " God of Dancing," 
 Auguste Vestris, declared loudly that he was the 
 Washington of the aflfair. 
 
 Every day some fresh act of insubordination 
 was committed, and the chiefs of the plot had to 
 be forced to appear on the stage by the direct 
 agency of the police. 
 
 "The Minister desires me to dance," said Made- 
 leine Guimard on one of these occasions: "Eh bien, 
 qu'il y prenne garde ; je pourrais bien le faire 
 sauter." 
 
 As the leader of the conspiracy, Guimard acted 
 with great skill and discretion. 
 
 " One thino: above all ! " she said to her con-
 
 Madeleine Giumard. 19 
 
 federates, " no combined I'esicfnations ; that is what 
 ruined the parliament." 
 
 In the end, after many animated scenes, this 
 revolt was terminated by the city of Paris cancel- 
 ling Devismes' lease, and taking upon itself the 
 management of the theatre ; Devismes receiving a 
 large sum in compensation, and the appointment of 
 director at a fixed salary. 
 
 Mention has been made of one stage accident which 
 occurred to Madeleine Guimard. By another, in 
 1781, she nearly lost her life. It was in that 
 year that the Academic Royale was burnt to the 
 ground. Gluck's Orpliee had just been performed, 
 and in the course of the piece by which it was 
 succeeded (Coronis, composed by Rey, conductor 
 of the orchestra) one of the scenes caught fire. 
 Dauberval, the principal dancer, had enough pre- 
 sence of mind to order the curtain down at once. 
 The public wanted no more of Coronis, and went 
 quietly away without calling for the conclusion of 
 Rey's opera, and without having the least idea 
 of what was taking place behind the curtain. In 
 the meanwhile the fire had spread on the stage 
 beyond the possibility of extinction. Singers,
 
 20 Idols of t lie French Stage. 
 
 dancers, musicians and scene-shii'ters rushed in 
 terror from the theatre, and about a dozen persons 
 who were unable to escape perished in the con- 
 flagration. Madeleine Guimard was nearly burnt 
 to death in her dressing-room, which was sur- 
 rounded by flames. One of the carpenters, how- 
 ever, penetrated into her loge, wrapped her up 
 in a counterpane (she was entirely undressed), 
 and bore her triumphantly through the fire to 
 a place of safety. 
 
 I have not space to describe Mdlle. Guimard's 
 private theatre, nor to speak of her liaison with 
 the Prince de Soubise, nor of her elopement with 
 a German prince, whom the Prince de Soubise 
 pursued, wounding him, and killing three of his 
 servants, nor of her ultimate marriage with a 
 humble " professor of graces " at the Conservatory 
 of Paris. I must mention, however, that in her 
 decadence Madeleine Guimard visited London (a 
 dozen Princes de Soubise would have followed her 
 with drawn swords had she attempted to leave 
 Paris during her prime), and that Lord Mount- 
 Edijecumbe. the author of the interestini]^ Musical 
 Reminiscences, saw her dance at the King's Theatre
 
 Madeleine Guimard. 2 1 
 
 in the year 1789. This was the year of tlic taking 
 of the Bastille, when a Parisian artist might well 
 have been glad to make a little tour abroad. The 
 dancers who had appeared at the beginning of the 
 season had been insufferably bad, and the irianager 
 was at last compelled to send to Paris for more 
 and better performers. "Amongst them," says 
 Lord Mount - Edgecumbe, in a passage previously 
 referred to, " came the famous Madeleine Guimard, 
 then near sixty years old, but still full of grace 
 and gentility, and she had never possessed more." 
 Madeleine Guimard had ceased to be the rage 
 in Paris for nearly ten years. "Vers 1780," 
 says Arsene Houssaye in his Galerie du Dix- 
 huitieme Siecle, " elle tomba peu a peu dans 
 I'oubli ; " but she was not sixty or even fifty years 
 old when she came to London. M. Castil-Blaze, 
 an excellent authority in such matters, tells us, in 
 his Histoire de I'AcadSmie Royale de Musique, 
 that she was born in 1743.
 
 MADAME DUGAZON. 
 
 Louise-Rosalie Lefevre, afterwards Mme. Duofazon, 
 was born at Berlin iu 1753. She was eight years 
 old when her parents sent her to Paris. Daughter 
 of an actor who belonged to the Comedie Fran9aise, 
 she was from childhood trained and destined for the 
 stage. Her father's first intention was to make 
 her a dancer, and it was as a dancer that 
 she made her debut at the Comedie Italienne in 
 1767. She appeared for the first time iu a pas de 
 deux which occurred in the ballet introduced into 
 the Nouvelle Ecole des Femmes. 
 
 She was dancing to the best of her ability, and 
 not without a certain success, when Gr6try was 
 struck with her lady-like air, the subtle play of her
 
 Madame Dugazon. 23 
 
 features, and the lustre of her eyes. The young- 
 girl evinced such talent that the master promised 
 her a part in his next opera. He kept his word : 
 and when, in 1709, he produced Lucile, it was 
 for her that he composed the charming air, " On 
 dit qu'a quinze ans." 
 
 The success with which she rendered it decided 
 her future. She sang the air with such grace, 
 such seductive naivete, that Gretry advised iier 
 to devote herself seriously to the study of music, 
 and promised that he himself would not forget 
 her. 
 
 From that day, it is said, she divided her- 
 self between dancing, which was her duty, and the 
 study of music, which was her passion. 
 
 She found herself, at all events, in a good school. 
 Mme. Favart had consented to assist her with 
 her experienced counsels. From the first moment 
 Mme. Favart had foreseen that this girl was 
 destined to be her successor at the Opera 
 Comique. She foresaw it, however, without 
 jealousy, and was magnanimous enough to do 
 everything in her power to encourage the bent 
 of the young aspirant. The lessons she gave
 
 24 Idols of the French Stao^e.. 
 
 were not thrown away upon tlie gifted pupil, 
 who repaid her teacher with the liveliest grati- 
 tude. If, at a later period, she caused the 
 public to forget her benefactress, she, on her side, 
 never ceased to remember her ; and even in her 
 old age, when she had retired from the theatre, 
 Mme. Dugazon could not mention the name of 
 Favart without tears in her eyes. Unfor- 
 tunately Mme. Favart, carried ofiP suddenly in her 
 forty-fifth year, did not live to see her pupil's 
 triumphs. 
 
 At length, in 1774, Mdlle. Lefevre played for 
 the first time a definite part. It was that of 
 Pauline in Sylvain. Her success was enormous. 
 At a single bound she attained the highest 
 rank as an actress, and from this elevation 
 never afterwards descended. From year to year 
 her success continued to grow, and her talent 
 to expand. Each of her creations was a 
 triumph. Les Evenements imprevus, VAmant 
 jaloux, Les Amours d'etd, and a score of other 
 pieces, owed all their popularity to her imper- 
 sonations. 
 
 Althougli she appeared at the Commie Italienne
 
 Madame Diigazon. 25 
 
 in 1774, she was not appointed a regular mem- 
 ber of the company until two years afterwards. 
 But from the first moment she had become the 
 favourite of the public; for, with her youth, 
 her beauty, and her talent, she possessed all 
 the qualities which could enchant an audience, 
 and evoke the worship of the pit. People vied 
 with one other in eulogising her sympathetic 
 voice, her fascinating manner, her exquisite sen- 
 sibility, her gaiety which was so contagious, her 
 acting which was so tender and impassioned. 
 
 Some chroniclers declare that she was extremely 
 pretty rather than very beautiful, and that what 
 particularly distinguished her was her air of native 
 refinement. She had delicate features, a flexible 
 physiognomy, an expressive mouth, and, in par- 
 ticular, a pair of deeply-lashed, bewitching eyes, 
 eloquent of all the flitting humours or profound 
 emotions of her soul. Her figure, without being 
 tall, was well proportioned, and her gestures pos- 
 sessed a peculiar charm. 
 
 Rich in so many natural gifts, she Avas of 
 course surrounded by a crowd of suitors and ad- 
 mirers. No actress of her time was so besieged.
 
 2 6 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 The most dazzling offers were made to her on 
 every side ; and her sole difficulty lay in deter- 
 mining her choice. At length, to her misfortune, 
 as it afterwards proved, she decided to accept the 
 hand of Dugazon, of the Comedie Fran9aise, to 
 whom, in due course, she was married. 
 
 There is no doubt that Duoazou was a ofreat 
 comedian, notwithstanding his bad taste and his 
 passion for what was low, trivial, and burlesque. 
 With a profound knowledge of his art, he pos- 
 sessed a physiognomy of marvellous flexibility, 
 which he could so change at any moment that it 
 appeared as if he had put on a mask. " By a 
 trick," said a critic, "or by the contraction of 
 certain muscles of his face, he possesses the 
 faculty of instantly disfiguring himself beyond 
 all recognition." Sometimes, it is true, he abused 
 this "power of face," as Pope somewhere calls it, 
 and disgusted the audience with his diabolical 
 grimaces. But when he did not run to ex- 
 tremes, he was inimitable in his favourite parts ; 
 and it was in vain that Dazincourt attempted 
 to eclipse him. No one, indeed, could approach 
 him as Scapin in the Fourheries, as M. Jourdain
 
 Madame D^Lgazon. 27 
 
 in the Bourgeois, as Mascarille in VEtovurdi, or 
 as Sganarelle in Don Juan. 
 
 But if the actor was excellent, the man was 
 altogether unbearable. A braggart and a meddler, 
 hi; was as rash with his sword as with his tongue. 
 Off the stage, indeed, he was always, in one way 
 or another, playing the fool ; and in the drawing- 
 room he was simply a rude jester who took such 
 gross familiarities that anyone who was once civil 
 to him could never afterwards keep him at arm's 
 leno'th. 
 
 He was admitted into the highest circles of 
 society, but only in the character of buffoon ; and 
 in this character, which he accepted with an air 
 of resignation, he did not forget to revenge him- 
 self on everyone around. An audacious parasite, 
 he was by no means easy to get rid of when 
 once indiscreetly admitted. 
 
 It was Dugazon who was one day summoned 
 by Louis XVI. when that monarch, displeased at 
 seeing the Queen attend the balls of the Opera 
 in opposition to his advice, had suddenly be- 
 thouo-ht himself of a method of curing her of so 
 low and frivolous a taste.
 
 28 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 The King sent in the greatest secrecy for the 
 comedian, and gave him a positive command to 
 " disgust " Marie Antoinette at the next ball, by 
 behaving to her as though she Avere the commonest 
 woman present, with no feelings which could, by 
 any possibility, be shocked. 
 
 Dugazon, with the utmost alacrity, undertook 
 to play a part in which all his native rudeness 
 and vulgarity was, by royal permission, to find 
 absolute vent. He attended the next ball in the 
 disguise of a fishwife, and, taking the Queen aside, 
 behaved to her with such coarseness, such impu- 
 dence, such vulgarity, that the spectators were 
 shocked and horrified. 
 
 "Well?" said Louis XVI. the next dav to Marie 
 Antoinette. 
 
 "Never," said the poor Queen, in her folly and 
 imprudence, "never was I so much amused as at 
 last night's ball ! " 
 
 Such, then, was the man who liad married 
 Mdlle. Lefevre. The husband was of a teasing 
 nature, and extremely jealous ; the wife M'as 
 pretty and coquettish. Under these circum- 
 stances, their domestic felicity could not be of lonsf
 
 Madame Dugazon. 29 
 
 duration. A month after their marriage tlic ill- 
 matched pair were already like cat and dog. In 
 less than a year their household feuds were the 
 talk and scandal of all Paris. The wife no longer 
 boasted of her fidelity, and scarcely disguised her 
 flirtations ; while the husband wandered about like 
 a restless buffoon, pouring the tale of his conjugal 
 disasters into the ear of anyone who w^ould listen 
 to him. 
 
 Their first grave disagreement took place in 
 1778, very shortly after the success of Mme. 
 Duffazon in Les Oreilles de Midas, in which she 
 had undertaken the part originally assigned to 
 Mme. Trial, who was then seriously indisposed. 
 Bachaumont relates the story in detail. 
 
 A certain M. de Cazes, a young Goverumen 
 official, had fallen madly in love with Mme 
 Dugazon. Nor was his suit rejected. The better 
 to hide their intrigue, and to insure their 
 interviews, Mme. Dugazon introduced her hus- 
 band at the house of the young man's father, 
 where the whole party were invited to stay. 
 Here M. Dugazon and his wife's lover frequently 
 acted comedy scenes for the amusement of the
 
 o 
 
 o Idols of the Fi'ench Staoe. 
 
 entire household. Soon, however, the husband 
 began to suspect the motive with which his wife 
 had introduced him. Impelled by jealousy, he 
 one day forced his way into the young man's 
 room, locked the door, and, pistol in hand, seized 
 him by the throat, threatening to kill him 
 on the spot unless he delivered up his wife's 
 portrait and letters. 
 
 The wretched youth thought either that Mme. 
 Dugazon had made a confession, or that in some 
 other way he had been betrayed ; and he there- 
 upon surrendered the letters and the portrait to 
 the husband, who withdrew from the room, en- 
 chanted with the success of his expedition. 
 
 M. de Gazes, however, recovered quickly from 
 his terror. He ran after the comedian, and pur- 
 sued him downstairs, crying, " Thief ! assassin ! 
 Stop that villain!" 
 
 Dugazon, however, without showing the least 
 alarm, or even quickening his pace, replied with 
 exquisite coolness, — 
 
 " Excellent, sir ; well played ! Your acting is 
 admirable. The servants would be taken in by it 
 if they were not accustomed to our farces."
 
 Madame Dugazon. 31 
 
 With these words lie gained the door, effected 
 his exit, and left the domestics in a state of 
 uncertainty as to whether it was not after all a 
 comedy. 
 
 Some days afterwards M. de Cazes happened 
 to be on the stage at the Comedie Italienne after 
 the performance, and Dugazon caught sight of him. 
 He waited until the crowd had dispersed, and at 
 a moment when he was unperceived, stole behind 
 the young man, and, ere he had time to look 
 round, administered five or six smart blows on 
 his shoulders with a cane. 
 
 M. de Cazes turned round in a state of fury, 
 beheld his " rival " (so the chronicler designates the 
 husband), and gave vent to terrible threats. M. 
 Duo-azon pretended not to know what he meant, 
 and, going towards him, naively demanded an 
 explanation, and asked whether he was not acting 
 some ingenious farce. 
 
 M. de Cazes thereupon lost his head with rage 
 called Dugazon an assassin, and asserted that he 
 had just dealt him a shower of blows with a 
 
 cane. 
 
 The comedian began to whistle, and pretended
 
 32 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 that it was impossible for an actor like himself 
 ever to have taken such a liberty. 
 
 There were no witnesses to the assault, and 
 much as M. de Gazes continued to fume, the affair 
 ended in nothing. M. Dugazon, however, did not 
 afterwards omit to brag at every supper-table of 
 the thrashing with which he had avenged himself 
 upon his wife's lover. 
 
 Meantime that lady's intrigues had become so 
 numerous that tlie comedian, with all his in- 
 genuity, could not detect or punish more than 
 a mere fraction of tliem. At leno^th the actress 
 deserted her husband altogether, or at least only 
 paid him an occasional visit. 
 
 In spite, however, of her undisguised infidelities, 
 he was still, in 1779, " weak enougli " (says the 
 chronicler) to be jealous of his wife. 
 
 One of her admirers at this period was a chevalier 
 named De Langeac. Dugazon wrote his wife a 
 furious letter about her acquaintance with this 
 man, reproaching her at the same time with a 
 lumdred other escapades. The wife hastened to 
 hand the letter to tlie chevalier, who instantly 
 swore tluit lie would subject the writer to a
 
 Madame Dugazon. 33 
 
 hundred strokes with his walking stick. At this 
 very moment the comedian happened to come upon 
 the scene, and, having overheard tlie threat, ap- 
 proached the chevalier and asked him to name the 
 day on which he proposed to administer the casti- 
 gation, in order that he might prepare himself to 
 return it. The chevalier replied with a blow from 
 his fist, on which the comedian sprang at him and 
 struck him two or three times. Fortunately there 
 were several persons present, and the two men 
 were separated. 
 
 The affair led to nothing ; and this was the 
 last occasion on which Dugazon, now at length 
 wearied with his wife's perfidies, attempted to 
 avenge his honour. He resigned himself to the 
 situation, and cultivated a feeling of indifference. 
 The husband and wife definitively separated, and, 
 when the Revolution arrived, they both took steps 
 towards obtaining a divorce. 
 
 But in the meantime Mme. Dugazon had already 
 abandoned De Langeac. A rich Parisian, Boudreau 
 by name, who afi'ected the character of financier 
 and art patron, had just presented her with a 
 charming little house, which was furnished from 
 VOL. II. C
 
 34 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 cellar to attic in the most exquisite style. She 
 took up her abode in this new residence ; but she 
 had scarcely had time to inspect all the marvels 
 of luxury and elegance ^yith which it was replete 
 when she suddenly yielded to the seduction of a 
 certain foreia^n count who was himself a million- 
 aire. This attachment, however, only lasted until 
 the count, soon afterwards, was recalled to his 
 own country. 
 
 At this period, in 1782, the curiosity of all 
 Paris was excited by a young and handsome youth 
 of eighteen, who had arrived from Bordeaux, and 
 who possessed the most surprising, the most won- 
 derful voice which it was possible to imagine. 
 Without knowing a note of music, he could so 
 imitate the voice of every actor and actress at 
 the Opera, and the sound of every instrument 
 in the orchestra, that the ear was absolutely de- 
 ceived. It was said that, alone and unaided, he 
 could execute an entire opera. 
 
 This young prodigy became the rage of the 
 capital. All the most famous actresses, and many 
 ladies in high society and of noble birth, struggled 
 to gain po.ssession of him. In the end, however.
 
 Madame Dugazon. 35 
 
 Dugazon managed to carry him off, and make him 
 her toy. 
 
 This youth, Garat by name, was the son of an 
 attorney at Bordeaux, and nephew of the man of 
 letters who, under the Empire, was to rise to the 
 dignity of senator. 
 
 " Deux Garat sont connus, I'un 6crit, I'autre chante ; 
 Admirez, j'y consens, leurs talents que I'on vaute. 
 Mais ne pr^ferez pas, si vous formez un vceu, 
 La cervelle de I'oiicle au gosier du nevei;." 
 
 So ran the epigram penned on the occasion by 
 Rivarol. The fame of the nephew did indeed 
 ecHpse that of the uncle. He was loved, admired, 
 adulated, adored. Marie-Antoinette was so charmed 
 with him that she sent a coach and six to fetcli 
 him to her palace. The boy's head was soon turned 
 with the homage he received. He gave himself 
 incredible airs. He told Talleyrand that he would 
 never dine with him again, because the last time 
 the dinner had been a minute late. 
 
 Mme. Dugazon undoubtedly exercised an influence 
 on the talent and success of the youthful Garat. 
 But she could not long retain possession of this 
 dazzling butterfly, who had only to open his
 
 o 
 
 6 /{/o/s of the Frenc/i Stage. 
 
 wings in order to alight upon the next beautiful 
 flower which chanced to take his fancy. 
 
 Despite her life of folly, her intrigues, her ad- 
 ventures, Mme. Dugazon preserved at the Opera 
 Comique an undiminished fame. If she once 
 accepted a part in a new piece, its success was 
 from that moment assured. Thus authors and 
 composers were alike at her bidding, and bowed 
 down to an actress who could command their 
 fate. 
 
 An opera of which the libretto was by Monvel, 
 and the music by Desaides, marks the commence- 
 ment of the most brilliant period of her career. On 
 the 30th of June 1783 Blaise et Babet was produced 
 at the Comedie Italienne. In this little work 
 Mme. Dugazon achieved a magnificent triumph. 
 " It is impossible," wrote a critic, " to imagine a 
 more adorable Babet. Never before had so much art 
 and so much nature been seen united ; never such 
 exquisite sensibility and such intense passion." 
 
 Such was the success of the piece that, at the 
 third representation, the Queen attended the theatre. 
 She was so cliarmed with the part played by Mme. 
 Dugazon that she longed to act it herself. The
 
 Madmne Dugazon. 2)7 
 
 piece was, in fact, soon afterwards presented at 
 the royal theatre of Trianon, with Marie- Antoinette 
 herself in the character of Babet. 
 
 Mme. Dugazon was summoned to the Court 
 to preside with Fleury at the rehearsals, and to 
 assist the Qaeen with her advice. This was not 
 thrown away upon the royal pupil, who, according 
 to Fleury, almost equalled the actress herself in 
 the part of Babet. 
 
 " She was a thousand times to be applauded," he 
 says in his Memoirs, " when she fell into a pretty 
 rage, dashed away her flowers, and exclaimed, with 
 the most charming toss of the head imaginable, 
 ' Tu m'as fait endever . . . endeve ! . . . endeve I ' 
 It was such a delicious mixture of pouting and 
 pathos, of tears and rage, of love and anger, that 
 the courtiers, who were given to abject flattery, 
 forgot to clap their hands, and simply wept." 
 
 But now the moment was at hand when Mme. 
 Dugazon, in her turn, was to draw tears from the 
 eyes of all Paris in Nina, ou la Folle par amour. 
 The idea of this piece was suggested to Marsollier 
 by an anecdote which was related in the journals 
 of the time. It was said that, in the neighbour- 
 
 390370
 
 ^S Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 hood of Sedan, a young girl about to be married 
 had preceded her lover on the way to the church 
 where the ceremony was to be performed. He had 
 promised to overtake her, but, as she walked along 
 the country road which led to the church, she met 
 a woman who told her that her lover was dead. 
 The shock deprived her of her reason. Thence- 
 forth, until her death, she walked daily more than 
 two leagues to that very church where she had 
 hoped to meet her intended husband. On arriving 
 there she would sit down, and wait for him the 
 whole day. At length, at nightfall, she would 
 retrace her steps, exclaiming, " Let us go. He has 
 not yet arrived ; I will return to-morrow." 
 
 When he had finished the libretto, Marsollier 
 submitted it to Dalayrac, who saw at a glance 
 the opportunities it offered for musical effect. 
 The composer quickly furnished the score ; but, 
 at the last moment, both he and the librettist 
 had grave doubts as to whether their attempt 
 to depict madness on tlie stage was not too 
 hazardous. They hesitated, therefore, to produce 
 the opera; but while tliey were still in a state 
 of indecision, Mclle. Guimard offered to lend tliem
 
 Mada77ze Diigazon. 39 
 
 her private theatre for an experimental re- 
 presentation. Here, then, it was tliat, Ijefore 
 a distinguished audience of lords, ladies and 
 courtiers, Mme. Dugazon created the part of 
 Nina. The effect she produced was prodigious, 
 and, on the 15t]i of May 1786, the curtain of 
 the Comedie Italienne rose on the opera of Nina, 
 la Folle par amiour. 
 
 The enthusiasm of the public on this occasion 
 reached the point of delirium. The tears, the 
 applause, exceeded description. Six times in suc- 
 cession, at the end of the piece, the " sublime 
 lunatic " was recalled ; and at each subsequent 
 representation the public excitement, if possible, 
 increased. Not an evening passed but some lady 
 in the audience fainted with emotion. 
 
 Madness became suddenly the fashion. In draw- 
 ing-rooms young ladies affected the part of Mme. 
 Dugazon, and threw themselves into every kind 
 of hysteria. 
 
 The critics, at length, took up arms against 
 this infatuation on the part of the public. They 
 declared that the success of Nina was utterly 
 incomprehensible, and proceeded to show that the
 
 40 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 subject of the piece was monstrous, the libretto 
 insipid, and the music detestable. The pedants 
 bewailed the decay of art upon the stage ; the 
 wits turned the entire opera into ridicule. But 
 wits, pedants and critics alike were ignored by 
 the public, who continued to besiege the doors of 
 the theatre. 
 
 On the night of the first representation, a poet 
 who was present had improvised the following 
 octave in honour of Dugazon in the part of the 
 demented heroine : — 
 
 " Tons les coeurs sont 6mus h tes divins accords, 
 On ne salt qu' admirer ton genie et tes charmes. 
 Tu pleures, aussitot tu fais couler mes larmes : 
 Qui done resterait froid <\ tes brulants transports? 
 Mais la toile se baisse et la piece est finie. 
 O toiichante Nina, sublime Dugazon, 
 
 Aussitot cesse ta folie ; 
 Mais moi, d'amour pour toi, j'ai perdu la raison ! " 
 
 Such was, indeed, the first impression produced 
 upon the public ; and, niglit after night, this im- 
 pression, despite tlie protests and lamentations of 
 the critics, continued to deepen. 
 
 Never before had Mme. Dugazon risen to such a 
 dazzling hciglit; and, altliough she gained many
 
 Madame Dugazon. 41 
 
 subsequent successes, the part of the love-sick 
 lunatic remained the triumph of her life. It was 
 said of Nina that " Marsollier had made the libretto, 
 Dalayrac the music, and Dugazon the piece." 
 
 In due course she made a provincial tour in her 
 favourite character, and everywhere renewed the 
 success she had obtained in the capital. At every 
 town she visited fetes were held in her honour ; 
 and her journey from theatre to theatre resembled 
 a royal progress. 
 
 On her return to Paris, she was so much the 
 rage at the Comedie Italienne, so exclusively the 
 attraction, that on the nights she did not appear 
 the boxes were empty, and the whole theatre a 
 desert. 
 
 Suddenly, in the spring of 1786, she set out 
 for London, tempted, as some said, by English 
 gold, but, in reality, led thither by a young man 
 with whom she was desperately in love. The fre- 
 quenters of the theatre mourned and bewailed her 
 departure. The curtain of the hitherto crowded 
 house now rose to empty benches, and the 
 directors sent letter after letter to the actress 
 imploring her to return. She replied simply that
 
 42 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 she intended to remain where she was, and that 
 her parts could be assigned to other actresses. 
 The managers were in despair. They attempted 
 to replace her, but the pit instantly revolted, and 
 would endure no substitute. Neither the beauti- 
 ful Pitrot, the pretty Lescot, nor the charming 
 Colombe, could obtain a single plaudit. At length 
 Dugazon condescended to return, and then once 
 more the crowd surged to the theatre, the roof 
 rang with applause, and the coffers filled with 
 money. 
 
 No other actress could excite this enthusiasm, 
 since none other possessed a talent so flexible 
 and varied, so powerful and yet so exquisitely 
 delicate. Her seductive naivete in one scene, 
 her impassioned force in another, defied all imi- 
 tation. 
 
 That she was greater as an actress than as a 
 vocalist is beyond doubt. " She is not a singer," 
 Said Gretry ; " she is an actress who speaks song 
 with the truest and most passionate accent." 
 Perhaps, however, Gretry hardly meant that she 
 was not a fine vocalist ; for her voice, although 
 limited in range, was pure, flexible, and of an
 
 Madame Dugazon. 43 
 
 enchanting tone. Her musical education was, it 
 is true, very incomplete ; but this defect was far 
 outweighed by her native endowments. 
 
 "What a wonderful woman," exclaimed Boiledieu, 
 after a representation of the Caliph of Bagdad. 
 " They say she does not know music ; yet I never 
 heard anyone sing with such taste and expres- 
 sion, such nature and fidelity." 
 
 Such, then, was the actress. As a woman, in 
 private life, Mme. Dugazon possessed many amiable 
 and brilliant qualities. She was witty, but with- 
 out malevolence : and her sarcasms were neither 
 barbed nor poisoned. All the authors who wrote 
 for her remained to the last her sincere and de- 
 voted friends. Sedaine, Etienne, Marsollier, Dal- 
 ayrac, Laujon, and many others, ever preserved for 
 her an aftectionate regard. She was always ready 
 to aid them with her advice ; and more than one 
 dramatist, engaged on a new play, found some 
 diificulty which he had imagined insurmountal)le 
 vanish instantly upon a hint from the experienced 
 actress. Bouilly declared that he owed everything 
 to Mme. Dugazon. 
 
 Her nature was extremely disinterested. For
 
 44 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 wealth she had no passion, and to the end of 
 her life she remained poor. "At a time," says a 
 biographer, " when Jupiters of all conditions 
 solicited the honour of descending at her feet 
 in a shower of gold, we find this actress so 
 hampered for money as to write to a friend for 
 the loan of fifty louis." Yet she was charitable 
 to the utmost limit of her slender means, and re- 
 lieved distress by more than one method. 
 
 In 1784 the winter was exceptionally rigorous, 
 and the poor suffered great hardships. At the 
 instance of Mme. Dugazon, special representations 
 were announced for the benefit of the wretches 
 who were perishing with cold and hunger; and 
 the sum so raised was enormous. It was handed 
 over to the Church for distribution. 
 
 " The Church," says Bachaumont, " was very 
 grateful for this assistance. But she warned her 
 cures that they must not touch money which 
 came direct from the hands of an actress, and 
 ordered that the alms should be purified by pass- 
 ing through the exchequer of the Lieutenant of 
 Police." 
 
 This ingenious device for disposing of the casu-
 
 Madame Dngazon. 45 
 
 istical difficulty inspired a luimorist with some 
 lively verses, in the shape of an epistle supposed 
 to be addressed by St. Augustine to Mme. Dugazon 
 and her associates. The lines, which deserve re- 
 production, ran thus : — 
 
 " Salut ^ ta troupe italique, 
 A ce comite catholique 
 Dont le cceur loyal s'attendrit 
 Sur la calamite publique ! 
 C'est le fils de sainte Monique, 
 C'est Augustin qui vous ecrit. 
 Oui, mes amis, par cette epitre 
 J'abjure maiut et ruaint chapitre 
 Ou j'ai fronde votre metier 
 Comme un tant soit peu diabolique. 
 
 Oui, sans etre garant de rien, 
 
 Je croirais qu'uii comedien 
 
 Risque, s'il est un homme de bien, 
 
 D'etre sauve tout comme un autre. 
 
 Un mime, en face d'un apotre, 
 
 C'est un scandale, dira-t-on ; 
 
 Saint Paul ii, cote de Eosiere, 
 
 Trial vis-k-vis de Saint Pierre, 
 
 Et bien heureuse Dugazon 
 
 Aux pieds d'un diacre ou d'un vicaire — 
 
 Le paradis serait boufibn ! 
 
 Tant pis pour qui s'en scandalise ; 
 
 Allez au ciel par vos vertus 
 
 Et laissez clabauder I'Eglise."
 
 46 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 While still at the zenith of her fame, Mme. 
 Dugazon suddenly conceived a fancy for a new 
 style of stage impersonation. She abandoned the 
 character of unmarried heroine, and devoted her- 
 self exclusively to the representation of young 
 matrons. Anxious to retain an actress who 
 assured the success of whatever piece she acted 
 in, authors yielded to her inclination, and fur- 
 nished her with the parts she desired. Scandal 
 did not omit to hint that there was a physical 
 necessity for this new taste on her part ; but, at 
 all events, her success in the matronly style was 
 phenomenal. It is said that her triumph in 
 Ca7)iille ou le souterrain effaced that which she 
 had achieved in Nhia. 
 
 When the Revolution arrived, Mme. Dugazon 
 could not see without grief the downfall of the 
 royal family, whom she had always loved and 
 venerated. At a time when so many persons 
 were insulting the idols to which they had burned 
 incense just before, she had the courage to 
 manifest her true sentiments. Her heroism on 
 this occasion is attested by a letter which was 
 once in the possession of Mrs Elliot, an English-
 
 Madame Dttgazon. 47 
 
 woman still reinenibered by the passion with 
 which she inspire^l the Prince of Wales and the 
 Duke of Orleans. 
 
 "After the 20th of June 1792," says the writer, 
 " those who wished well to the royal family 
 urged the Queen to exhibit herself sometimes in 
 public with the Dauphin, a beautiful and in- 
 teresting child, and her charming daughter, 
 Mme. Royale. 
 
 " She went, therefore, to the Comedie Italienne 
 with her two children, with Mme. Elizabeth, 
 the King's sister, and with Mme. de Tourzel, 
 the children's governess. This was the first 
 time that the Queen appeared in pul)lic. I was 
 in my box, just opposite that occupied by the 
 Queen and suite ; and as she was more in- 
 teresting than the play, I kept my eyes con- 
 stantly fixed upon her Majesty and the royal 
 party. 
 
 " The opera represented was Lea Evenemenffi 
 imprevus, and Mme. Dugazon sustained the part 
 of the servant girl. 
 
 " Her Majesty, from the moment of her entrance, 
 seemed profoundly sad. She was much affected
 
 48 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 by the applause of the public, and I saw her 
 frequently wipe her eyes. 
 
 "The little Dauphin, who sat the whole evening 
 upon her knee, seemed anxious to learn the cause 
 of his unhappy mother's tears, and she, in her 
 turn, frequently caressed the child. 
 
 " There is a duet in the opera between the 
 servant girl and the valet, in which Mme. Dugazon 
 had to say the following lines : — 
 
 ' J'aime mon maitre tendrement, 
 Ah ! combien j'aime ma maitresse ! ' 
 
 "As the actress, when she uttered these verses, 
 placed her hand upon her heart and looked to- 
 wards the Queen, everyone present understood the 
 allusion. 
 
 "Thereupon a number of Jacobins who were 
 among the audience sprang upon the stage and, 
 if the actors had not concealed Mme. Duo-azon, 
 would certainly have killed her. They drove the 
 poor Queen and her suite from the box they occu- 
 pied, and all that the guard could do was to put 
 them safely into the royal carriages. 
 
 " In the meantime the Queen's party had hurled
 
 Madame Dugazon. 49 
 
 themselves upon the Jacobins; but the soldiers 
 intervened, and the affray had no serious results." 
 
 From that evening Mme. Dugazon scarcely ever 
 appeared in public ; and in 1792 she retired, under 
 pretext of failing health, but in reality to avoid 
 pla3'-ing in pieces which were opposed to her 
 principles. 
 
 At length, on the restoration of order, Mme. 
 Dugazon decided to reappear; and her return was 
 welcomed by the public with enthusiasm. The 
 tempests of applause recalled the triumphs of her 
 youthful days. 
 
 "An idolater of music," wrote one of the 
 audience, " I was about to quit Paris post-haste 
 for a spot where honour called me, when 1 
 broke my vows and remained in the capital, 
 enchained bv the fascinating; accents of Mme. 
 Dugazon." 
 
 At the time of her return to the Comedie 
 
 Italienne she was simply a pensioner; but in 1801, 
 
 when the two opera companies of Paris were united 
 
 in one troop at the Feydeau Theatre, she became 
 
 a regular member, and at the same time occupied 
 
 a seat in the administrative council. 
 
 VOL. II. D
 
 50 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 At length, in 1806, she retired finally from the 
 stage. The Restoration was hailed with joy by 
 Mme. Dugazon, who declared that she could now 
 at last "die happy." 
 
 She went to Saint- Ouen, and was one of the 
 first to obtain an audience of the Kinsf. Her 
 emotion was great when she found herself in 
 presence of Louis XVIII. She threw herself at his 
 feet, bathed in tears. The King kindly raised hei* 
 by the hand and said : " So you have not forgotten 
 me ? Nor shall I ever forget the pleasure you 
 gave me at Versailles. I am very sorry the 
 state of your health compels your retirement 
 from the stage. I should be charmed to see you 
 reappear." 
 
 After her interview with the King, little was 
 heard of Mme. Dugazon. She lived in close 
 retirement, surrounded only by a few intimate 
 friends. Her whole affection was centred in her 
 son Gustave, a young composer, the pupil of Berton 
 and Gossec, who, at an early age, exhibited remark- 
 able talent. He afterwards produced many operas : 
 and such was his mother's anxiety for their 
 success, that she is said to have invariably fallen
 
 Mademoiselle Ditgazon. 5 r 
 
 ill as the night of their first representation drew 
 near. 
 
 She died in 1821. A large crowd followed her 
 bier to the grave ; and a funeral oration was 
 pronounced by Bouilly, her devoted friend.
 
 MADEMOISELLE CLAIRON. 
 
 This great actress, whose fame threw even the 
 name of Adrienne Lecouvreur into the shade, was 
 born at Conde, in the province of Hainaut, in 1723. 
 She has herself told us how her ambition was first 
 directed towards the stage. One day — it was a 
 Sunday, and she was then eleven years old — her 
 mother had shut her up, with her catechism and her 
 needlework, in the loftiest and barest room of the 
 house. Seated on a high chair, with hor forehead 
 resting against the window pane, the child watched 
 the fleecy clouds as they flitted across the blue 
 summer sky, and thought of the daisies and butter- 
 flies in the meadows, and of the happy children 
 wlio wfro privilogcd to j)ick those daisies and chase
 
 MadeDioiselle Clairon. 53 
 
 those butterflies. Suddenly a \viudt)w opposite 
 was opened, and a new spectacle, strange and de- 
 lightful, presented itself to the eyes of the little 
 girl. She saw the celebrated Mdlle. Dangeville 
 taking a dancing lesson in the midst of an atl- 
 miring family circle. At the end of the lesson 
 everyone applauded, and Mdlle. Dangeville's mother 
 embraced her. The young girl's triumph was 
 purely a domestic one ; but it had excited the 
 admiration and envy of little Clairon, who resolved 
 that she also would be a dancer. She was then at 
 E.ouen, and one evening, tired of being scolded 
 and slapped, and resolved to make a career for 
 herself, she left home and presented herself at 
 the door of the Rouen Theatre, where she was 
 received, and allowed to give some idea of her 
 talents. She was ready to dance, sing and act ; 
 and so good an opinion did the manager form of 
 her that she was forthwith engaged in a general 
 way to play child's parts. After passing a year 
 or two at Rouen, the young actress went to Lille, 
 where an English general, during the intervals of 
 a campaign, found time to fall in love with her. 
 She declares in her Memoirs that she rejected
 
 54 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 him from patriotic motives, and from her in- 
 vincible passion for the stage. She told him 
 that she belonged, in the first place, to France, 
 and that, though she had no objection to live in 
 a palace, she could not, under any circumstances, 
 desert the theatre. 
 
 After moving from one theatre to another, and 
 leaving a good impression wherever she was engaged, 
 Mdlle. Clairon at last received an order to make 
 her debut at the Opera, where she first appeared 
 as Venus in a work lono- since foro-otten. 
 
 It was not, however, as a vocalist that Mdlle. 
 Clairon was to make her ofreatest mark. She 
 was born to shine in comedy ; and though she 
 undertook with success the leading parts in the 
 tragedies of Gomeille and Racine, it was in 
 Moliere's characters that she showed the perfec- 
 tion of her talent. 
 
 Small, slender, perfectly formed, and very grace- 
 ful, Mdlle. Clairon is said, in representing dig- 
 nified personages, to have looked tall and com- 
 manding ; and whether she played serious or comic 
 parts, the theatre was always full. One of her 
 greatest admirers was Racine one of her best
 
 Mademoiselle Clairon. 55 
 
 friends Adrienne Lecouvreur. Amons: her eruests 
 were numbered Voltaire, Diderot, Vanloo and Louis 
 XV. himself, together with Mme. de Chabrillant, 
 Mme. d'Aiguillon, Mme. de Villeroy, Mme. Du- 
 deffant, and the Princess Galitzin. 
 
 " What souvenir of myself shall I leave with 
 you when I go back to Russia ? " said the Princess 
 one day. 
 
 " My portrait by Vanloo," replied the actress ; 
 and Vanloo thereupon painted her in the char- 
 acter of Medea. 
 
 Louis XV. called one day at Vanloo's studio 
 to see how the portrait was progressing. 
 
 " How fortunute jt'ou are to have such a model ! " 
 he said to the artist ; " and you," he added, turn- 
 ing to Mdlle. Clairon, " to be painted by such a 
 master ! I should like to have something to do 
 with the work myself, and you must allow me 
 to contribute the frame. The portrait, more- 
 over, must be engraved. That also shall be my 
 affair." 
 
 At the height of her reputation, her head 
 slightly turned by the adulation offered to her 
 on all sides, Mdlle. Clairon is said to have for-
 
 56 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 gotten herself so far as to demand the imprison- 
 ment of a critic who had failed to admire her ; 
 and Freron, the offender in question, would, but 
 for an attack of gout, real or simulated, have 
 been sent to For I'Eveque. Soon afterwards, by 
 a caprice of fate, Mdlle. Clairon, accused of 
 organising a cabal against a rival, was herself 
 sent to For I'Eveque, where she held high court, 
 receiving visits from all kinds of illustrious 
 people, whose carriages are said to have made 
 the approach to the prison impassable. 
 
 The most remarkable, however, of the imprison- 
 ments to which, like so many celebrated and 
 capricious actresses, Mdlle. Clairon had, in the 
 course of her career, to submit was the one to 
 which she was condemned for refusing, from 
 conscientious scruples, to appear any more on the 
 stage. After seeking enlightenment on the point, 
 she had come to the conclusion that dramatic 
 performances, and all who took part in them, 
 were condemned by the Church ; and, rather 
 than remain among the excommunicated, she 
 determined to abandon her profession. 
 
 In the lirst ages of Christanity an excom-
 
 Mademoiselle Clairon. 57 
 
 inunication was pronounced against the stage, pagan 
 as it then doubtless was; and in France this ex- 
 communication had never, either in theory or in 
 practice, been revoked. 
 
 At the first Council of Aries, held in 315, in 
 presence of Pope Sylvester and the Emperor Con- 
 stantine, actors were, by the fifth article, form- 
 ally excommunicated. " Les acteurs," in the words 
 of the Abbe Guettee, who cites the article in his 
 Histoire de VEglise de France (Paris, 1847), 
 Vol. I, page 64, " les acteurs de theatre sont 
 aussi excommunies ; " and the author complacently 
 adds : '' The Church, then, has never tolerated 
 theatres and spectacles — those schools of immor- 
 ality and corruption." 
 
 Bossuet, too, in the seventeenth century, con- 
 demned, in his Lettre swr les Spectacles, dramatic 
 performances generally, on the ground that the 
 gloom which forms the greater part of human 
 life cannot be permanently dispelled by theatri- 
 cal entertainments, but only by meditation and 
 prayer. Bossuet's condemnation had been called 
 forth by the publication, on the part of one of 
 the priests of his disocese, of a preface to a
 
 58 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 volume of plays, the priest himself having never, it 
 is said, set foot within the walls of a plaj'house. 
 
 Bossuet. moreover, objected to plays, on the 
 ground that they generally turned upon the passion 
 of love, which could not but have an inflam- 
 matory effect on the minds of the audience. When 
 the innocent priest pleaded tliat there were plays 
 in which there was no question of love, the Eagle 
 of Meaux replied that "they must be exceed- 
 ingly dull." 
 
 Finally, several examples have been given in 
 these volumes of the refusal of Christian burial 
 to French actors and actresses. 
 
 It was not to be wondered at that the pi'imi- 
 tive Fathers of the Church anathematised those 
 authors and actors of their time who were not 
 only pagans but open profaners of the true re- 
 ligion. " But why," it was asked, " should that ex- 
 communication still exist in France asfainst a set 
 of persons who were neither pagans nor pro- 
 faners of religion ; who acted plays which were 
 filled with pure and virtuous sentiments, and in 
 which virtue was rewarded and vice placed in 
 its most odious light."
 
 Mademoiselle Clair on. 59 
 
 Mdlle. Clairon, in particular, was indignant at 
 the ecclesiastical bann under which the stage still 
 lay ; and she raised a strong party in order to 
 remove so great a scandal. Much was written 
 and said in favour of the comedians ; but all to 
 no purpose. The priests stood firm to their text, 
 and would by no means give up their ancient and 
 pious privilege of consigning to perdition everyone 
 who had anything to do with the stage. 
 
 Mdlle. Clairon, in consequence, quitted the 
 theatre, and peremptorily refused to act any more ; 
 declaring that it was most unreasonable to expect 
 her to continue her profession as an actress if it 
 was to lead her to perdition. 
 
 This unexpected resolution on her part threw 
 the managers into the utmost confusion. She 
 was by far the best actress of the day, and such 
 a favourite with the town that it was almost 
 impossible to proceed without her. The theatre 
 was soon practically deserted by the public ; and, 
 nevertheless, Mdlle. Clairon adhered to her deter- 
 mination. At length complaints were made of her 
 behaviour at Court, and she was ordered to be 
 imprisoned in the Bastille, on the ground that she
 
 6o Idols of the Fre7ich Stage. 
 
 was a paid servant of the King, and had refused 
 to do her duty. 
 
 "The case of this actress," said a journalist, "is 
 somewhat hard. The King sends her to prison 
 if she refuses to act, and the Church sends her 
 to hell if she does." 
 
 She had not been long in the Bastille when 
 an order came from the Court for the players 
 to go to Versailles to perform before the King. 
 Mdlle. Clairon was released, and commanded to 
 make her appearance with the rest of the com- 
 pany. She decided to comply, being already, 
 indeed, tired of the Bastille. She performed at 
 Court with immense success, and, finding that all 
 attempts to gain her point were vain, continued 
 from that time to appear as usual on the 
 stage. 
 
 Many pamphlets had, at the height of the 
 dispute, been written on the side of the come- 
 dians ; and one of the ablest of these, which 
 proved, by the laws and constitutions of France, 
 that tlie exconnnunication levelled against the 
 stage was an unlawful and scandalous imposi- 
 tion, had no sooner made its appearance than it
 
 Mademoiselle Clairon. 6i 
 
 was seized, and condemned to be burnt in tlie 
 Place de Greve by the common hangman. The 
 destruction of this pampldet afterwards provoked 
 a scathing tract, in the form of an imaginary 
 dialogue between the master of the King's revels, 
 as advocate for the players, and the Abbe Grizel, 
 on the side of the Church. This work, although 
 anonymous, was easily recognised as from the pen 
 of Voltaire. It was, in due course, burned by the 
 common hangman. This the writer seems to have 
 anticipated ; for he remarks in the tract that, if the 
 hangman were presented with a complimentary copy 
 of every work he was ordered to burn, he would 
 soon possess a handsome and very valuable library. 
 
 Tine Memoirs and Reflections on the Dramatic 
 Art, which Mdlle. Clairon published in her own 
 lifetime, were originally intended as a posthumous 
 work ; and she had entrusted the manuscript to 
 an intimate friend, who was not to deliver it to 
 the printer until ten years after her death. Some 
 spurious version, however, of the work having got 
 into circulation, she was obliged to publish an 
 authentic edition in her own defence. 
 
 As to the Meinoirs, they are chiefly remark-
 
 62 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 able for a strange but extremely circumstantial 
 ghost - story, of which Mdlle. Clairon herself 
 is the heroine. She tells us how her life was 
 haunted by the shade of a young man whose 
 passion she had slighted, and who, as he died 
 broken-hearted, vowed with his last breath to 
 return from his grave in order to disturb her 
 peace of mind. Here, however, in her own words, 
 is the extraordinary tale : — 
 
 '•In the year 1743, my youth, and the success 
 with which I had appeared at the Opera and at 
 the French Theatre, procured me a considerable 
 number of admirers, among whom were several 
 worthy and estimable characters. M. de S., son of 
 a merchant of Brittany, about thirty years of age, 
 and possessing a handsome figure, with a cultivated 
 understanding, was one of those who had made 
 the deepest impression on me. His manners 
 evinced the education of a gentleman, and of one 
 used to the best society. His reserve and 
 timidity, which scarcely allowed him to explain 
 himself even by his looks, made me distinguish 
 liini from among all my lovers. After I had been
 
 Mademoiselle Clairon. 63 
 
 some time the object of his attentions, I permitted 
 his visits at my house, and left him no room 
 to doubt tlio friendship with which he had 
 inspired me. Perceiving that I was of an easy 
 and tender disposition, he was patient, trustinf^ 
 that time would produce in my breast a stronger 
 sentiment than that of friendship. ' Who can 
 tell?' 'Who can say what may happen?' Such 
 were his frequent remarks ; but by answering with 
 candour all the questions which my reason or 
 my curiosity dictated, he entirely ruined his cause. 
 Ashamed of being the son of a merchant, he had 
 disposed of his effects in order to expend the 
 product at Paris under a more elevated title. 
 This displeased me. To blush for himself seemed 
 to me to justify the disdain of others. His 
 humour was gloomy and melancholy. ' He was 
 too well acquainted with men,' he would say, ' not 
 to despise and shun them.' His plan was to live 
 only for me, and that I should live only for him : 
 that displeased me still more, as you may well 
 imagine. I might have been content to be re- 
 strained by a garland of flowers, but could not 
 bear to be confined by a chain. I saw from that
 
 64 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 moment the necessity of destroying the flattering 
 hope which nourished his attachment, and of dis- 
 allowing his frequent visits. This determination, 
 which I persisted in, produced a serious indisposi- 
 tion, during which I paid him every possible at- 
 tention. But my constant refusal to indulge the 
 passion he entertained for me made the wound 
 still deeper; and, unfortunately, his brother-in-law, 
 to whom he had given a power of attorney to 
 receive the property he was entitled to from the 
 sale of his effects, left him in such extreme want 
 of money that he was compelled to accept such 
 loans as I could accommodate him with. This cir- 
 cumstance was a deep mortification to him. You 
 will perceive, my dear Henry, the importance of 
 keeping this secret in your bosom. I respect his 
 memory, and would not abandon it to the insult- 
 ing pity of mankind. Preserve the same religious 
 silence which I have now for the first time violated, 
 but only out of my profound esteem for you. 
 
 " At length he recovered his memory, but never 
 his health. I considered his absence from me 
 would be to his advantairc and therefore constantlv 
 refused both his letters and his visits.
 
 Mademoiselle Clair on. 65 
 
 " Two years and a half passed between our first 
 acquaintance and his death. He entreated me to 
 assuage by my presence the last moments of his 
 life. My engagements prevented me from comply- 
 ing with his request. He died in the presence of 
 his domestics and an old lady whom he had alone 
 for some time suffered to attend him. He then 
 lodged upon the Rampart, near la Chausee d'Antin, 
 Avhich had just begun to be built. I resided in 
 the Rue de Bussy, near the Rue de Seine and 
 Abbey of Saint Germain. My mother and several of 
 my friends generally supped with me. My visitors 
 were an Intendant of the Privy Purse, whose 
 friendship was of infinite service to me ; the good 
 Pipelet, whom you formerly knew and admired : 
 and Roseley, one of my companions at the theatre, 
 a young man of respectable birth and talents. 
 The suppers of that period, though the company 
 was small, were much more entertaining than the 
 most expensive fete^ have been for these forty 
 years past. It was at one of those suppers, and 
 when I had been sinofincr an air with which mv 
 friends expressed themselves delighted, that, just as 
 
 the clock struck eleven, our ears were startled 
 VOL. ri. E
 
 66 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 by the most piercing cry I had ever heard ; 
 its long continuance and piteous sound astonished 
 everyone. I fainted away, and was nearly a quarter 
 of an hour insensible. 
 
 " The Intendant was amorous and jealous. When 
 I revived, he said to me, with some degree of 
 spleen, that ' the signals of my rendezvous were 
 somewhat too noisy.' I answered that 'I was 
 mistress of myself, and at liberty to receive at 
 all hours whoever I thought proper. Signals, 
 therefore, would be altogether useless ; ' and, I 
 added, that the shriek which the Intendant called 
 a signal was of too dreadful a nature to an- 
 nounce the soft moments dedicated to love. 
 My paleness, the tremor which still remained 
 upon me, the tears which flowed in spite of my 
 efforts, and my entreaties that the company would 
 remain with me a part of the night, convinced 
 them that I was ignorant of the cause that had 
 produced the noise. We reasoned as to what 
 could have occasioned it, and determined to set 
 people to watch in the street, in order to dis- 
 cover the cause, in case it should occur again. 
 
 " Everyone in the house, my friends, my neigh-
 
 Mademoiselle Clair on. 6y 
 
 hours, the police even, have heard the same sort 
 of cry repeated under my windows at the same 
 hour, and appearing to proceed from the air. 
 There was no doubt of its being intended for 
 my hearing in particular, for though I rarely 
 supped in town, yet when I did the cry was 
 never heard ; but often, when I was conversing 
 with my mother and my servants upon the sub- 
 ject, it would burst forth in the midst of us. 
 One evening the President de B., at whose house 
 I had supped, conducted me to my own house. 
 As he was wishing me good-night at iny door 
 the cry alarmed us. He, as well as nearly all 
 Paris, can vouch for the truth of this history. 
 The President was so terrified that he was con- 
 ducted to his carriage more dead than alive, 
 
 "Another time I asked my friend Roseley to 
 accompany me to the Rue Saint Honore, to buy 
 some articles of dress, and pay a visit to Mdlle. 
 Saint P., who lodged near the Porte St Denis. 
 The only subject of our conversation was the 
 spirit, as he called it. This young man, though 
 he ridiculed my adventure, was struck with the 
 singularity of it. He pressed me to invoke the
 
 68 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 phantom, and promised to give full belief to it 
 if it answered me. Whether it was owinof to mv 
 weakness or daring boldness, I know not, but 
 I did as he requested me. The same cry was 
 uttered three different times, with a degree of 
 rapidity and shrillness terrible beyond expression. 
 When we arrived at our friend's house, we were 
 obliged to have assistance to get out of the coach, 
 where we were found sitting in a state of terror 
 and insensibility. 
 
 " After this scene, I remained some months with- 
 out hearing anything of it. I thought I was quit 
 of it for ever, but I deceived myself. 
 
 " All the theatrical exhibitions had been ordered 
 to Versailles, on account of the marriage of the 
 Dauphin. We were to repair there in three days, 
 and for some of the actresses lodgings had been 
 secured. Others, however, had none ; among them 
 being Mnie. Granvalle. She remained with me, ex- 
 pecting in vain that a room would be procured for 
 her. At three in the morninf; I ofi'cred to share 
 my chamber with her. It had two beds, one for 
 myself, and another for my servant. She accepted 
 my offer, and I gave her the smaller of the two,
 
 Made^noiselle Clairon. 69 
 
 and got into my own. While my servant was 
 undressing herself to be by my side, I said to her, 
 'We are now almost at the end of the world, and, 
 besides, the weather being unusually tempestuous, 
 the cry would be rather embarrassed to find us out 
 here.' It was at that instant uttered. Mme. 
 Granvalle thought all the demons of hell were in 
 the room. She ran in her chemise from the top 
 to the bottom of the house, and suffered no one 
 to sleep during the remainder of the night. This, 
 however, was the last time I was troubled with 
 the sound. 
 
 " Seven or eight days afterwards, when I was 
 enjoying myself in my usual society, the clock 
 struck eleven, and immediately the firing of a gun 
 was heard against one of my windows. We were 
 all sensible of it, we saw the fire and heard the 
 report ; but, upon examination, the window had 
 received no kind of damage. We concluded that 
 some person had a design upon my life, and 
 that, one having failed, it was necessary to guard 
 against a similar attempt in the future. The 
 Intendant went at once to the house of M. de 
 Murville, the Lieutenant of Police, who was his
 
 /O Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 friend. He came, accompanied by proper officers, 
 and examined the house opposite mine, but with- 
 out discovering any ground for suspicion. The 
 following day the street was narrowly watched ; 
 the officers of police had their eyes upon every 
 house, but, notwithstanding all their attention, 
 there occurred the same discharge, at the same 
 hour, and against the same frame of glass, for 
 three whole months, though no one could ever 
 discover from whence it proceeded. This fact is 
 attested by all the registers of police. 
 
 "I became so accustomed to this new trick of 
 the spirit which had before haunted me, that I 
 no longer paid attention to it ; and one evening, 
 at the hour of eleven, when it was extremely 
 warm, I opened the window, and the Intendant 
 and myself leaned over the balcony. The instant 
 the clock struck eleven the cfun was discharcred 
 there, and we both fell flat on our faces, as 
 if lifeless. When we came to ourselves, and 
 found that we were not hurt, and acknowledged 
 to each other that at the moment the gun was 
 flred we had each of us received a violent slap 
 on the face, we could scarcely refrain from laugh-
 
 Mademoiselle Clairon. 71 
 
 ing at the circumstance. The next day nothing 
 particular happened. But the day after I was 
 invited by Mdllc. Dumesnil to an entertainment 
 she gave. I entered a coacli at eleven o'clock 
 with my waiting-woman. The moon shone bright, 
 and we proceeded along the boulevards or suburbs, 
 which were just then beginning to be built upon 
 We were examining the houses which had lately 
 been erected, when my waiting-maid said, ' Is it 
 not here that M. de S. died ? ' ' From the in- 
 formation he gave me, that should be the place,' 
 I replied, pointing with my finger to a house 
 which was before me. The explosion of a gun 
 was immediately heard ; the coachman urged for- 
 ward his horses, conceiving himself attacked by 
 robbers, and arrived at his destination scarcely 
 sensible. For my part, I was impressed with a 
 degree of terror from which I did not for a long 
 time recover. This was the last time I was 
 terrified by the firing of the gun. 
 
 "It was, however, succeeded by a noise like the 
 clapping of hands. The partiality of the public 
 had so long accustomed me to this interruption 
 that I for some time paid no attention to it. My
 
 72 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 friends remarked it, and told rae they constantl}' 
 heard it at eleven o'clock close to my door. 
 They could distinguish no one, and were con- 
 vinced that what they heard must have been the 
 result of some supernatural cause. 
 
 " As the noise had nothing terrible in it, I did 
 not observe what length of time it continued. It 
 was followed by melodious sounds, to which I paid 
 as little attention. It seemed that a celestial voice 
 sang the most tender and pathetic airs. The 
 music commenced at the corner of the street, and 
 concluded at the door of my house. Like all 
 the preceding sounds which had been heard, it 
 baffled all disco^'ery as to the cause. At the end 
 of about two years I ceased altogether to be dis- 
 turbed. 
 
 " The house I inhabited was extremely noisy, on 
 account of its proximity to the market, and the 
 number of people who lived in that quarter. I 
 required retirement for my studies as well as for 
 my health, which was much impaired. I was in 
 rather ea.sy circumstances, and wished for a better 
 situation. I was told of a small house in the 
 Rue des Marais, which let for two hundred francs,
 
 Mademoiselle Clair on. 73 
 
 where Racine was said to have lived forty yeai's 
 with his family. I was informed that it was 
 tliere that he had composed his immortal works, 
 and that there he died ; that, afterwards, it had 
 been occupied by the tender Lecouvreur, who ha<i 
 ended her days in it. ' The walls of the house,' 
 I reflected, ' will be alone sufficient to make me 
 feel the sublimity of the author, and acquire the 
 talents necessary for an actress ; it is in this 
 sanctuary that I will live and die.' I took it, 
 and put a bill up in the apartments I had before 
 occupied. Among the number who applied for 
 them were several persons attracted solely by 
 curiosity. The public had never seen me out of 
 the theatre. They wished to behold me divested 
 of a crown, and, unsupported by the characters of 
 Corneille, Racine and Voltaire, reduced to the 
 rank of an ordinary woman. I flattered myself 
 that the alteration would not show to my pre- 
 judice, as I still retained the same sentiments and 
 habits ; but I was rather short of stature, and 1 
 was supposed by those who had never seen me 
 off the stao'e to be six feet high. At home I 
 appeared in my natural form. I never had re-
 
 74 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 course to art except at the theatre : I was fearful 
 that, when surveyed off the stage, the public would 
 diminish twice as much from my stature as I 
 had been accustomed to add to it. I felt 
 that those who avoided imposing upon the world 
 had nothing to fear from its censure. Happily, 
 my nation is not given much to reflection, and 
 I had the satisfaction of finding that the public 
 still continued to preserve the same opinion with 
 regard to my figure. 
 
 " I was informed that an elderly lady wished 
 to see my apartments, and that she was waiting 
 there for me. It has ever been my principle to 
 show the greatest deference to age. I attended 
 her. An emotion of which I was not mistress 
 made me survey her from head to foot. This 
 emotion increased when I perceived that she ex- 
 perienced the same feelings. I was only able to 
 request her to take a seat, and she accepted my 
 offer. We continued some time silent ; but our 
 eyes left no room to doubt the extreme desire we 
 had to address each other. She knew who I was, 
 but I was unacquainted with her, and she felt 
 that the task was imposed upon her of breaking
 
 Mademoiselle Clairou. j^ 
 
 silence. The following was the conversation which 
 took place between us : — 
 
 " ' I have long, madam,' she said, ' been impressed 
 with the most anxious desire to make your ac- 
 quaintance. As I never frequent the theatre, and 
 am unknown to those whom you honour with 
 your friendship, I was apprehensive that, if I 
 addressed you by letter, I might subject myself 
 to a denial, in consequence of my motives being 
 misunderstood. The bill placed upon your apart- 
 ments procured me the happiness I wished for. 
 Pardon me when I confess that it is not that 
 which has brought me here. I am not rich enough 
 to take them. Nevertheless, I entreat you to let 
 me see them. The place you have inhabited can- 
 not but excite interest. Your talents have a 
 degree of celebrity which leaves no room to doubt 
 the superior endowments of your mind. I perceive 
 that I have not been deceived as to your figure. 
 I desire to know if the description I have re- 
 ceived of your dwelling is as faithful ; and I 
 trust you will allow me to pursue my unhappy 
 friend through all the scenes of his hope and 
 despair.'
 
 J 6 Idols of the Fre7ich Stage. 
 
 " ' It appears to me, madam,' I replied, ' that 
 the agitation in which you behold me, and which 
 every word you utter augments, makes it a duty 
 I owe to myself to inquire who you are, of 
 whom you are speaking, and what your business 
 is with me. My character will not allow me to 
 be made the sport or the victim of anyone. 
 Speak, or I shall leave you.' 
 
 " ' I, madam,' she replied, ' was the best friend 
 of M. de S., and the only person he suffered to 
 be with him during the last moments of his life. 
 We have both reckoned the days and hours 
 while speaking of you : sometimes making you 
 an angel, sometimes a devil — I continually per- 
 suading him to forget you, he constantly profess- 
 ing that he should adore you to the grave. Your 
 eyes bathed in tears, allow me to ask you wh}'- 
 you rendered him so miserable, and how, possess- 
 ing a tender and sympathetic soul, you could 
 refuse him the consolation of seeing you, and of 
 speaking to you for once only before he died.' 
 
 " ' We cannot command our hearts,' I replied. 
 ' M. de S. was possessed of merit and of many 
 estimable (pialities ; but his gloomy, thoughtful
 
 Made7noiselle Clair on. 77 
 
 and despotic disposition made rae equally dread 
 his society, his friendship and his love. ^\\y have 
 made him happy, 1 must have renounced the 
 pleasures of society, and even the exercise of my 
 profession. I was poor and proud. I wished (and 
 I hope I shall always possess the same di.sposi- 
 tion) not to depend upon anyone but myself. The 
 friendship with which he inspired me made me 
 attempt every means to induce him to adopt 
 sentiments more tranquil and equitable. As T 
 could not effect this, and was persuaded that his 
 derangement was less to be attributed to the 
 excess of his passion than to the violence of his 
 character, I formed and kept a hrm resolution 
 of separating myself entirely from him. I refused 
 to see him in his last moments because the sight 
 of him would have rent my heart; and I should 
 have appeared too cruel had I refused him wliat 
 he asked, while I must have been wretched had I 
 o-ranted it. These, madam, were the motives of 
 my conduct. I dare Hatter myself no one will 
 blame me.' 
 
 " ' To condemn you,' she replied, ' would be un- 
 just. It is only to our God, our parents and our
 
 •jS Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 benefactors that we are bound to sacrifice our- 
 selves. On this last point, I am satisfied that it 
 was not from you that gratitude was due ; but his 
 situation and his passion overcame him, and your 
 last refusal hastened his last moments. He 
 counted every minute till half -past ten, when his 
 servant positively informed him that you would 
 not come to him. After a moment he took my 
 hand in a paroxysm of despair which terrified me, 
 and exclaimed, "■Gruel woman! But she shall gain 
 notliing. I luill pursue her as much after 'iny 
 death as I have during my life." I endeavoured 
 to calm him, but he was no more.' 
 
 "I think I need not describe the effect which 
 these last words had upon me. I thought all the 
 powers of heaven and earth had united to tor- 
 ment my wretched life. But at length time and 
 mature reason have restored calmness to my soul. 
 ' If,' said I, ' there is no superior Being who directs 
 this world, it is impossible that one who is dead 
 can be brought back to life. If there is a God 
 — and Jill Nature attests that He exists — the attri- 
 butes of His divinity are justice and goodness. He 
 will never, then, send into this abode of misery and
 
 Mademoiselle Clairon. 79 
 
 sorrow those whom He has deigned to release 
 from it. What am I that I should suppose He 
 concerns Himself with so humble an individual ? 
 How can I suppose that on my account He would 
 derange the order of Nature to manifest His 
 anger or His goodness, or to point out to me 
 the means of avoiding misery or guilt ? Such 
 cares may be worthy of the Sovereign of the 
 world when the whole human race is the ob- 
 ject of them ; but an individual is perhaps less in 
 His eyes than a grain of sand in ours. Let us 
 adore Him, let us merit His mercies ; but let us 
 not attempt to scrutinise His ways.' 
 
 " By this mode of reasoning, and by various re- 
 flections which occurred to my mind, I attributed 
 the extraordinary circumstances which had so 
 terrified me entirely to chance. I know not but 
 they were the effect of chance ; but I cannot deny 
 that what is so called has the greatest influence 
 on what passes in the world."
 
 MADEMOISELLE CONTAT. 
 
 In the year 1874 Beamnarchais had just com- 
 pleted his famous Marriage of Figaro. If it 
 was a difficult task to write such a masterpiece ; 
 to get it acted proved more difficult still. " I 
 will not allow that piece to be played," said 
 the King. His Majesty's words were repeated 
 to Beaumarchais. " It shall be played ! " was the 
 author's exclamation. 
 
 It required all Beaumarchais' genius to circum- 
 vent the royal mandate. How he succeeded, how 
 he gained the Queen, flattered one high official, 
 defied another, until at length the work was 
 brought to rehearsal, and, in the end, after a
 
 Mademoiselle Con tat. 8 i 
 
 hundred obstacles, to public representation, is sutH- 
 ciently well known. 
 
 The famous first nig-ht was at hand. Ten 
 hours before the box-office was open, the doors 
 of the Comedie Fran(;aise were besieged. The en- 
 tire Court, the princes of the blood, the members 
 of the royal family, pressed for places. At eleven 
 o'clock in the mornin"' the footmen of the 
 Duchess de Montespan posted themselves at the 
 theatre door to await the distribution of tickets. 
 The miserly Mme. de Talleyrand paid three times 
 the usual price in order to secure a box. The 
 soldiers employed to keep back the crush were 
 simply lost in the crowd, and vainly elbowed their 
 way about with the grooms and valets. 
 
 The night at length arrived, and the curtain 
 rose upon Beaumarchais' masterpiece. The audi- 
 ence was simply a gorgeous array of courtiers 
 and celebrities. The ladies' silks rustled ; the 
 boxes were ablaze with diamonds. The success 
 of the piece was incredible, and surpassed the 
 wildest dreams of both the author and the actors. 
 The first twenty representations produced upwards 
 
 of a hundred thousand francs. 
 
 VOL. II. F
 
 82 Idols of the F^'-ench Stage. 
 
 "I know of only one thing madder than 
 my piece," said Beaumarchais ; " that is, its 
 success." 
 
 The critics, however, attacked the play with 
 acrimony. They declared it absurd, immoral, 
 monstrous. Its author was pronounced an impu- 
 dent knave, a rascal, an intriguer. Beaumarchais 
 simply laughed, and declared himself flattered by 
 the abuse. The satires and songs which were 
 directed against him disturbed the great author 
 so very little that, it is said, he himself com- 
 posed a violent epigram against the play, re- 
 citing it everywhere, and saying that he had 
 written it to encourage his enemies, who were 
 not half up to their business, and did not re- 
 vile him nearly enough. 
 
 It was the Marriage of Figaro which first 
 revealed to the public the extraordinary talent, 
 so flexible and so exquisite, of an actress who 
 had hitherto remained in the shade. In this 
 work Mdlle. Contat gained the first of her 
 triumphs. 
 
 Beaumarchais, who was quick to recognise talent, 
 had detected the high qualities of this actress
 
 Mademoiselle Contat. 83 
 
 in the minor parts she had ah-eady jjhiyed. He 
 decided, therefore, to entrust her with the character 
 of Suzanne. His decision greatly surprised the 
 whole company of actors, and roused violent pro- 
 tests. Mdlle. Fanneer, who had played servant- 
 girl parts with no small success, wrote to him 
 for the new part, which, as it was in her par- 
 ticular line, she held to be her legitimate pro- 
 perty. But Beaumarchais was absolute at the 
 theatre. He maintained his choice, and he had 
 no cause afterwards to repent it. 
 
 It was the servant girl, as rendered by Mdlle. 
 Contat, that chiefly delighted and transported 
 the gorgeous assembly at the Comedie Fran^aise. 
 Such a delicious little hussy, such a pretty rogue, 
 such an arch coquette, had never been seen on 
 the stage before. 
 
 Louise Contat was twenty-four years of age 
 when she created the part of Suzanne. She was 
 then at the zenith of her talent, and in the 
 flush of her beauty. Her figure, it should be 
 said, was admirably proportioned ; and she had a 
 native air of high distinction. When, in the part 
 of a servant girl, she sometimes, after the manner
 
 84 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 of a servant girl, assumed the fine lady, she 
 would have passed for a duchess or a princess. 
 She had large eyes, alternately languishing or 
 flashing with mischief. Her whole countenance 
 was piquant and animated. She possessed a 
 beautiful set of teeth, which she revealed from 
 time to time in one of her exquisite smiles. 
 
 " She is an admirable Venus," said a pamphlet 
 of the time, "cut by some great sculptor from a 
 block of the purest marble ; only he had not 
 time to finish his masterpiece, and confided the 
 hands and feet to one of his workmen." Her 
 hands and feet did, indeed, leave something to be 
 desired. But she knew how to dissimulate this 
 imperfection, and on the stage it passed unnoticed. 
 
 Born at Paris on the l7th June 1760, Louise 
 Contat was pronounced an actress before she was 
 six months old. It was on the boards of a theatre 
 that she learned to walk, and she still lisped when 
 she was taught to spell her childish parts. At the 
 age of eleven she would have set out on tour with 
 a wandering theatrical troupe had not the actress 
 Mmc. Preville rescued her from the life of miser- 
 able vagrancy by whicli she was threatened.
 
 Madeifioiselle Con tat. 85 
 
 She adopted the little gii'l hei-self, and it was 
 she and her husband, an actor of renown, who 
 lirst trained the child in a methodical manner to 
 the stage. The wife, it is true, was not a pre- 
 ceptress calculated to develop youthful genius. 
 Her own style was stiff and mechanical, and 
 under her tuition the talent of the little girl was 
 ' likely to be cramped. On the other hand, her 
 husband was a true artist, who took Nature for 
 his ideal, and it w^as his chief care to see that 
 the child's genius had unfettered play. " Not," 
 said Fleury, " that she did not herself discover 
 the secrets of an art which, as a matter of fact, 
 cannot be taught." But Preville, while he gave 
 free scope to her natural bent, taught her that 
 stage mechanism which, as Fleury happily 
 observes, " it is necessary to learn in order to 
 appear in public, but still more necessary to for- 
 get if one wishes to succeed." 
 
 It w^as on the 3d of February 1776 that the 
 charming Louise Contat made her debut as 
 Atilade in Bajazet. Her early appearances, whicli, 
 however, were confined to tragedy, made little 
 impression. Tragedy was by no means her forte.
 
 86 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 "Mdlle. Contat has just made her debut" wrote 
 Laharpe, " with a pretty face, but no voice, and 
 h'ttle talent." Grimm was hardly more favourable. 
 " She is mediocre," he said, " in tragedy, and is 
 marred by mannerism; but she has an agreeable 
 face and lustrous eyes." 
 
 As to her beauty everyone was agreed. But 
 some gift besides beauty was necessary for success ; 
 and although Mdlle. Contat possessed this gift, it 
 as yet lay dormant. Managers, indeed, would not 
 give her the parts she required ; and for many 
 years she was condemned to the tragic style, in 
 which none of her qualities could reveal them- 
 selves. 
 
 Mdlle. Contat was too beautiful to want, even at 
 an early age, a host of admirers. Her first love 
 affair was sufficiently unfortunate. The successful 
 suitor was a certain M. dc Lubsac, an officer of 
 the King's household. He was a man of inferior 
 birtli with an empty purse; but he was as hand- 
 some as Apollo, and a wit into the bargain. He 
 laid such persistent siege to the actress that she 
 at length yielded in sheer weakness to his im- 
 portunity.
 
 Mademoiselle Con tat. 87 
 
 l)e Lubsac was distinguished l)y two vices. 
 He loved wine and cards. His passion for play 
 was so reckless that he one niofht staked his 
 beautiful mistress, or, at least, put to hazard the 
 whole of her diamonds and trinkets. He lost, and 
 the next day, just as Mdlle. Contat was about to 
 attend a fete, she looked for her jewellery in vain. 
 The caskets were all empty ; a clean sweep had 
 been made of everything. She set up a cry of 
 " thieves," and called in the police. De Lubsac 
 thought it discreet to silence her by a free con- 
 fession of his " fault." He admitted that he had 
 pledged the whole of the missing property. She 
 was furious, and de Lubsac expressed the deepest 
 contrition. 
 
 "Ah!" he cried, wringing his hands, "if I only 
 had a few louis at this moment I could repair 
 everything ! " 
 
 " How ? " cried Mdlle. Contat, with a sudden 
 gleam of hope. 
 
 " Why, to-night," replied Lubsac, " I feel that 
 my luck is in. I should win everything back. 
 But I have not a solitary sou." 
 
 The repentance of the criminal was so comic
 
 88 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 that it touched the actress's heart. Presently she 
 smiled, then she laughed outrio-ht. In the end 
 she lent the gambler a couple of louis, the last 
 she had in the world, and he hurried off to the 
 gaming-table. In less than an hour he returned 
 triumphant. He had won. He brought back 
 the whole of the jewellery, which he had taken 
 out of pawn, and he had a few louis in his 
 pocket besides. 
 
 It was impossible to be too severe with such 
 a man. The actress, however, could not put up 
 with him many months. He at length proved 
 such a desperate rake that she dismissed him in 
 disgust. Some time afterwards he returned, and 
 threw himself once more at her feet ; but she 
 ordered him out of her presence, and dared him 
 ever to have the impertinence to address her 
 aoain. 
 
 She was perhaps tired of so penurious a lover. 
 Her next choice fell upon the Marquis de Mau- 
 peon, who was rich, and violently in love with 
 her. He was lavish with his money, and denied 
 her nothing. He furnished a liouse for her, 
 loaded her with presents, decorated her with price-
 
 Made7noiselle C out at. 89 
 
 less diamonds. He bowed down to hci-, moreover, 
 like a slave, and yielded without a murmur to her 
 slightest caprice. 
 
 At last she sfrew tired of him. He was dis- 
 missed. His successor was no less a personage 
 than a prince of the blood, the Count d'Artois, 
 the first gentleman in France next to the King. 
 " At that period," says a writer, " what woman 
 would have resisted the advances of a prince of 
 the blood ? For an actress to have done so would 
 have been regarded as high treason."' 
 
 The actress found the Prince sufficiently muni- 
 ticent. But her extravagance was such that she 
 would soon have ruined him had he left her the 
 full control of his purse. At length, to put a 
 check upon her reckless expenditure, he pleaded 
 poverty. 
 
 The actress now determined to practise a trick 
 upon him in order to revive his generosity. 
 
 On a piece of stamped paper she forged a 
 legal warrant, by which it appeared that she was 
 required to pay a debt of ten thousand francs. 
 This document she left, as though by accident, 
 upon her mantelpiece, and the next tim*' His Royal
 
 90 Idols of the Fi-e^ick Sta(^e. 
 
 Highness called upon her he caught sight of it, 
 and wished to read it. The actress pretended to 
 snatch it away from him, but at length — with 
 apparent reluctance — yielded to his curiosity. 
 
 He inspected the judgment, said she was very 
 wrong not to have taken him into her confidence, 
 promised to take the debt upon himself, and 
 carried off the document. The next day he sent 
 her, not the ten thousand francs, but another legal 
 document, which provided that the warrant should 
 not be put into force for the space of a year. 
 
 This royal piece of trickery threw Mdlle. Contat 
 into a state of fierce indignation. The Prince, 
 however, had simply indulged in a little joke, 
 and the next day he made his peace with a 
 magnificent present. 
 
 The constancy of the royal lover was of no 
 long duration. He was volatile. A bird of fine 
 plumage, he presently showed that he could 
 use his wings and escaped from the cage of the 
 enchantress. 
 
 Meanwhile, the actor Floury was very much 
 attached to his fair associate. His regard for her 
 was more disinterested tlian that of her other
 
 Mademoiselle Con tat. 91 
 
 admirers ; and he remained to the last her sincere 
 and devoted friend. He speaks of her in his 
 Memoirs as a " ^ood and excellent sister." 
 
 To Mdlle. Contat he was indebted for his first 
 successful part, one which made his whole reputa- 
 tion as a comedian. With the piece in which this 
 part occurs the actress had become acquainted in 
 rather a romantic way. 
 
 She was out one day in her carriage, and, 
 after the fashion then prevalent amongst ladies, 
 was driving herself, when, holdins: the reins with 
 a good deal more grace than skill, she nearly ran 
 over a pedestrian on the Pont-Neuf. Although she 
 was in the wrong, she reproached her unwilling 
 victim with having deliberately attempted to 
 throw himself under her horse's feet. The pedes- 
 trian gallantly took the whole blame upon himself, 
 bowed to the ground, offered the lady an apology, 
 paid her an elegant compliment, and disappeared. 
 Directly he had gone, the actress felt convinced, 
 from his courtly manners and distinguished air, 
 that he must be a personage of high rank, and 
 she was, for a long time, curious to know who 
 he really was. One night, about a month
 
 92 Idols of the Fre7ich Sta^e. 
 
 after the incident, when she was at the theatre, 
 a letter from the mysterious stranger was delivered 
 to her. He proved to be no less than a prince 
 — -Prince Henry, brother of the King of Prussia — 
 and himself a friend of the drama. He had 
 written to beg the " modern Athalie " to do him 
 tlie honour to preside at the rehearsal of a new 
 piece in which he was interested. Partly to hear 
 the piece, but chiefly to oblige the man whom she 
 had been on the point of killing, she complied 
 with his request. 
 
 The piece was a comedy with airs, written by 
 Baron Ernest de Manteufel, with music from the 
 pen of Dezede. The subject was extremely inter- 
 esting, and Mdlle. Contat saw that this operetta 
 would prove an immense success at the Theatre 
 Fran9ais, where, too, it would supply Fleury with 
 a part in which he might make a great sensa- 
 tion. To the Thefitre Fran^ais the piece was 
 accordingly transported, and it amply fulfilled 
 the actress's anticipations. Les deux Paget^ was a 
 prodigious triumph, and Fleury made of the hero, 
 Frederick the (ireat, a masterpiece which placed 
 liiiii in the first rank of his profession.
 
 Mademoiselle Conlat. 93 
 
 Tliis was in the year 1788, when Mdlle. Contat 
 was at the height of her fame, and when tlie 
 authors and composers who bowed down at her 
 feet knew that to have secured her patronage for 
 a new piece was beforehand to have conquered 
 the public. A few years previously she was less 
 famous by her talent than by her reckless life 
 and her independence of spirit. Until her crea- 
 tion of the part of Suzanne, her stage triumphs 
 were comparatively meagre. As Julie in fj'Im- 
 patient, as the Countess in the Rendezvous, as 
 Sophie in the Vieux Gargon, she had pleased a 
 few connoisseurs rather than impressed the public 
 at large ; but the Marriage of Figaro revealed 
 to her and to everyone her true bent as an 
 actress. It was in high comedy that she was 
 supreme and without a rival ; and to this pro- 
 vince she now resolved to confine herself. In her 
 hands the fan became a sceptre. She had a seduc- 
 tive voice, an eloquent eye, an exquisite smile; every- 
 thing, in a word, which could enchant an audience 
 in this style of impersonation. None of the char- 
 acteristics of good breeding had escaped her; an<l 
 from head to foot her distinction was perfect.
 
 94 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 Her Paris triumphs were in due time repeated 
 in the provinces. The tours she made were one 
 long series of ovations. At Marseilles crowns and 
 wreaths were showered at her feet, and thousands 
 of complimentary stanzas were composed in her 
 honour. One of these may be here reproduced. 
 
 " Hier un enfant d'Helicon 
 D'un secret important m'a donne conuaissauce. 
 
 Ami, les neuf soeurs d'ApolIon 
 N'ont pas toujours ete si chastes que I'on pense ; 
 Thalie (ah ! qui Tedt cru ?), sans bruit et sans eclat, 
 
 A deux enfants donna naissance ; 
 
 L'un est Mole, I'autre est Contat." 
 
 At Lyons the enthusiasm was not less great, and 
 it was still further heiijhtened when the actress fjave 
 for the benefit of the poor a performance which 
 realised a sum of nearly four thousand francs. 
 
 At Toulouse she had arranged to give ten 
 representations. But an eleventh and a twelfth 
 scarcely sufficed to content the enthusiastic public : 
 and the proceeds of these extra performances she 
 distributed to the poor of Bareges, where she 
 went to take the waters. 
 
 Although detractors accused her of ostenta- 
 tion, she seems to have been genuinely charit-
 
 Mademoiselle Coriiat. 95 
 
 able. When on one occasion she visited an asylum 
 for the blind, and inscribed her name on tlie list 
 of benefactors, a blind inmate improvised an in- 
 genious quatrain, in which he told her that she 
 should not so much pity those who had lost their 
 eyes as those who had been made wretched by the 
 lustre of her own. Here are the lines : — 
 
 "Digne soutien du raiuiable Tlialie, 
 Sur iiotre sort puinciuui vous attendrir ? 
 S'il est quelques mortels qui uiaudissent la vie, 
 Ce soiit ceux que vos yeux out reduits ii souffrir ! " 
 
 It cannot be denied, however, that in one form 
 of charity this actress was somewhat deficient. 
 She could not endure a rival on the stage. 
 Jealous of her own parts, she would allow no 
 one else to play high comedy heroines, except in 
 case of her absence from the theatre. 
 
 Mdlle. Vanhove, who had acquired a certain 
 reputation, caused the great Suzanne a good deal 
 of anxiety. Against this rival she attempted to 
 play off her sister Emilie Contat, to whom she 
 was always deeply attached. Emilie was a de- 
 plorable actress, and, notwithstanding the sisterly 
 influence at work behind her, had no sooner en-
 
 96 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 tered the lists against Mdlle. Vanhove than she was 
 completely crushed. Mdlle. Contat had forgotten 
 that, although she could give her sister parts 
 to play, she could not furnish her with talent. 
 She, nevertheless, made subsequent attempts to re- 
 instate Emilie on the boards, in opposition both 
 to Mdlle. Yanhove and Mdlle. Mimi. By these 
 endeavours she drew upon herself many violent 
 reproaches in prose and verse. The following lines 
 among others were evoked at the time : — 
 
 " Le Theatre Fran^ai.s a besoin de recnies 
 Qui promettent, siirtout, et qui ne soient pas grues. 
 Vous voulez 6carter Vanhove du tliiidtre; 
 Poui- en venir ;\ bout vous pienez le haut ton, 
 Et pr^tendez nous faire avaler le goujon. 
 Je vous declare ici qu'on ne souffira pas 
 (Jue Arijui snr Vanliove usurpe enfin le pas." 
 
 To this feeble attack Mdlle. Contat replied: 
 and for some time the quarrel continued, both 
 in the public prints and behind the scenes at 
 the theatre. Marie-Antoinette, who had taken 
 .Mdlle. Vanhove under her patronage, secured for 
 her a part which Mdlle. Contat had endeavoured 
 to obtain for her sister. Wlien the actress her- 
 self, a queen at the theatre, learneil that her own
 
 MadetiioUelle Contat. 97 
 
 desire had been subordinated to the royal wish, 
 she exclaimed : " This Queen has a great deal of 
 influence ! " 
 
 This, however, was said in a mere moment of 
 pique. Mdlle. Contat was much attached to the 
 royal family. One day the Queen, who wished 
 to assist at a representation of the Gouvernante, 
 sent word to Mdlle. Contat that she should like 
 to see her play the principal part in the piece. 
 This part was suited neither to the age nor to 
 the talent of the lively actress ; but she neverthe- 
 less promised obedience, and at once began to 
 learn the five hundred verses of which the part 
 consists. In two days this was accomplished, and 
 she played the character witli wonderful success. 
 Soon afterwards, in a letter she wrote to a 
 friend, she alludes to her rapid study of the 
 part in these words : " I did not know before 
 which was the seat of memory — I find it is the 
 heart." This letter, published by order of the 
 Queen, proved almost fatal to Mdlle. Contat, 
 when, in '93, she was arrested, with the whole of 
 her company. By a miracle, however, she escaped 
 
 the guillotine. 
 
 VOL. II. G
 
 98 Idols of the Freiick Stage. 
 
 The Revolution put a temporary check on her 
 career. Subsequently she appeared on the stage, 
 with Fleury, at Bordeaux. Here the display 
 of her talents transported the public to a posi- 
 tive frenzy, both inside and outside the theatre. 
 Crowds gathered at the stage door to witness 
 her departure at the end of the performances. 
 They surrounded her, followed her with such 
 shouts, such a clamour, that at once delighted 
 and alarmed. She would cling closer to Fleury's 
 side, and say to him with an air of comic gravity : 
 "My dear friend, these people quite enchant me. 
 Had we not better call the guard ? " 
 
 On the re-establishment of the Comedie Fran- 
 ^aise, Contat resumed her position in the company, 
 and at once reconquered her former popularity. 
 Indeed, under the Directory, she was more than 
 ever adored by the public, and in particular by 
 the gilded youth of the capital, who literally 
 " swore by her." 
 
 Mdllc. Contat, having herself escaped the " na- 
 tional knife," by no means forgot in her hour 
 of need tliose of her friends who lay under 
 the shadow of the iruillotiue.
 
 Mademoiselle Conlat. 99 
 
 She had once coquetted with aristocrats, with 
 princes of the blood. She knew how to flirt 
 with savage patriots, and is said to have played 
 her fan with effect on more than one of the 
 tyrants who held the fate of her old admirers 
 in their hands. 
 
 Under the Empire her reputation ascended, if 
 possible, higher still. Napoleon greatly admired 
 her talent. She was the leading figure in that 
 theatrical troupe which he employed on his cam- 
 paigns, to follow up his victories with the sword 
 by a victory before the footlights, or, at least, to 
 cause some newly conquered town to forget the 
 sword in the solace of the drama. 
 
 At length, after a career of thirty-four years, 
 Mdlle. Contat retired from the stage. She had 
 married a few months before an estimable man, 
 to whom she was sincerely devoted : Parny, that 
 is to say, nephew of the poet. 
 
 In her retreat from the world, their mutual 
 attachment showed no tendency to diminish ; antl 
 her life promised to flow on to the end in a tran- 
 quil stream. But already a malady, which never 
 spares its victim, had secretly attacked her. She
 
 I oo Idols of the French Stas'e. 
 
 had cancer in the breast, and she soon learned — 
 by an accident — what the physicians attempted 
 to disguise from her: tliat her doom was sealed. 
 
 Her own physician, who hesitated to deal with 
 so grave a case himself, advised her to consult 
 the famous Dubois. She at once paid him a 
 visit, and Dubois, when he had examined her, 
 promised to confer with her private doctor, and 
 to prescribe to him a definite mode of treatment. 
 She was, accordingly, to pay a visit to her own 
 doctor three days afterwards, and she duly pre- 
 sented herself at his surgery. He asked her to 
 take a seat, and, promising to return to her in 
 an instant, quitted the room. Left by herself, she 
 glanced round the surgery, and happened to catch 
 sight of a paper which bore her name. As it 
 was a mere prescription, it did not much excite 
 her curiosity; but lialf - concealed behind it lay 
 another paper, which also bore her name, and 
 which she ventured to examine. It was the re- 
 port which Dubois had drawn up on lier case. 
 It informed her doctor that the patient was 
 doomed ; tliat a painful operation might be at- 
 tempted, but that nothing on earth could save hei-.
 
 Macietnoisclle Coiilat. loi 
 
 The unhappy woman fell back in a swoon. 
 Dubois was sent for, and secretly cursed himself 
 for having omitted to take the report away in 
 his pocket. He restored the unhappy woman to 
 consciousness, showed her affectionate kindness, 
 and even tried to solace her with a ray of hope, 
 but the effect of the cruel shock remained. 
 
 Mdlle. Contat, however, lingered on for two 
 years. She bore her sufferings with heroism, and 
 disguised them from the friends about her by an 
 air of gaiety ; forcing a laugh in order to sup- 
 press a groan. At length, after five months of 
 terrible agony, she expired on the 9th of March 
 1813.
 
 MADEMOISELLE RAUCOURT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Madame Francoise - Marie - Antoinette Clairien 
 was born at Dombasles, November 29th, 1755. The 
 father of the future theatrical queen was a poor 
 village barber, with more children than he knew 
 how to feed. He accordingly handed over one of 
 his girls to the local postmaster, who consented to 
 adopt her. But the postmaster was not nmch 
 better off than the barber ; and having, after a 
 time, become bankrupt, lie lied from his native 
 place, abandoning his wife and his own children, 
 but taking with him his adopted daughter, who 
 was henceforth to pass as his own child.
 
 Mademoiselle Raitcourt. 103 
 
 Saucerottc was the rascal's true name, who, 
 tinaing himself one day absolutely without re- 
 sources, joined a company of travelling actors, and 
 came out in tragedy under the name of Raucourt. 
 Gradually he made his way to Paris, where he 
 obtained an engagement, and was allowed to ap- 
 pear in the important part of Mithridates. He 
 did so, however, without success, and had promptly 
 to retrace his steps to the obscure regions which 
 he ought never to have left. 
 
 There is no doubt about M. Raucourt's havings 
 been a deplorable actor. He could boast of a for- 
 midable voice, which, according to one of his bio- 
 graphers, would have been very useful for raising 
 a cry of fire, but was not effective on the stage. 
 He was really proud of it, however; and the lower 
 notes of his sonorous organ drowned, when he was 
 on the stage, the utterances of all the other actors. 
 
 Once, when he was acting at Lyons, he had to 
 deliver some long passages of dialogue in associ- 
 ation with an actor named Lasozeliere, who had 
 a very feeble voice, and whom, for that reason, 
 Raucourt spurned and ridiculed. He assured hiui, 
 moreover, that he had no chance of success.
 
 104 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 On the night of the performance Raucourt, de- 
 termined to crush his rival, shouted and roared. 
 Lasozeliere, on the other hand, lowered his voice, 
 while still contriving to make himself distinctly 
 heard. The contrast was not advantageous to 
 Raucourt, whose loud, ponderous tones caused him 
 to be well hissed. Coming to the conclusion that 
 his own countrymen woald never appreciate him at 
 his true value, Raucourt now went to Spain, where 
 not only he but also his adopted daughter appeared 
 ns members of a travelling French company. 
 
 The little girl made a good impression, and 
 returning to France, in 1770, obtained an en- 
 ffao^ement at Rouen. Here she acted with so 
 much success that the fame of her talent reached 
 Paris ; and soon she received an official order to 
 visit the capital, and make her debut at the 
 Comedie Fran9aise. 
 
 Raucourt followed his adopted child to the 
 capital ; hoping, it may be, that those who appre- 
 ciated her would also form a good opinion of 
 him. 
 
 Arriving in Paris, the young girl was not called 
 upon to appear at once. She was placed for a
 
 Madeinoiselle Raucourt. 105 
 
 time under an experienced actor ; and it was not 
 until September 22d, 1772, tliat she made her 
 debut, the part assigned to her being tliat of 
 Dido. There is scarcely another instance of such 
 a success as this young girl of scarcely seventeen 
 at once obtained. She conquered her audience from 
 the moment of her entry upon the stage, and 
 the applause went on increasing from act to act 
 until at last the triumph of the debutante passed 
 all limits. 
 
 "She will be the immortal glory of the French 
 theatre," wrote Grimm, immediately afterwards. 
 " She effaces all that had previously been seen 
 on the stage," said another critic. According 
 to Bachaumont, it was "impossible to describe 
 the sensation she caused, nothing within the 
 memory of living man having been seen like it. 
 She is only sixteen and a-half," he continues. 
 " She is a study for a painter. She has the most 
 beautiful, the most noble, the most dramatic face ; 
 her voice is charming, her intelligence prodigious. 
 She did not make one mistake in the whole of 
 her very difficult part ; not the slightest false in- 
 tonation, not one inappropriate gesture, not one
 
 io6 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 slip of any kind. She delighted everyone. She 
 is a prodigy well calculated to make even her 
 most accomplished rivals die of spite." 
 
 According to another account, the first im- 
 pression made by the young actress was so great 
 that bravos burst forth before she had pronounced 
 one word. She had no sooner begun her part 
 than the audience were carried away with "deliri- 
 ous admiration " and " wild transports." From act 
 to act this rage, this fury, this frenzy went on 
 increasing. " The pit was struck as if by mad- 
 ness. People laughed, wept, applauded, embraced 
 one another, so that one might well have believed 
 that, after the performance, all the spectators 
 would, as a matter of course, be taken to the 
 nearest asylum." Mdlle. Kaucourt had risen that 
 morning poor and unknown. She went to bed 
 that night rich and celebrated. 
 
 The second representation was, if possible, more 
 brilliant than the first, and such was the eager- 
 ness to see the new actress that the public 
 flocked into the orchestra and even invaded the 
 stage. " Paris," said one writer, " would have 
 been less profoundly moved hail it suddenly been
 
 Mademoiselle Raucourt. 107 
 
 informed that the fleets oi* Eni^land had all been 
 destroyed." 
 
 The only questions asked by people meeting- 
 one another in the street were, " Have you seen 
 Mdlle. Raucourt ? " All the approaches to the 
 Comedie Fran^aise were blocked from the first 
 thing in the jnorning, so that the actors could 
 not get in to take part in the rehearsals. Fights 
 took place beneath the portico, and, in the words 
 of Grimm, " servants who were sent to take tickets 
 did so at the risk of their lives." 
 
 In the eveniuon as soon as the doors were 
 opened, there was a rush as of soldiers taking 
 a position by assault. In vain had the military 
 guard been trebled. The vestibules were occupied 
 by force, the newly constructed barriers broken 
 down. 
 
 In the neighbouring streets auctions for the sale 
 of tickets were established. The wondrous days 
 of Law's Mississippi scheme seemed to have re- 
 turned. Places in the pit, costing twenty-four 
 sous at the box-ofiice, were sold for ten and 
 twelve francs, the prices of the other places rising 
 in the same proportion.
 
 1 08 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 The debutante was ordered to appear at the 
 Court Theatre ; and her success at Versailles, it' 
 less noisy, was substantially as great as it had 
 been at Paris. " The King," says Bachaumont, 
 "paid Mdlle. Raucourt (or de Raucourt, as he calls 
 her) the compliment of remaining in his box 
 throughout the performance of Dido, which was 
 the more remarkable inasmuch as His Majesty does 
 not care for the theatre, and in particular dislikes 
 tragedy." 
 
 Louis XV. had been as much dazzled as any of 
 his subjects. At the end of the performance he 
 introduced the admirable actress to the Dauphiness, 
 saying : " I present to you Queen Dido," and he 
 afterwards gave her fifty louis in token of his 
 satisfaction. Mme. du Barry was equally delighted 
 with her, and, wishing to make her a present, 
 asked whether she should offer her three 
 dresses for private or one for stage use. The 
 actress replied that she should prefer the stage 
 dress, as the public would profit by it as well as 
 herself. 
 
 The King had given orders that Mdlle. Raucourt 
 should be received as a member of the Coniedie
 
 Madeniuisclle RnncmwL 109 
 
 Franoaise without being required to give any 
 further proofs of her talent. Meanwhile her won- 
 derful success, her mighty triumphs, filled her 
 rivals with despair. They did not, indeed, " die 
 of spite," but they combined against the common 
 enemy, against the newcomer who had caused the 
 charming Adrienne Lecouvreur and the sublime 
 Clairon to be forgotten. The two leaders of the 
 opposition now organised against Mdlle. Raucourt 
 were Mdlle. de Saint- Val and Mme. Vestris, who, 
 from enemies, became friends for the occasion. 
 They organised a cabal. They filled the pit with 
 hired agents, well paid to disturb the performance 
 and at the proper moment hiss. What, however, 
 could a cabal do against a public animated by 
 genuine enthusiasm — an enthusiasm which became 
 greater and greater in proportion as, from 
 interested motives, it was opposed. Everything 
 would have been permitted to Raucourt now that 
 she was known to be the object of such shameful 
 attacks. One night when, in Mithridates, she had 
 forgotten some of her words, "It is all through 
 that Mdlle. de Saint- Val," was the general com- 
 ment. At another time, when a cat had happened
 
 1 1 o Idols of the French Staze. 
 
 to cross the stage, " Sent on by Mme. Vestris," said 
 someone in the pit; an explanation which was 
 received with loud applause. 
 
 Mdlle. Eaucourt paid very little attention to an 
 organised hostility which, in presence of universal 
 admiration, had less than no effect. 
 
 Amongst her innumerable admirers, more than 
 one lover now declared himself. Of these, amonor 
 the earlier ones, the most notorious was Beaujon, 
 the Court banker, who, as Bachaumont put it, 
 " though he had never been a man of letters, 
 wished to preside at the young girl's studies," — 
 and to make her rehearse at his house. " People 
 say," continued the chronicler, " that he is occu- 
 pied more with her person than with her talent. 
 Many wish that she would bring down the fat 
 of this puffed - up financier, who, after having 
 narrowly escaped hanging in 1748, is now the 
 Plutus of the day." 
 
 Bachaumont's pious wish was not to be grati- 
 fied Mdlle. Raucourt was at this period of her 
 career a model of propriety.
 
 Mademoiselle Rcutcoitrt. 1 1 1 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 The virtue, indeed, of Mdlle. Raucourt was so cele- 
 brated that for a time it was as much spoken of 
 as her talent. The memoirs and chronicles all 
 mention it. The letters of the eminent corre- 
 spondents in the service of the Russian and of 
 various German Courts are full of it. 
 
 In lieu of a vigilant mother, the favourite 
 actress was guarded by a terrible father, ready 
 to defend her and to attack her admirers at 
 any moment. Raucourt followed his adopted child 
 like her shadow. He was present at the re- 
 hearsals and at the performances. He attended 
 her when she walked out ; and if anyone invited 
 her to an entertainment, it was necessary to 
 ask him also. People compared him to a jealous 
 lover keeping guard over a flighty mistress. 
 
 When she went out in a sedan chair, he w^alked 
 at the side with a pistol in his hand, and he 
 had sworn a hundred times with the most solenni 
 oaths tliat he would kill without mercy the first 
 who dared
 
 r 1 2 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 "Yes," objected someone; "the first, my dear 
 M. Raucourt. But the second — and the third?" 
 
 The sword he habitually wore, the pistol he 
 occasionally carried, were, however, not wanted. 
 Mdlle. Raucourt was virtuous, or rather she was 
 virtue incarnate. In vain was her heart besieged 
 like , the box-office of the theatre the niafhts of 
 her performance. The most brilliant propositions, 
 the most attractive offers had no effect upon 
 her. One man placed fifty thousand francs at her 
 feet, another one hundred thousand ; a third went 
 higher still in this species of auction, but to no 
 purpose. ,^jy' 
 
 All this became known to the public, and no 
 one could sufficiently praise Mdlle. Raucourt's sur- 
 prising, unprecedented reserve. She reaped the 
 benefit of her reputation when at night the ad- 
 miring public applauded her to the echo. " Joan 
 of Arc at the Comedie Fran(;aise " she was called ; 
 " the Wise Virgin in the midst of the foolish ones ; ' 
 and "Diana with the features of Venus." 
 
 " It is said," wrote Grimm, " that this charm- 
 ing creature, so imposing on the stage, is per- 
 fectly simple when she h;is left the theatre; that
 
 Mademoiselle Rmicourt. 1 1 
 
 o 
 
 she has all the candour, all the innocence of her 
 age ; that all the time she can spare from the 
 study of her art is spent in cliildren's games. 
 Endless dissertations were written witli the view 
 of discovering metaphysically by what power a 
 girl so young, and so innocent, could represent 
 with so much passion on the stage the transports 
 and the fury of love. 
 
 Soon the virtue of Mdlle. Raucourt became the 
 great affair of the day. It was inquired after 
 every morning; and Bachaumont, for one, is found 
 replying : " The virtue of the new actress keeps 
 up ; " and again, " The virtue of the new actress 
 resists the most numerous assaults." " Has she 
 yielded ? " " Will she ever yield ? " was asked : 
 and heavy bets were laid on the subject. 
 
 Meanwhile, she was encouraged to persevere in 
 her novel and surprising coui'se. People took 
 the same interest in her as in some marvellous 
 phenomenon. The ladies of the Court combined 
 too-ether in order to preach to her, one after the 
 other, the duties of morality, and the delights 
 of a chaste and virtuous life. They assured her, 
 as if from experience, that happiness did not 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 E
 
 I 14 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 consist in having lovers. At the same time, 
 handsome presents were made to her, as it' to 
 reward her for her determined course. Princesses 
 and duchesses vied with one another in enrich- 
 ing her wardrobe ; and Mme. du Barry promised 
 her a dowry for the day of her marriage. 
 
 The young woman's virtue was becoming 
 actually a source of profit to her. One day an 
 old gentlemen entered her dressing-room, and 
 said to her : " My age, mademoiselle, will re- 
 assure you as to the purity of my intentions. 
 I admire your talent, I admix'e your virtue, and 
 your modesty still more. Allow me to offer you 
 a slight token of my admiration." He approached 
 her dressing-table, and laid upon it two rouleaus 
 of one hundred gold louis each. Mdlle. Raucourt 
 could not refuse a gift made in such terms, 
 and the old gentleman went away without making 
 himself known. 
 
 Another time a gentleman less old offered her 
 twelve thousand francs a year if she would re- 
 main as she was, and twice as raucli if, deciding 
 not to do so, she gave him the preference. 
 
 She received offers, moreover, from the Duke
 
 Mademoiselle Raucouri. i i 5 
 
 «le Bourbon, a prince of the blood. She would 
 not listen to him ; upon which her rival Mdlle. 
 Saint-Val exclaimed : " She is not a woman : 
 she is a monster ! " 
 
 Voltaire, who respected nothing, was the first 
 to cast ink on her immaculate reputation. Tt 
 has been sucrorested that so much fuss about the 
 virtue of an actress irritated him. He may 
 also have believed that what he said was true. 
 He, in any case, wrote to Marshal de Richelieu 
 that in Spain Mdlle. Raucourt had been much too 
 intimate with a certain gentleman from Geneva. 
 Richelieu was dining at a house where one of 
 the oruests was Mdlle. Raucourt when Voltaire's 
 letter reached him. As everyone was burning 
 with anxiety to know what the patriarch of 
 Ferney had to say to him, he opened the letter, 
 and, without reading it, passed it to one of 
 his guests, the Marquis de Ximenes, asking 
 him to let the whole assembly know what was 
 
 in it. 
 
 The Marquis de Ximenes began, and, reading 
 hurriedly, continued to read. When he arrived 
 at the fatal passage in which Voltaire spoke of
 
 1 1 6 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 Mdlle. Kaucourt, the poor young actress fainted, 
 while her father, rising from the table, and draw- 
 inof his sword, declared that he would have the 
 calumniator's life. 
 
 The day afterwards the story was known all 
 over Paris ; and the city was divided into those 
 who believed it and those who did not. One of 
 Voltaire's numerous correspondents told him what 
 had happened, describing to him the imprudence 
 of Richelieu, the awkwardness of Ximenes, the 
 swooning of the lady, and the indignation of the 
 public. He did not hesitate to make amends. He 
 did his best to console the actress with the brilliancy 
 of his wit, the fascination of his style, sending- 
 her letter after letter, and stanza after stanza. 
 " I am the aged iEson, and you the enchantress 
 Medea," he wrote to her one day ; and the day 
 afterwards, "I have scarcely left to me eyes to 
 see you, a soul to admire you, a hand to write 
 to you." 
 
 The verses with wliicli he sought to pacify tlie 
 wounded lady were clever, of course ; though, 
 for Voltaire, commonplace. Here are two of the 
 stan/as : —
 
 Mademoiselle Rancoiirt. 1 1 7 
 
 "liaucourt, tes talents ouchauteurs 
 Chaque jour te font des conquCtes. 
 Tu fais soupirer tous les ccBurs, 
 Tu fais tourner toutes les tetes. 
 
 " L'art d'attendrir et de charmer 
 A pare ta brilliante aurore ; 
 Mais ton coeur est fait pour aimer, 
 Et ce coeur ne dit rien encore." 
 
 Voltaire's reproach to the effect that the actress's 
 heart was " made to love," in spite of which it 
 had not yet made any sign, was of evil augury. 
 Or, perhaps, as before suggested, the story of 
 the Genevese may have been true. Voltaire lived 
 close to Geneva, and was more or less in a position 
 to know. 
 
 However that may have been, the report was 
 spread one day through stupefied Paris that tlie 
 phenomenal virtue of Mdlle. Raucourt had at 
 last given way, and in presence of an attack 
 from no less formidable an assailant than the 
 King himself. A Parisian belonging to the Court 
 wrote at this time from Compi^gne: "Mdlle. 
 Raucourt has just given a performance for the 
 benefit of His Majesty. No one expected it; nor 
 is it likely to meet with the success of Dido.
 
 I 1 8 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 However, she has this excuse for herself : What 
 woman resists her sovereign ? " According, how - 
 ever, to another authority, it was not Louis XV. 
 but the Duke d'Aiguillon who was in question. 
 
 It appears, moreover, from a letter on the 
 subject, that Mdlle. Raucourt owed at this time 
 forty thousand francs, which the Marquis de 
 Bievre paid. Unedifying particulars are also given 
 as to an annuity which he is said to have bought 
 for her, the amount of the monthly allowance he 
 made to her, and so on. What had become of 
 Raucourt, with his fierce demeanour, his pistol 
 and his sword, is not stated. It is diflBcult, how- 
 ever, to believe that he was not a consenting 
 party; and thus the whole legend of his watch- 
 fulness, and of his adopted daughter's virtue, 
 becomes worthless. 
 
 The actress now lived a life of the utmost 
 luxury and extravagance ; and soon another 
 marquis appeared on the scene. She got this 
 one, de Villette, into many scrapes, for she had 
 completely lost her head. She did her best 
 to make him fight a duel with the architect 
 Bt'l anger about some offence she had received at
 
 Mademoiselle Raucourt. i i 9 
 
 tlie hands of Sophie Arnould, for whose conduct 
 at the time Belano'er was more or less respon- 
 sible. M. do Villette, however, was not of a fi,i:rht- 
 in<T disposition : which did not prevent his bein^- 
 ultimately brought to grief through a money 
 difficulty in which the now reckless Mdlle. Rau- 
 court had involved him 
 
 M. de Villette, in his distress, appealed to the 
 public, and wrote several letters on the subject 
 of the ill-treatment he had received at Mdlle. 
 Raucourt's hands. All the laughter, however, was 
 on the side of the actress. Then the Marquis 
 addressed to her a copy of verses beginning, — 
 
 " Oui, je f us un sot de t'ainier, 
 Oui je fus un sot de t'^ciire." 
 
 "Tres sot!" exclaimed a lively commentator. 
 
 Mdlle. Raucourt's only reply was to send the 
 Marquis a broomstick, with the famous couplet 
 attached to it, slightly altered, that Voltaire wrote 
 for a statue of Love, — 
 
 " Tres cher Marquis, voici ton niaitre ; 
 II Test, le fut ou le doit etre."
 
 1 20 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 The prestige of Mdlle. Raucourt had disap- 
 peared. Her reign had been but a short one. 
 With her reputation for virtue her renown as a 
 tragic actress had vanished: a proof that the public, 
 even the French public, is more mindful than is 
 generally supposed of an actress's private character. 
 It was now said that she had too longf a waist, 
 and that her skinny arms left much to be desired. 
 Even the beauty of her countenance was denied, 
 upon the ground that it was too masculine. 
 People asked one another by what blindness they 
 could have admired a hoarse voice, exaofo-erated 
 gestures, and a generally vicious style. It was as 
 though a bandage had fallen from the eyes of 
 the public. One day the actress was adored, the 
 next almost execrated. 
 
 Her extraordinary reputation for virtue had 
 wounded many of her colleagues, and now that 
 this reputation had passed away, the public was 
 indignant to think how for a time it had been 
 taken in. Mme. Vestris and Mdlle. de Saint-Val 
 had been obliged to keep quiet as long as their 
 rival enjoyed such immense popularity. Now, 
 however, they found themselves free to give full
 
 Mademoiselle Raucourt. 
 
 I 21 
 
 vent to their animosity ; and by this newly ac- 
 quired liberty they fully profited. The idol had 
 been overturned, and anyone who chose niight 
 insult it. Contrary to the custom of thr^ 
 French public, contrary also to the spirit of 
 fairplay, the audiences attacked in Dido and in 
 Cleopatra the private life of Mdlle. Raucourt, the 
 representative of those heroines. In her early 
 days she had been known by the distinctive 
 and somewhat ridiculous title of the " chaste tra- 
 gedian." She now seemed to have resolved to 
 take revenge for the strict rules she had formerly 
 imposed upon herself ; always supposing that the 
 ferocious attitude of the protecting Raucourt had 
 nothing to do with her supposed innocence which 
 may have been only the result of fear. From 
 fault to fault she fell at last into the most 
 lamentable excesses, which were duly chronicled 
 by the purveyors of gossip to the Parisians and 
 to the different crowned heads who could afford 
 the luxury of a private Paris correspondent. 
 
 " She had astonished Paris," wrote Grimm, " by 
 the prodigy of her virtue ; she now surprised it 
 by the monstrosity of her vice. She at last
 
 I 2 2 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 scandalised those who were least susceptible to 
 scandal." 
 
 "The most injurious letters were circulated 
 about her," says another writer : " the most abomin- 
 able things were attributed to her." " Mdlle. 
 Raucourt now shows herself in her true colours," 
 we read elsewhere, " no mystery, no secrecy is 
 possible ; everything is unveiled." 
 
 Nothing that she does escapes notice. A new 
 planet is less attentively, less minutely ex- 
 amined from the summit of the observatory than 
 is this theatrical star by the whole theatrical 
 world. She at last, and no wonder, became 
 disgusted with her own profession, played care- 
 lessly, and ceased to study. 
 
 There was a little reaction in her favour, 
 however, when she appeared as the Statue (who 
 has since received the name of Galatea — whence 
 derived it would be difficult to say) in the 
 P ijgnixalion of Jean Jaccjues Rousseau. In this 
 piece she made quite a sensation. 
 
 " Mdlle. Raucourt," writes Bachaumont, " repre- 
 sented the Statue, and was really admirable. 
 Many thought it was the finest part she had
 
 Mademoiselle Raiicourt. 123 
 
 ever played." According- to La Harpe, it was 
 " impossible to imagine a more seductive apparition 
 than that of this actress when first discovered on 
 her pedestal, at the moment when the veil is 
 drawn aside which had hitherto covered hei-. 
 Her head was that of Venus, her leg, partially 
 exposed, that of Diana." 
 
 This, however, was but a truce, a last respite, 
 by which she did not manage to profit. Her 
 humiliations were soon to begin again. A party 
 had been formed against her in the theatre, and 
 she was now systematically entrusted with parts 
 unsuited to her means, besides being forced ;it 
 times to appear suddenly in characters which slie 
 had not had time to study. 
 
 One night, when Britannicui^ was to be played, 
 Mdlle. Dumenil, who was to have represented 
 Agrippine, happening to fall ill, Mdllc. Raucourt 
 was compelled to replace her. A formal request 
 was made for the indulgence of the public, but 
 she was received in such a manner that she 
 fainted on the stage. The curtain was lowered, 
 and she was carried away in an unconscious state. 
 
 She had now difficulties of every kind to con-
 
 124 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 tend with, apart from the intrigues of her rivals 
 and the insults of the pit — at that time in France, 
 as in England, the recognised territory of critics 
 professional and unprofessional. She had to 
 reckon with her creditors, who were both numer- 
 ous and relentless. In less than three years, while 
 spending immense sums, she had also managed to 
 contract debts to the amount of some three 
 hundred thousand francs. At this time she is 
 reported to have kept twelve horses, several 
 carriages, three or four separate residences, all 
 furnished in the most luxurious manner, fifteen 
 servants, and a wardrobe of the most sumptuous 
 kind, comprising male as well as female attire. 
 The conversation having one day turned in her 
 presence upon the follies of young men in connec- 
 tion with women, she calmlv observed : " I am 
 not surprised that so many men should ruin them- 
 selves for women ; it is the most expensive of all 
 tastes." 
 
 At last, pursued by her creditors, and hooted by 
 the public, she was obliged to seek safety in flight. 
 
 " Tlie collapse of Mdlle. Raucourt," writes Grimm, 
 " has suddenly interrupted the performance of
 
 Mademoiselle Raucourt. 125 
 
 Monsieur de la Fevre's Zuma. Sudden as was her 
 disappearance, it took no one by surprise." " It 
 was reserved for our time," added Baehaumont, 
 " to see the most brilliant actress of the Comedie 
 Fran9aise so entirely without means as to be 
 reduced to bankruptcy." 
 
 What had become of her ? was asked on all 
 sides. This question was put very earnestly 
 indeed by the creditors, who rushed after the 
 fugitive in every direction. Meanwhile, disguised 
 as a dragoon, Mdlle. Raucourt was conceal- 
 ing herself in the neighbourhood of Paris. A 
 farmer, who mistook her for a young officer in 
 trouble about an unfortunate duel, had given her 
 hospitality. 
 
 After passing more than six weeks in this re- 
 treat, she determined to risk a return to Paris, 
 where she succeeded in reaching the Temple, at 
 that time the recognised asylum of debtors unable 
 to pay. Here she remained several months, while 
 some of her friends entered into negotiations with 
 the creditors. Time was granted to her, and she 
 was able to reappear at the Comedie Fran^aise, 
 where one of her fiercest rivals, Mdlle. de Saint-
 
 1 2 6 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 Val, in spite of all her efforts, had not been able 
 to replace her. During the whole winter she was 
 in a state of perpetual anxiety. 
 
 She looked everywhere for some protector, 
 V)ut no one would have anything to say to her. 
 At last she succeeded in exciting the interest of 
 the Queen; when, in the month of March 1777, 
 as she was getting into her carriage in order to 
 drive to Longchamps, she was arrested and taken 
 to For I'Eveque. Fortunately for her she did 
 not remain long in prison, or she would have had 
 detainers without number lodged against her. A 
 benevolent hand came to her assistance, and she 
 left the prison, without giving anything what- 
 ever except promises. Her liberator was the 
 Prince de Ligne, who had come forward at the 
 instance of Mdlle. Souck, one of Mdlle. Rau- 
 court's most intimate friends. The Prince spoke 
 of paying everything that was due, and as hopes 
 were also entertained in connection with the Queen, 
 the creditors once more became pacified, and once 
 more granted time. A brilliant success might still 
 save the distressed actress. She endeavoured 
 to obtain a new engagement at the Comedie
 
 Mademoiselle Rancour t. 127 
 
 Fran9aise. But the company, accustomed to 
 tolerate faults of another kind, declined to re- 
 ceive an actress who had become bankrupt. Then, 
 in her despair, she joined an independent com- 
 pany, from which she obtained ten thousand francs. 
 The creditors had not lost hope, and they began 
 their attacks anew. Once more Mdlle. Raucourt 
 took to flight, and this time left the country ; hei- 
 devoted friend, Mdlle. Souck, accompanying her. 
 The two wanderers visited Germany, Poland and 
 Russia. But the doings of the actress in these 
 northern parts have not been chronicled. It is 
 said, however, that in Holland she attached her- 
 self to a rich Russian nobleman, and in a very 
 short time spent a very large fortune. It was 
 probably in company with this gentleman that 
 she visited Russia. It was reported, moreover, 
 that she had some not very creditable adventures 
 at Hamburg, where Mdlle. Souck and herself, 
 charged with swindling, came into collision with 
 the police. This, however, may have been only 
 malicious gossip. The story rests on no authentic 
 basis.
 
 128 Idols of the Fi^eiich Stage. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 In less than a year Mdlle. Raucourt was entirely 
 forgotten, and her two rivals, Mdlle. de Saint- Val 
 and Mme. Vestris had fallen out between them- 
 selves. Mme. Vestris got the worst of the 
 struggle, when the sublime idea occurred to her 
 of bringing back to Paris the exiled actress, who, 
 she knew, would totally eclipse the actress by 
 whom she herself had been overshadowed. The 
 overtures made to Mdlle. Raucourt by her former 
 enemy, who now tendered the hand of friendship 
 with a view to hostile action against another, 
 were such that it was impossible not to accept 
 them. Mme. Vestris undertook that there should 
 1 10 no more intrigues against the " illustrious 
 tragedian," and assured her, moreover, of the 
 most powerful support, including that of all 
 Mme. Vestris' own personal friends. These were 
 sufficiently numerous. 
 
 Returning to Paris, Mdlle. Raucourt, witliout 
 looking forward to the popularity which she had 
 enjoyeil in foi-mcr days, expected at least to be
 
 AMademoiselle Raticoiirt. i 29 
 
 received with ordinary consideration. No one, 
 however, would have anything to say to her ; 
 neither the public nor those private acquaintances 
 who, she had felt sure, must have forgotten the 
 scandals of a twelvemonth before. No one 
 desired even so nnich as a visit from this " most 
 compromising of women." 
 
 Without resources, without friends, she knew 
 not where to go, when she received hospitality 
 from Sophie Arnould. " Melpomene received by 
 Armida " was one of the comments provoked by 
 Sophie's courageous act. It cost her, however, her 
 popularity. Her motives were misinterpreted. She 
 was hissed at the Opera, and reviled wherever her 
 name was mentioned. 
 
 In no way disconcerted, Sophie did not content 
 herself with giving to the persecuted actress mere 
 hospitality. She appealed to all her friends on 
 behalf of a woman who was now not so much 
 not appreciated as neglected and despised. Prince 
 d'Heuin, who at this time was specially interested 
 in Sophie, took up the cause of her unfortunate 
 friend and became one of Mdlle. Raucourt's 
 warmest partisans. For her sake he intrigued, 
 VOL. II. I
 
 1 30 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 put forth all his influence, and appealed to every- 
 one on whom he had the slightest claim. 
 
 The company of the Comedie Fran^aise did not 
 prove, by any means, so easy to deal with as 
 Mme. Vestris had supposed. They had struck 
 Mdlle. Raucourt oft' their list, and intended to 
 maintain her exclusion. They declared that the 
 statutes of the society were opposed to her return, 
 and maintained, moreover, that Mdlle. Raucourt's 
 licentious conduct would disgrace their theatre. 
 On the other hand, the Duke de Duras, one of 
 the high officials, was determined that Mdlle. 
 Raucourt should return ; and as she was not 
 only his 'protegee, but also the protegee of the 
 Queen, he had no trouble in procuring from the 
 King an order for her restoration to all the 
 privileges which she had formerly enjoyed. 
 
 For her new debut Mdlle. Raucourt chose her 
 famrms part of Dido: the part in which, several 
 years before, she had gained such unheard-of 
 triumphs. As in the days of her first appearance, 
 the approaches to the theatre were besieged long 
 bcfoHi the doors were opened. But no sooner 
 was th<' lions(3 full than, although the curtain had
 
 Mademoiselle Rmtcourt. 1 3 1 
 
 not yet gone up, hissing and hooting were heard 
 from all parts of the theatre. The pit, above all, 
 was in a stormy condition. 
 
 The curtain rose. Dido appeared, and the sturui 
 burst forth. The pit, indignant at the idea of 
 an actress being imposed upon them, rose as one 
 man, and the tumult now went beyond all bounds. 
 Insults, nicknames, the most injurious epithets 
 were hurled at the unhappy Raucourt. " It was 
 impossible," says one of the criticisms, "to hear 
 a single word of her part. The other actors were 
 allowed to speak, but as soon as her turn came 
 the clamour began again. It is suspected that 
 the partisans of Mdlle. de Saint- Val are no 
 strang-ers to this fermentation." 
 
 In presence of such manifestations of hatred, 
 Mdlle. Raucourt thought of retiring. Mme. Vestris, 
 whose part she was now playing, and some 
 devoted, friends, with Sophie Arnould at their 
 head, encouraged her to remain. The Duke de 
 Duras declared, moreover, that he would triumph 
 over public opinion, as he had already done over 
 the company of actors ; but he had overrated his 
 power. Duke as he was. Court official, gentleman
 
 1 3 2 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 of the chamber, and, above all, general super- 
 intendent of the Comedie Fran^aise, he could not 
 prevail over the determination of the public. In 
 vain did the autocrat of the theatre double and 
 treble the guard. A whole regiment would have 
 been unable to secure applause for Mdlle. Rau- 
 court. 
 
 Mdlle. Raucourt determined to try a new part, 
 and to her misfortune hit upon that of Phedre, 
 which was full of lines that could with ease be 
 turned against her. When, for instance, the 
 actress had to exclaim, — 
 
 ^ps ! " 
 
 " De I'austere pudeur les bornes sont passees 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! " cried the pit. In another place 
 the public seized upon the line, — 
 
 " Et moi, triste r^but de la Nature entieie," 
 
 — a burst of ironical applause showing that 
 Mdlle. Raucourt was herself looked upon as a 
 "triste rebut." "Neither her beauty nor her sex," 
 wrote Grimm, "protected her any longer. Never 
 before did the public forget to such a point 
 its own dignity." The Duke de Duras was in
 
 Mademoiselle Raucoiirt. 
 
 i\ 
 
 OJ 
 
 some measure responsible for these scenes, since, 
 by his determination to overcome the public, he 
 exasperated it all the more. • His object was to 
 please, in the first place, Mme. Vestris, who hei-- 
 self desired that everything should be done to 
 promote Mdlle. Raucourt's success. Accordingly, 
 the Duke not only trebled the guard, but filled 
 the pit with policemen. If anyone hissed, he was 
 seized and taken to prison. But when one mal- 
 content was removed from the theatre, ten others 
 took his place ; and to put an end to the hissing- 
 it would have been necessary to arrest not only 
 the whole audience but also the whole of the 
 public waiting outside, with the view, as soon as 
 an opportunity presented itself, of forcing their 
 way in. 
 
 " The Comedie Fran^aise," said someone, " has 
 become a regular mousetrap." 
 
 Mdlle. Raucourt, beaten on all points, resolved no 
 longer to brave the storm. On the 15th of Septem- 
 ber 1779 she inserted in the Journal de Paris a 
 letter, ironical in its humility, setting forth that, 
 far from aspiring to the parts of Mdlle. de 
 Saint- Val, she had only come back to Paris in
 
 134 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 order to be a general under-study to the leading 
 artists. 
 
 The creditors now sho\Yed themselves more 
 lively than ever. Urged on by the actress's re- 
 morseless rivals, they left her not a moment's 
 peace. She was about once more to expatriate 
 lierself, in order to avoid imprisonment, when a 
 I'oyal declaration was put forth, of which the chief 
 purport was, "to render free from all seizure or 
 stoppage the wages and appointments of the come- 
 dians and other persons attached to the play- 
 houses, up to the amount of two - thirds, apart 
 from the necessary expenditure for board and 
 lodging." 
 
 People did not fail to say that this declaration 
 had been made expressly for the benefit of Mdlle. 
 Raucourt ; and, apparently, such was the case. 
 " Two or three times already," wrote a chronicler, 
 "the Queen had shown herself inclined to pay the 
 debts of her favourite tragedian, but the enor- 
 mity of the sum, at least three hundred thousand 
 francs, always prevented Her Majesty. It was 
 found more economical to settle the matter bv 
 means of an edict, wliich cost nothing."
 
 Mademoiselle RaticourL 135 
 
 This mark of the royal favour, while savino' 
 Mdlle. Raiieourt from prison, exposetl her to a 
 new storm of invectives. She was insulted at all 
 hands. " She was destined," said a writer, " to be 
 all her life the fable and the scandal of Paris." 
 Out of the innumerable pamphlets directed against 
 her, one of the most savage, was entitled Vision 
 of the Prophet Daniel. The author occupied him- 
 self exclusively with two personages, Mdlle. Rau- 
 court and Prince d'Henin. 
 
 " And everyone cried out, ' Make way for the 
 Prince des Nains ! ' 
 
 " And I looked, expecting to behold at the head 
 of a troop of pigmies a miserable abortion. 
 
 " And I saw a tall, thin man, with a foolish eye, 
 and a silly smile, affecting an air of importance ; 
 and what was my surprise when I saw, through 
 his transparent body, that, in place of blood, a 
 black and poisonous mud circulated in his veins. 
 
 " And his corrupt heart was falling into rotten- 
 ness. 
 
 " And he made his way through the crowd with 
 a woman resting upon his arm, wliom I took for
 
 136 Idols of the Freiich Stage. 
 
 a man, from her audacious demeanour, her loud 
 voice, and her gigantic stature. 
 
 "She cast around her lascivious glances, and 
 a voice cried out : ' Behold her ; the woman who 
 has gone beyond all the abominations that ever 
 dissrraced a nation of the earth.' 
 
 "And she now wishes to renew her scenes of 
 extravagance and debauchery." 
 
 The author of these prophetic denunciations, 
 while accusing Mdlle. Raucourt of everything 
 shameful that he could think of, forgot to 
 charge her with an act of treachery which she 
 was on the point of committing. " She now 
 rendered herself guilty of the blackest act," says 
 a writer, " that could be committed." Less than a 
 year after her return, one fine evening in the 
 month of January 1780. she secretly left the 
 hospitable abode of Sophie Arnould, taking with 
 her Prince d'Henin. The story was soon known 
 all over Paris, and was thought highly amusing. 
 Mdlle. Raucourt was considered despicable, but 
 Sopliie Arnould was scarce!}^ pitied. "Mdlle. 
 AiiKiuM is justly punished," wrote one connnen-
 
 Mademoiselle Raucoitrt. 137 
 
 tator. " She deserved this piece of treacliery for 
 having welcomed a woman who is the opprobrium 
 of her sex." Naturally the fugitive and her prince 
 did not know where to find a hiding place. They 
 were afraid of Sophie, whom they knew to be 
 vindictive. Would she not suddenly disturb 
 them at the moment, perhaps, when she was 
 least expected ? Prince d'Artois is said to have 
 sold them a house. He, in fact, let it to them, 
 and, moreover, exacted payment. 
 
 Mdlle. Raucourt had still more than fifty 
 creditors, who were always " howling at her 
 petticoats." As if entangled in a net, she had to 
 struggle incessantly against her persecutors. She 
 defended herself as best she could with strata- 
 gems and with falsehood. Meanwhile, she had 
 not the slightest idea of order or economy. " She 
 would think herself dishonoured if she renounced 
 her prodigal life. All the money she can manage 
 to get together she employs only with a view to 
 fresh loans." 
 
 In the MSmoircs Secrets, under date September 
 16th, 1781, the following passage appears: — "Queen 
 Melpomene is more than ever ruined b}' debt.
 
 138 Idols of tJie F^^ench Stage. 
 
 Prince d'Henin, to save her from the pursuits of 
 her creditors, has become the ostensible possessoi" 
 of all her furniture and other property. But he 
 is summoned to declare upon oath, before the Civil 
 Lieutenant, whether his pretended ownership is not 
 simulated." 
 
 In the midst of her distress, Mdlle. Raucourt 
 consoled herself by writing a play. 
 
 She composed for the Theatre Fran(;ais a drama 
 entitled Henriette ; the subject of which was bor- 
 rowed from a ballet that she had seen at Warsaw 
 in the course of her northern pilgrimage. 
 
 Henriette, or the piece from which it was 
 taken, seems to have possessed some political 
 colour ; and, produced only a very few years after 
 the partition of Poland by Russia, Prussia and 
 Austria, it contained attacks on the Kino- of 
 Prussia, or at least hostile allusions to Prussia's 
 Sovereign, at that time Frederick the Great. War- 
 saw was still the capital of that portion of 
 Poland which remained nominally independent; 
 for the partitioning powers had hitherto seized 
 only the outlying portions of the condenmed 
 State. But the Russians were nll-powcrful at
 
 Mademoiselle Rauco2irt. 139 
 
 Warsaw, and it must liavo been with their con- 
 sent or connivance that a satire directed at the 
 Prussian King was made on the public stage. 
 Strangely enough, Ilenriette, tolerated at Warsaw, 
 was objected to at Paris, where the Prussian 
 Ambassador protested against its representation, or 
 rather requested that " tlie passages likely to 
 wound the King, his master, should be suppressed." 
 After many communications, and much correspon- 
 dence, it was decided that the objectionable 
 passages should be allowed to remain, on the 
 ground that the author's satire against the King 
 of Prussia seemed more remarkable for its inten- 
 tion than for its effect. Prince d'Henin had done 
 his utmost to rescue Mdlle. Raucourt's piece from 
 the claws of the censor. The following letter, ad- 
 dressed by him to M. Suard, the censor of the 
 moment, is sufficiently interesting: — 
 
 "M. le Noir (Lieutenant of Police) has just in- 
 formed the director of the Comedie Franyaise that 
 certain excisions must be submitted to, dictated, 
 it is said, by the Minister of Foreign Attairs and 
 by the Prussian Envoy, in the play of Ilenriette.
 
 r40 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 "The manuscript is now in your hands, and I 
 beg you to send it back to-morrow, at nine 
 o'clock in the morning, to its author, however 
 much mutilated it may be. He [iZ] is resolved to 
 run the risk of the performance, well assured 
 that friends and the general public will make 
 amends for the vexations which she \elle\ has not 
 ceased to suffer on the part of the police." 
 
 On the 1st of March 1782 Henriette was pro- 
 duced ; and never, according to Grimm, did any 
 masterpiece of Corneille or Eacine dravv'^ such 
 an audience. In spite of cabals, the play was 
 successful. Grimm describes the subject as mon- 
 strous, but the public was not of his opinion. 
 
 " The first act," says Bachaumont, " was thought 
 cold, but the second excited long, frequent and 
 sincere applause. The third act was also ap- 
 plauded, though with less enthusiasm." The 
 bravos were, according to some accounts, ad- 
 dressed less to the drama than to the actress 
 who had written it. Everyone admitted that she 
 was charming in the uniform of a Prussian soldier. 
 
 The piece was not, of course, universally praised.
 
 Mademoiselle Ra2tcou7't. 1 4 1 
 
 " Everything is Germanic in this play," said one 
 newspaper ; " subject, manners, costume and lan- 
 guage." 
 
 Mdlle. Raucourt's sworn foes, unable to get 
 Henriette hissed, now denied that she had written 
 it. It was really, they said, the work of M. 
 Durosoy, who had brought it out under Mdlle. 
 Raucourt's name. The following epigram on the 
 subject is said to have been the work of Cham- 
 fort and two of his friends ; though it is not 
 so prodigiously witty but that one writer might 
 have produced it : — 
 
 "An theatre uii viciit il'aininnct'r 
 
 Uue i)ie;ce iioiivelle, 
 Qui duit beaucoup interesser ; 
 
 Cest (I'liii auteiir feinelle. 
 
 C'e.st un histrion 
 
 Las du cotillon 
 Qui preiid un nouvel Ctre ; 
 
 Son coeur est use 
 
 Son f^'out est blase, 
 Son esprit vient de naitre." 
 
 Mdlle. Raucourt had now discovered a new line, 
 to which she had resolved, as much as possible, 
 to keep. Two years after the production of
 
 142 Idols of t lie F^'eitck Stage. 
 
 Henriette, she obtained a genuine success as a 
 captain of dragoons in a piece by Rochon de 
 Chabannes called Le Jaloux. The ease with which 
 she wore the uniform was particularly admired. 
 "We have already seen that for six weeks she 
 had, while lying in concealment, worn nothing- 
 else. 
 
 " What an actor that Raucourt is ! " exclaimed 
 her rival, Mdlle. de Saint- Yal, " and what a pity 
 she persists in wishing to play women's parts ! " 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Ix 1786 Mdlle. Raucourt, as an actress, was once 
 more at the heiuht of her success. The writers 
 of the period seem, oddly enough, to have for- 
 gotten the triumphs of her earliest days. " Rising 
 from her position of mediocrity," writes Bachau- 
 mont, " Mdlle. Raucourt has now taken her rank 
 among our great actresses." 
 
 " The tragic queen," writes at the same time
 
 Madevioiselle Raucottrt. 143 
 
 a rather pompous gentleman, " is resuming at the 
 Comedie Fran^aise the sceptre due to genius." 
 
 Soon afterwards she appeared in tlie part of 
 Medea, and acted with so much distinction, energy 
 and truth, that she was applauded to the echo. 
 She was superb in her costume. She had new 
 fully regained all the ground she had previously 
 lost ; and from this time, until her retirement 
 from the stage, her career was one unbi'okon 
 series of triumphs. 
 
 She had changed her manner, but in no degree 
 her morals ; and she was as extravagant as ever 
 in her general mode of life. Now, however, the 
 Revolution was at hand, and the writers of the 
 time have more important things to speak of than 
 the fortunes and misfortunes of j\ldlle. Raucourt. 
 The Revolution was fatal to her; indeed she hud 
 a narrow escape of the guillotine. Arrested 
 in 1793, with most of the principal actors and 
 actresses, she was as a first step imprisoned at 
 Sainte-Pelagie. But already she was marked down 
 for the scafFold. The Queen had protected her, 
 slie had received numerous benefits from the royal 
 family, and she was suspected of gratitude for so
 
 144 Idols of ike French Stage. 
 
 many favours. Fleury sets forth iu his Memoirs 
 that, on the margin of the depositions in the case 
 of Mdlle. Kaucourt, Collot D'Herbois had written 
 with his own hand, in red, an enormous " G." 
 This was a death sentence without appeal. " G " 
 stood for guillotine. 
 
 Like so many of her colleagues at the Comedie 
 Fran9aise, including Mdlle. Contat and her sister 
 Mdlle. Lange, Dazincourt, Saint-Prix, Vanhove, 
 Fleury himself, and very many more, Mdlle 
 Raucourt owed her life to the courage and in 
 genuity of an obscure clerk in the employment 
 of the Committee of Public Safety, Jean de La- 
 bussiere by name. 
 
 Having regained her liberty, Mdlle. Raucourt 
 tried to form a company for herself, and, suc- 
 ceeding, took a theatre, which was soon, how- 
 ever, closed by order of the Government, some 
 pretended allusion to its severity having been 
 discovered in one of the pieces represented. 
 
 In the midst of so many grave faults, Mdlle. 
 Raucourt seems to have retained her feeling of 
 gratitude towards the royal family which had so 
 often befriended her. Having passed beneath the
 
 Mademoiselle RaiccotcrL 145 
 
 shadow of the guillotine, she had enough pru- 
 dence for a time to conceal her sympathies; and 
 when the great danger had passed, she made no 
 secret of her antagonism towards the Directory, 
 and of her desire for the restoration of the 
 monarchy. She became a leading figure in what 
 was called Le 'petit Cohlentz, where the friends 
 and partisans of the legitimate sovereign worked 
 together, as the German sovereigns had done be- 
 fore invadinjj France. She belonjxed to that 
 faction of malcontents who longed for the re- 
 storation of the royal power, and imagined that 
 by force of jests, sarcasms and epigrams, they 
 could upset the Republic. Mdlle. Raucourt's or- 
 dinary costume is said to have been a constant 
 protest against the existing order of things. She 
 wore on her spenser eighteen buttons, in allusion 
 to Louis XVIII. ; and her fan was one of those 
 weeping-willow fans, the folds of which formed tlie 
 face of Marie- Antoinette. Fleury speaks, more- 
 over, of a certain shawl worn by Mdlle. Raucourt, 
 of which the pattern, once explained, traced to the 
 eyes of the initiated the portraits of Louis, the 
 Queen and tlie Dauphin. One day he accompanied 
 VOL. II. K
 
 ] 46 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 her to a fortune-teller, who had been expected to 
 predict the restoration of the monarchy, but who 
 foretold instead the revival of the Comedie Fran9aise. 
 The woman had read the cards aright, for in 
 1799 an order from the First Consul reassembled, 
 in a new association, the remains of the company 
 dispersed at the time of the Revolution. 
 
 Although she complained of the Republic, Mdlle. 
 
 Raucourt had contrived to make her fortune 
 
 through the good offices of political speculators 
 
 dealing, under the new-formed Government, in 
 
 assisrnats, Government contracts and confiscated 
 
 estates. She was now no longer in need, but, 
 
 on the contrary, possessed property which brought 
 
 lior in a considerable income. As luxurious as 
 
 ever, the enriched actress gave a series of 
 
 splendid /e^es, at which, without being invited, 
 
 the general public, forcing its way in, was at 
 
 least tolerated. Her illuminated gardens were, of 
 
 course, compared to "fairyland," and here it was 
 
 that all who thought fit to enter were allowed 
 
 to wander at will. 
 
 In the midst of her magnificence, Mdllc. Rau- 
 court heard one morning of an accident which
 
 Mademoiselle Rmtcoicrt. 147 
 
 could not but cause her annoyance, if not f^^cnuine 
 pain. Her father, the Saucerotte of other days, 
 tired of starving-, had eitlier fallen, or, as 
 malicious people asserted, had tlirown himself 
 from a fifth-floor window into the street below. 
 
 "Why could he not wait?" the afflicted 
 daughter is said to have exclaimed. " I was pre- 
 paring an apartment for him." 
 
 After the establishment of the Empire, ]\Idlli'. 
 Raucourt was engaged by Napoleon to form 
 companies of actors, who were to go through 
 Italy, in order to extend French influence. 
 
 In 1806 Mdlle. Raucourt opened the French 
 Theatre of Milan with Iphigenie en Aulicle, in 
 which she took the part of Clytemenestre. Her 
 success is said to have been immense. We now 
 find the actress making money in the character 
 of manageress, apart from her own personal salazy. 
 She travelled through Italy, giving a performance 
 here, a performance there, and reserving in all 
 of them the principal part for herself. From 
 time to time, moreover, she returned to Paris, 
 where she never failed to appear at the Theiltre 
 Fran(;ais in her favourite parts. But born ni
 
 148 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 1753, she had now been some forty years on the 
 stao-e, and beo^an to show unmistakable siffns of 
 failing powers. A few years later, in 1814, her 
 friends persuaded her to retire, and she appeared, 
 for the last time, as Catherine de Medicis, in 
 Raynouard's Etats de Blois. 
 
 She did not long survive her retirement. On 
 15th January 1815, after a short illness, she 
 died, thanking God for having allowed her to 
 salute the return of the legitimate dynasty. 
 
 Mdlle. Raucourt, however, had a better opinion 
 of the Restoration than had the Restoration of 
 Mdlle. Raucourt. The clergy of the restored 
 dynasty had shown itself in many ways in- 
 tolerant; and Mdlle. Raucourt's funeral was the 
 occasion of a riot, which threatened at one time 
 to become formidable. The Cure of Saint-Roch 
 would not allow the body to be brought 
 into his church, though he is said to have 
 received again and again gifts from the actress, 
 either for his church, or for the poor of his 
 parish. Only a few days beforehand, on the 
 first day of the year, she had sent him an offer- 
 ing of live hundred francs.
 
 Made7noiselle Raticourt. 1 49 
 
 Representations were made to the clergy, but 
 
 without avail. At last an indignant crowd Lroke 
 
 open the doors of the church. Meanwhile, Louis 
 
 XVIII., informed of what was taking place, had 
 
 ordered one of his chaplains to go to Saint- 
 
 Roch, and there, replacing the Cure, perform the 
 
 funeral service. The soldiers had been called out, 
 
 but they were judiciously withdrawn. They were 
 
 kept, at least, in an attitude only of observation, 
 
 while a crowd that was constantly increasing 
 
 followed the corpse of Mdlle. Raucourt to the 
 
 cemetery of Pere-la-Chaise. While the public 
 
 excitement was at its height, one of the deceased 
 
 actress's friends remarked : " If poor Raucourt could 
 
 only see from her heavenly home what a scandal 
 
 she is causing, how delighted she would be ! "
 
 MADAME DE SAINT-HUBERTY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 At a time when so much importance is attached 
 by actors and even actresses to the unimportant 
 question of the actor's social position, it may be in- 
 teresting to mention that Mme. de Saint-Huberty 
 was at once the first actress and the first singer 
 who was accepted in France both by women and 
 men as a lady. The society of Sophie Arnould 
 was eagerly sought by writers and philosophers 
 of the greatest distinction, and by noblemen of 
 the highest birth ; but though Belanger (whose 
 friendship for her, like that of Lauragais, endured 
 to the end) introduced her after his marriage to
 
 Madame dc Saijil-I lubcrty. \ 5 1 
 
 his wife, she was, as a rule, excluded from all 
 female society but that of the stage. 
 
 Mine, de Saint-Huberty, before becoinini,^ Countess 
 d'Antraigues, began, like nearly all actresses of 
 her time, by contracting with the man of her 
 choice an informal union. But she was faithful 
 to Count d'Antraigues, who, faithful also to her, 
 at last married her. 
 
 Mme. de Saint-Huberty, to give her the name 
 by which she is known in the history of the 
 stage, had two husbands, both of them adven- 
 turers ; but the first, who bore and had in fact 
 assumed the name of Saint-Huberty was a thea- 
 trical adventurer of low character, whereas her 
 second, Count d'Antraigues, was a political and 
 diplomatic adventurer of superior stamp. Anne- 
 Antoinette Clavel was born at Strasburg on the loth 
 of December 1756. She was the daughter of an old 
 soldier, who, since his retirement from military 
 service, had been chiefly occupied as manager of a 
 French operatic troupe in the service of the 
 Elector of Bavaria, with headquarters at Mannheim. 
 Retirinsf from the Elector's service, he had directed 
 theatrical companies in various places, from Stras-
 
 1 5 2 Idols of the F7'e7tch Stage. 
 
 burg to Toulouse. He was connected at the time 
 of his daughter's birth with the theatre of 
 Strasburg ; and she was only a few years old 
 when, recognising her exceptional talents, he began 
 to occupy himself seriously with her musical edu- 
 cation. She was still but a child when, sinsfinff 
 to her own harpsichord accompaniment, she did so 
 with so much taste that she excited the astonish- 
 ment and admiration of all who heard her. The 
 fame of her precocious talent soon got spread 
 abroad, and engagements were offered to her by 
 several provincial managers. But her father and 
 mother knew too much of theatrical life, and had 
 too great an affection for their daughter to allow 
 her at so early an age to separate from them. 
 Early in 1774 tempting proposals were made by 
 the director of a theatre at Barcelona; but his 
 offer, like so many others, was not accepted. At 
 last the parents decided that their daughter should 
 appear on the stage, but only at Strasburg, where 
 they would be with her. 
 
 An interesting and unquestionably authentic 
 account of Antoinette Clavel's early youth has 
 been preserved in the Causes Cdehres, published at
 
 Madame de Saint-Huberty. \ 5 3 
 
 Paris in 1783, the particular case in which this 
 account appears being that of Antoinette Pariset, 
 widow of Jean-Pierre Clavel, against Claude- 
 Croisilles de Saint-Huberty, on the sul)ject of his 
 pretended marriage with Antoinette Clavel, the 
 complainant's daughter. It appears, from the ex- 
 position of Mme. Clavel's case, that her daughter 
 had been two or three years at the Strasburg 
 theatre, when she met behind the scenes, living 
 on intimate terms with the actors and actresses, 
 a man who described himself as the director- 
 general of the King of Prussia's " Menus Plaisirs," 
 and in search of new talent for the French Theatre 
 at Berlin. He made a great deal, according to 
 Mme. Clavel, of the name he bore, and claimed 
 to be related to the first families in Germany. He 
 was still young, but had seen much of the world ; 
 a good talker, and capable, by his gilded speeches, 
 of excitinsr the imagination of women. He made 
 such magnificent promises to Antoinette, and held 
 out to her the hope of such a brilliant career that, 
 in the spring of 1775, the young girl resolved to 
 quit her parents secretly, and follow M. Croisilles 
 de Saint-Huberty to Berlin. She had no sooner
 
 1 54 Idols of the Fre7tch Sta^e. 
 
 reached the Prussian capital than she discovered 
 that the pretended director of the "Menus Plaisirs" 
 ot" the King of Prussia was merely the stage 
 manager of the company, and that he could only 
 get partially carried out the conditions of the 
 enoraCTement which had induced Mdlle. Clavel to 
 quit the paternal roof. Whether Antoinette was 
 Saint-Huberty's mistress, or only, as she herself 
 maintained, an ambitious young artist led away 
 by the prospect of a most advantageous engage- 
 ment, does not seem certain. In any case, Saint- 
 Huberty was very anxious to make her his wife, 
 which certainly gives colour to the young girl's 
 statement. 
 
 The so-called Saint-Huberty was the son of a 
 merchant at Metz, named simply Croisilles, and he 
 had left home in order to gratify a passion he had 
 formed for theatrical life. He declared to Mdlle. 
 Clavel that the boundless possessions of the im- 
 aginary house of Saint-Huberty would one day 
 be his ; that he could secure her a career of the 
 most dazzling character ; tliat he loved her, and so 
 on. Tlie poor young girl was in a foreign country, 
 without friends, and almost without the means of
 
 Madame de Saint- Hubcrty. 155 
 
 living, and she ended by accepting tlie adven- 
 turer's hand. The marriage was celebrated Sep- 
 tember 10th, 1775, Saint-Huberty being described 
 in the contract as "stao;e manager to the French 
 Theatre of His Majesty the King of Prussia," and 
 Mdlle. Clavel as "Jungfrau Maria- Antonia, native 
 of Strasburg, actress." 
 
 The newly married girl was soon enlightened 
 as to her husband's true character. " The third 
 night of my marriage," she says, in her written 
 evidence to support the demand of annulment, 
 " was marked by the grossest language on the 
 part of M. Croisilles, accompanied by a vigorous 
 box on the ear because the counterpane was 
 more on my side than on his." It appeared, more- 
 over, from the young woman's foi'mal deposi- 
 tion, that a few weeks later the husband took 
 flight from Berlin, carrying off with him every- 
 thing of value that his wife possessed. 
 
 In the midst of her difiiculties, Antoinette sud- 
 denly received a letter from her husband, dated 
 Warsaw, in which he informed her that he had 
 just formed a company, which had already ob- 
 tained the applause of the Polish Court, and that
 
 156 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 she alone was wanting to give it completeness, and 
 render it wholly worthy of performing before the 
 northern crowns. The skilful director knew how 
 to touch the heart of a vocalist ; and partly, 
 perhaps, because there was no other course open 
 to her, but partly also because she liked the idea 
 of rendering absolutely perfect a company which 
 already approached perfection, Mme. de Saint- 
 Huberty started for Warsaw. M. de Saint- 
 Huberty's troupe had not yet given a single re- 
 presentation. The lirst performance, however, was 
 highly successful. 
 
 Unwilling to let well alone, M. de Saint- 
 Huberty determined to form his establishment on 
 a more extended scale, and always in search of 
 new talent, started for Hamburg. Thence, after 
 making some engagements, he had the imprudence 
 to go to Berlin, where his creditors arrested him, 
 and threw him into prison.
 
 Madame de Saint-Ihibcrty. 157 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 The opera company which M. de Saint-Huberty 
 had left at Warsaw had meanwhile to get on as 
 well as it could without a director ; that is to 
 say, very badly indeed. As far, however, as Mme. 
 de Saint-Huberty personally was concerned, she 
 had nothing to complain of. She delighted every- 
 one in Zeniire et Azov, and other works of the 
 period. The Polish nobles loaded her with 
 presents, and the jewellery she thus received en- 
 abled her to raise a sum of twelve thousand 
 francs, with which she liberated her worthless 
 husband from his Prussian dungeon. Saint- 
 Huberty now came to Warsaw. But the success 
 of his company did not last, and soon the flighty 
 director was obliged once more to decamp, leaving 
 behind him a howling mob of creditors. 
 
 It was then that Mme. de Saint-Huberty, to 
 protect herself from the demands made upon her 
 as the debtor's wife, and in order to disengage 
 herself from all responsibility in connection with
 
 1 5 8 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 his liabilities, applied to the authorities of 
 Warsaw for a formal separation in regard to pro- 
 perty ; when the request was granted, in an Act 
 which M. Edmond de Goncourt, in his work La 
 
 Saint - Huberty, d'apres sa Correspondance et ses 
 Papiers de Famille, reproduces : — 
 
 " Before the notaries and the public officers of 
 the ancient town of Warsaw," runs the document, 
 "appearing in person the noble Antoinette de 
 Clavel, wife of the noble Philippe de Saint- 
 Huberty, assisted for the present Act by the 
 counsels of the noble George Godin, present, and 
 called by her to this effect : The said Antoinette 
 de Clavel, sound in mind and body, of her own 
 accord has freely and expressly declared and de- 
 clares by the present Act : That having learned 
 that the nobleman Philippe de Saint-Huberty, her 
 husband, had left Warsaw on account of a great 
 number of debts by which he was crushed, and 
 ignorant even of the place to which he had re- 
 tired, and refusing in any manner to be bound 
 by the debts of her husband, which he had con- 
 tracted without her participation, she separates
 
 Madame de Saint- H liberty. 159 
 
 herself from all the goods and property of the 
 said husband, except, nevertheless, the goods which 
 she has acquired and brought with her; and the 
 said de Clavel declares, moreover, by a formal 
 declaration, that she claims no interest wdiat- 
 ever in her husband's property, and approves 
 entirely of the present separation of her own 
 interests in regard to property from those of 
 her husband ; in faith of which she has sijmed 
 the present Act with her own hand. — Antoinette 
 DE Clavel, by marriage Saint-Huberty, Witness, 
 J. Godin." 
 
 According to his custom, when leaving his wife, 
 M. de Saint-Huberty had not gone away empty- 
 handed. This last time he had carried off from 
 Warsaw, not only his wife's ready money, but 
 even the costumes which she had to wear on the 
 stage ; so that she was left, not only without 
 pecuniary resources, but almost without clothes. 
 Happily Mme. de Saint-Huberty had inspired with 
 sympathy a generous Polish lady, the Princess 
 Lubomirska, who bought her the necessary wear- 
 ing apparel, and gave her hospitality for three
 
 1 6o Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 months in her own house, or, as the Poles say, 
 " palace." 
 
 The prima donna's husband had now established 
 himself at Vienna, w^here he arranged to open an 
 opera house on a magnificent scale. So, at least, he 
 assured his wife in a letter, which also informed 
 her that he had retained for her in his new 
 company an excellent position. The unfortunate 
 singer had at last, however, after so many decep- 
 tions, become distrustful ; and she was encourasfed 
 in her unwillingness to join her husband by 
 the Princess Lubomirska. But at lenffth Saint- 
 Huberty pleaded so eloc^uently in the letters which 
 he continued to send that his wife gave way, 
 and, in spite of the Princess's remonstrances, started 
 for Vienna. 
 
 She had no sooner reached her destination 
 than she found, as the Princess had anticipated, 
 that her husband's statements as to the company 
 he had formed, the magnificent position which 
 111' had reserved for his beloved wife, and so on, 
 were pure inventions. All he wanted his wife 
 for was to save hiia fi-om starvation. He knew 
 that she would arrive with money in her pocket.
 
 Madame de Samt-Hubcrly. i6i 
 
 and whatever she had he at once appropriated. 
 Before long, however, he was obliged to quit 
 Vienna secretly, as he had before quitted Warsaw 
 and Bei'lin ; and Mme. de Saint - Huberty now 
 found herself alone, and without resources, free 
 to ffo wherever she mio-ht think fit. She liad 
 long desired to make an appearance at the Opera 
 of Paris, where Gluck was now supreme. She 
 started then for Paris, and on her arrival hast- 
 ened to call on the great composer, who had just 
 obtained an immense success with Arvfiida. Gluck 
 at once saw what a charming artist had placed 
 herself at his disposal. He immediately recom- 
 mended her for an engagement, and on the 28d of 
 September 1777 she made her first appearance at 
 Paris as Melisse, in the opera of Armide. "She 
 has an agreeable voice," wrote the critic of Le 
 Mercure de France, in his account of her opening 
 performance. " She sings and acts witli much 
 delicacy of expression. She appears to be an ex- 
 cellent musician, and she needs only a little 
 stage experience in order to gain greater develop- 
 ment for her voice, and greater ease for her 
 acting." 
 
 VOL. II. I'
 
 1 62 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 Her success was in a great measure due to the 
 care with which Gluck himself had taught her. 
 Scandal has, of course, something to say on this 
 head. " Is it likely," people asked, " that Gluck 
 would teach her for nothing ? and how could 
 she pay any money ? " These malicious sugges- 
 tions were probably made by some unprincipled 
 Piccinnist. Nothing, meanwhile, is more natural 
 than that a composer should take an interest in 
 a singer well fitted to impersonate his most im- 
 portant creations. 
 
 The news that Mme. de Saint-Huberty had 
 achieved a great success at the Opera of Paris 
 was sure before long to reach her husband, 
 when, it need scarcely be said, he hurried to 
 the scene of his wife's triumphs, in order to 
 congi'atulate her, and see what she could do 
 for him. The poor woman could not let her 
 worthless husband starve, and she obtained for 
 him the place of wardrobe-keeper at the Opera ; 
 Avhich, for a man in the habit of carrying off 
 (jthcr people's garments and raising money on 
 thorn, was scarcely a proper appointment. 
 
 Mme. de Saint-Huberty now Hved by herself.
 
 Madame de Saint- Huber'ty. 163 
 
 She would not allow her hnsl)aii<l to share lier 
 abode, until she could feel convinced that he 
 had mended his ways, though, meanwhile, she 
 was imprudent enough to allow him to call upon 
 her. 
 
 As wardrobe-keeper the retired impresario gave 
 the liveliest dissatisfaction, and before long he 
 was driven from his post. He revenged him- 
 self by writing, circulating, and reading aloud 
 in public places, whenever he had the oppor- 
 tunity, a libellous attack on the administration 
 of the Opera. He still continued to visit his 
 wife, but only to get money from her, and, if 
 necessary, extort it by means of threats, and even 
 blows. Unable to obtain cash, he would seize 
 any valuable objects he could lay his hands upon, 
 and carry them off. At last he called one day 
 when his wife was absent, and made a clean 
 sweep of all her portable property. She was now 
 obliged to appeal to the police, and did so in the 
 following plaint : — 
 
 " In the year 1778, Friday, 31st July at nine 
 o'clock in the evenino- at the court, and before us,
 
 1 64 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 Joseph Chesnon, the younger, Advocate attached 
 to the Parliament, Counsellor of the King, Com- 
 missary at the Chatelet of Paris, appeared Anne- 
 Antoinette Clavel, called Saint - Huberty, King's 
 pensioner at the Opera, who told us that Saint- 
 Huberty, who claims to be her husband, in virtue 
 of a pretended act of celebration at Berlin, has 
 abused the confidence of the complainant for 
 nearly three years, in order to instal himself 
 in her abode, and remain there in spite of her ; 
 to demean himself as master, and even to mal- 
 treat her ; he nevertheless several times left the 
 house, but always carried away with him jewels 
 and other property of the complainant, which he 
 pledged and sold. He would again force his 
 way in, but with empty hands, and the com- 
 plainant was unable to do anything against such 
 persecution, being without her papers. Finally, 
 this very day, while she was at the Opera, the 
 said Saint-Hubcrty again abused her confidence, 
 and profited by lier absence to carry oft' the 
 goods, papers and music of the complainant, 
 including music which belongs to the Opera. 
 She finds herself in the greatest trouble; and
 
 Madauie de Saint- Hither ty. 165 
 
 the said Saint-Huberty is cunning enough to ask 
 her by a letter, dated Wednesday, the 29th inst, 
 for papers and goods which he has already taken 
 the precaution to carry off. For which reasons, 
 and in order that she may enjoy peace at home, 
 which the said Saint-Huberty has for a long time 
 prevented her from enjoying, and to force the 
 Saint-Huberty to give her back her property, 
 papers and music, especially that which belongs 
 to the Opera, she has come to lodge the present 
 plaint against the said Saint-Huberty, requiring 
 from us the Act which we have given, and 
 signing it in our presence." 
 
 On an order from the Lieutenant of Police a 
 portion of the property stolen b}'- Samt-Huberty 
 was restored ; and Mme. Saint-Huberty, with the 
 police on her side, might now Hatter herself with 
 the hope that she was safe from further attacks 
 and depredations on the part of her husband. 
 But on the 31st of August, just one month after 
 her lodgment of the plaint above reproduced, she 
 was quietly asleep, when she was suddenly awakened 
 by an irruption of four men, among whom she
 
 1 66 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 at once recognised the villainous Saint - Huberty. 
 Pointing to a man attired in the familiar black 
 garb of a commissary of police, the husband rushed 
 to his wife's bed and called out : " The pockets, 
 gentlemen ! Seize her pockets ! " It may liave 
 been customary in those days for ladies to have 
 pockets in their night-dresses. It appears, in any 
 case, from the narrative of this scandalous scene 
 as given by M. de Goncourt, on the strength of 
 a formal plaint afterwards laid by Mme. de Saint- 
 Huberty, that the four men seized her pockets, 
 which she defended as well as she could. They 
 then dragged her, nearly naked, into the middle of 
 the room, and there her husband, while the man 
 in the black garments held her arms, showered 
 blows upon her, and, taking a pair of scissors he 
 had with him, cut the ribands, of her pockets so 
 savagely that, with the points of the scissors, he 
 wounded her in several places. At last Saint- 
 Huberty, having obtained possession of the keys, 
 opened the cupboards, and turned them inside out, 
 addressing at the same time to his wife the most 
 frightful insults. Now came in a hftli person, 
 also clad in black, who proclaimed himself the
 
 Madame de Saint- Huberly. 167 
 
 procurator of the husband. While all this was 
 going on, the men laughed among themselves, paid 
 no heed to the poor woman, who was on the 
 ground in her chemise, and left unanswered her 
 questions as to their right to act as they were 
 doing. 
 
 The whole affair was a farce — a tragic farce for 
 poor Mme. de Saint-Huberty — but an acted scene 
 in any case ; suggested no doubt to Saint-Huberty 
 partly by his theatrical experiences, partly by the 
 deceptions which he had so often practised in real 
 life. When the sham commissary and the sham 
 procurator had gone away, the unfortunate singer 
 found that she had been robbed of a pair of 
 diamond buckles of the value of six louis. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The cruel ill-treatment received by Mme. de Saint- 
 Huberty at the hands of her profligate husband 
 was made the subject of an inquiry directed by a
 
 i68 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 regent o£ tlie Faculty of Medicine, who reported as 
 follows : — 
 
 " We, the undersigned, Doctor, Regent of the 
 Faculty of Medicine in the University of Paris and 
 Master in Surgery of the same city, on the requi- 
 sition of the lady Antoinette Clavel, of the Royal 
 Academy of Music, wife of Philippe-Croisilles de 
 Saint-Huberty, citizen of Paris, certify that we 
 went to the Rue de I'Arbre Sec, opposite the Rue de 
 Bailleul, in the house of the said lady, whom we 
 found in her bed, complaining of violent pains in 
 her head, but without fever ; and, by the examina- 
 tion we made, we found punctures as if made with 
 the points of scissors, or other instruments, one on 
 the right forearm and two on the lower part of 
 the same arm, a contusion with swelling at the top 
 of the left arm, two severe contusions on the middle 
 and outside part of the right leg, and one on the 
 middle and posterior portion of the right leg, one 
 light contusion on the middle part of the coronal 
 on the left, and, moreover, a difficulty in breathing, 
 and a painful sensitiveness in other parts of the 
 body, the result of violence and pressure, for
 
 Madame de Saint- Huberty. 169 
 
 which we have prescribed the fitting remedies ; in 
 faith of which we have drawn up the present 
 declaration, to serve and weigh according to its 
 worth. — Faris, Sej)temher 2d 1778.— Gillet, Master 
 in Surgery." 
 
 Mme. de Saint-Huberty's plaint did not lead to 
 any steps being taken against her husband ; but 
 when the complainant threatened to demand her 
 retirement from the Opera, " unless her personal 
 safety were guaranteed," she received the assurance 
 that she need no longjer fear the visits and assaults 
 of her husband. The unhappy prima donna had 
 not yet, however, liberated herself from her hus- 
 band's persecutions. She had previously taken 
 every precaution ; including the drawing up of a 
 formal act w^hich her husband had been made to 
 sign. By this deed he abandoned all claims to her 
 salary, and to emoluments of all kinds that might 
 come to her from singing at concerts or other 
 entertainments. 
 
 M. de Saint-Huberty, however — the original, 
 it may well be. of M. de Saint-Bertrand in Ernest 
 Feydeau's Mari de la Danseuse — was a cunning
 
 1 70 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 rascal. He had bound himself to claim no portion 
 of his wife's salary. But by law she still remained 
 answerable for his debts ; and he now prepared to 
 obtain money from her through the claims of 
 fictitious creditors, for, had the pretended debts 
 been genuine, we may be sure that M. de Saint- 
 Huberty would never have troubled himself to 
 facilitate their payment. On the demand of a 
 young woman named Guerin, who declared herself 
 a creditor for the sum of four hundred and eighty- 
 nine francs against M. de Saint - Huberty, and 
 against the joint household of M. de Saint-Huberty 
 and his wife, a formal opposition was made to the 
 payment of Mme. de Saint-Huberty 's salary ; and 
 a few days afterwards this opposition was declared 
 good and valid, the directors and treasurers of the 
 Opera being thereupon ordered to deliver over to 
 Croisilles de Saint-Huberty all sums due to his 
 wife until his debts were fully paid. 
 
 In vain did Mme. de Saint-Huberty represent 
 that she knew nothing of Mdlle. Guerin ; that she 
 owed her nothing, and had never been called 
 upon by her, before the legal proceedings, to pay 
 any debt. Mme. de Saint-Huberty was informed
 
 Madame de Saint- Huberly. 1 7 1 
 
 that she could draw no further pay from the 
 Opera until she caused the order secured by her 
 liusband to be rescinded. 
 
 She beg-an by sending to her lawyer M. de 
 Saint-Huberty's renunciation of all her earnings, 
 together with a copy of the surgeon's official re- 
 port as to the wounds and injuries which he 
 had inflicted upon her. She pointed out that, 
 apart from his other claims, her husband re- 
 quired to be kept by her, and continued as 
 follows : — 
 
 "Did anyone ever hear of a man being sup- 
 ported by a woman ? Before he was anything, 
 he somehow lived. He says that he gave me 
 masters, and that they put him to expense. I 
 have ten witnesses who will affirm that I had 
 them before knowing him, and, moreover, that I 
 earned money enough to pay the expenses of all 
 these masters .... Furthermore, when I was in 
 Poland, my property was separated from his by a 
 legal act, of which the original is in the hands 
 of M. Mascassies. The certificate of the doctor, 
 which you ask for, is in the hands of M. Amelot 
 (one of the Ministers)."
 
 172 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 M. Edmond de Goncourt, in his interestinof work 
 on the life and letters of Saint-Huberty, gives 
 abundant extracts from the pleadings in the 
 case of Mme. de Saint-Huberty against her hus- 
 band. The theatrical lawsuits, which from time to 
 time varied the generally dry occupations of the 
 Paris advocates, were then, as now, read by the 
 public with great avidity ; and the counsel on 
 these occasions, knowing that the eyes of France 
 were upon them, would sometimes indulge in ex- 
 traordinary flights of rhetoric. It was argued on 
 behalf of Mme. de Saint-Huberty that, apart from 
 the injustice of requiring her to support a pro- 
 fligate husband, who had robbed her, insulted 
 her, and inflictd upon her grave personal in- 
 juries, she was entitled, by the very constitution of 
 the Opera, to have the full and absolute disposal 
 of her appointed salary. The King had said 
 of this establishment, in letters-patent granted 
 August 12th, 1769, that it was "not less agree- 
 able to foreigners than to the nation itself," and 
 that its magnificence contributed to the embellish- 
 ment of the capital. Mme. de Saint-Huberty's 
 advocate, Maitre Potel, asserted in favour of his
 
 Madame de Saint- HitbciHy. 173 
 
 client the immunity established in favour of all 
 persons of both sexes engaged at the Opera, so 
 that they did not need, in case of minority, the 
 consent of their father, mother or guardian, and 
 did not need, in the case of married women, the 
 consent of tlieir husbands to draw their salary, 
 and give their receipt for the same without any 
 authorisation. He then laid stress on the inten- 
 tion of the founders to regulate things in such 
 a manner that the salaries of those enofaofed at 
 the Opera should serve for their personal subsist- 
 ence, beyond all possibility of their being taken 
 from them under no matter what pretext. 
 
 Heard at the Chatelet, the case seems to have 
 been decided against the unfortunate Mme. de 
 Saint-Huberty, whereupon appeal was made to 
 the Parliament of Paris. 
 
 On the 19th of March 1779 the case came before 
 the Parliament, when Mme. de Saint-Huberty was 
 <lefended by Maitre Mascassies ; " one of those 
 pleaders," says M. de Goncourt, "immortalised by 
 Racine in his famous comedy." The advocate 
 traced the history of the stage from its orio-in, 
 pointed out the influence of the fall of Constan-
 
 1 74 Idols of the Fi-ench Stage. 
 
 tinople on the Mysteries, expatiated on the operas 
 of Lully and Rameau, and ultimately inquired it" 
 Mdlle. Guerin were really the creditor of Mdlle. 
 Clavel. 
 
 The Parliament of Paris, more just than the 
 court below, decided in favour of the plaintiff; and 
 Mdlle. Guerin's claim was dismissed. The dis- 
 traint obtained by her on Mme. de Saint-Huberty's 
 property was annulled, and the two accomplices, 
 Mdlle. Guerin and M. de Saint-Huberty, were con- 
 demned to pay the costs. 
 
 During the law proceedings between Mme. de 
 .Saint-Huberty and Mdlle. Guerin, M. de Saint- 
 Huberty's representative, the director of the Opera 
 liad, to his great personal convenience, kept for 
 himself the money which, under ordinary cir- 
 cumstances, he would have had to pay to the prima 
 donna. Although then the Parliament of Paris 
 had declared Mme. de Saint-Huberty entitled 
 to receive her salary, she found it impossible to 
 get it, the impecunious director wanting it for 
 himself. This official seems to have been willinir 
 enough to play into M. do Saint-Huberty's hands ; 
 and soon, in spite of tlio judgment given by the
 
 Madame de Saint- Htiberty. 175 
 
 Parliament of Paris, fresh caveats were lodged 
 against the payment of Mme. de Saint-Huberty's 
 salary, so that, between the fraudulent director 
 and her villainous husband, the poor woman could 
 (jet nothing. 
 
 It must not be supposed that Mme. de Saint- 
 Huberty received anything like the s'alary of a 
 modern prima donna. The period of large 
 salaries, which had existed in England since the 
 first introduction of Italian opera under Handel, 
 had not yet begun in France ; and all that Mme. 
 de Saint-Huberty was at this time entitled to draw 
 amounted only to three hundred francs a month. 
 
 It was evident that Mme. de Saint-Huberty 
 would enjoy no peace until she could free her- 
 self altogether from her husband's persecution by 
 a formal dissolution of marriage. Divorce was at 
 this time impossible in France, though not many 
 years later it was to be introduced by the revolu- 
 tionary Government. A marriage, however, might be 
 annulled under certain circumstances, as when the 
 ceremony had been performed without the consent 
 of the parents, or without the presence of the parish 
 priest, or without due publication of the banns.
 
 176 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 Mme. de Saint - Huberty now took steps for 
 liberating .herself finally from her husband ; and, 
 on the three grounds just specified, the secret 
 marriage which she had contracted as a minor in 
 Germany was declared null and void. The hus- 
 band's father, who was an honourable man, had 
 supported the demand, and the husband himself 
 had been induced to allow the matter to rest with 
 " the prudence of the court." In pronouncing their 
 decision, the judges took into consideration the 
 fact that there were no children born of the 
 marriage; and the divorce was doubtless due to 
 the infamous manner in which the husband had 
 systematically treated his wife. This, however, 
 does not seem to have been touched upon in the 
 formal pleadings. 
 
 The end of Croisilles de Saint-Huberty, accord- 
 ing to one of the gossiping chronicles of the 
 time, quoted by M. Edmond de Goncourt, was 
 a strange one indeed. To get rid of him, the 
 Minister Anielot, who at this time took a great 
 interest in Mme. de Saint-Huberty, gave liim a 
 company of grenadiers, and sent him in command 
 of it to some distant provincial town.
 
 Madame de Saiiit-Huberty. 177 
 
 Up to this time Mme. dc Saint-Huberty had 
 been miserably poor; living in wretched apart- 
 ments, and wearing her one black dress for such 
 a time that the other members of the company 
 used to compare her to a dealer in second-hand 
 garments, and to call her " Madame la Ressource." 
 Gluck, hearing her so addressed, said that she was 
 well named, for that with her brilliant talent she 
 would soon be the chief resource of the Opera. 
 
 The associates who had derided her were as 
 poorly paid as herself; but they did not depend 
 on their operatic earnings alone. Apart from her 
 poverty, Mme. de Saint-Huberty, with a husband 
 constantly in one way or another preying upon 
 her, had more need of " protection " than anyone. 
 But there was nothing mercenary in her character, 
 and though she was ultimately to fall into the 
 ways of other operatic singers, one must render 
 her the justice to say that her self-respect saved 
 her for a long time and in the midst of the most 
 trying circumstances. 
 
 Arthur Young, in his famous account of France 
 
 immediately before the Revolution, speaks of 
 
 passing from a drawing-room in which Mme. de 
 VOL. II. M
 
 178 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 Saint-Huberty gained five hundred louis by her 
 sino-ing, to a hut in which a family of peasants 
 were dying of hunger. Without invalidating 
 Young's striking contrast, it is difficult to believe 
 that Mme. de Saint-Huberty was at any time a 
 tenth part so well paid as Arthur Young im- 
 agined. At the Opera, where she of course played 
 principal parts, her salary never seems to have 
 exceeded six thousand francs a year (£240) ; to 
 which must be added another six thousand of 
 " gratifications," or exceptional allowances. " Proud 
 in her distress," says Emile Gaboriau, in his 
 Comediennes Adorees, "kept up by ambition 
 which gnawed at her heart, she lived a solitary 
 life in her garret." Croisy * made his appearance 
 there but seldom ; he knew that there was no 
 money to be had. From morning to evening she 
 worked, studied, practised incessantly. In time 
 her voice became more supple. She got it well 
 under control. She tauirht herself to move her 
 
 *& 
 
 * Gaboriau spells the heroic name as above. In the official acts he 
 iu called "Croisil." According to Edmond de Gonconrt, he was the 
 «on of Croisilles, a merchant of Metz. " De Saint-Huberty " was, in 
 any case, but an ornamental name superadded to the one really belong- 
 ing to him.
 
 Madame de Saint- Huberty. 1 79 
 
 long thin arms with grace ; she improved the 
 play of her physiognomy, and finally got rid of 
 her deplorable Alsatian pronunciation. It was 
 not until after her definitive separation from her 
 husband, through the formal annullation of her 
 marriaire, that she was entered on the list of the 
 Opera as a permanent member ; and the year 
 afterwards, in November 1780, she was entrusted 
 with the part of Angelique in the Roland 
 (Orlando) of Piccinni. Neither the composer 
 nor anyone else believed that the opera would 
 succeed ; it was given up beforehand as a bad 
 job. The evening of the first representation, 
 when he was about to start for the theatre, his 
 family refused to accompany him, and did all that 
 was possible to keep him at home. His wife, his 
 children, his friends were in tears. Their despair 
 could scarcely have been greater had he been on 
 his way to the scafibld. 
 
 Piccinni himself, however, was calm with the 
 calmness of conscious rectitude. 
 
 " My children," he said, in Italian, " we are not 
 in the midst of savages, but of the politest people 
 on the face of the earth. If they do not like
 
 i8o Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 me as a musician, they will at least respect me 
 as a man and a stranger." 
 
 " Wagner," remarks Gaboriau, " ^YOuld scarcely 
 have said so much after the second representa- 
 tion of Tannhaufier." The first representation of 
 Tannliauser, it must here be observed, was listened 
 to by the Parisians in silence ; it was only at the 
 second that shrieking and hootinsr were heard. 
 
 Piccinni was altogether wrong about his opera. 
 It proved not a failure, but a triumph. More than 
 a hundred persons followed him home after the 
 performance. He, on his part, full of emotion, 
 did nothing but ask for Mme. de Saint-Huberty. 
 
 " Where is she ? " he called out. " I must see 
 her. I must embrace her. I must tell her that 
 to her alone success is due." 
 
 Soon afterwards Mme. de Saint-Huberty achieved 
 a new triumph as Lise in Le Seigneur bienfaisant : 
 ix part she played with so much pathos that she- 
 is said to have fallen ill from excess of emotion. 
 Her next success was obtained in a comic char- 
 actei-, that of Rosette in Gretry's Emharras des 
 Riches. This piece, in spite of the charm by 
 wliicli tlic music is said to have been distincfuished.
 
 Madame de Saint- Huberty. i8i 
 
 fell, as so many operas have fallen, from the 
 badness of the libretto. It was the production 
 of one Lourdet de Sans-Terre, to whom was 
 given the appropriate name of Lourdet de Sans- 
 Tete. In this strange work an Athenian noble- 
 man of the time of Pericles is made to fast during 
 Lent. Opera girls are introduced, and a rich 
 merchant, wishing to be muniticent, gives someone 
 a louis d'or ; while, in the inevitable ballet, dances 
 are executed by American savages. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 But Mme. de Saint-Huberty was now to appear 
 in the greatest of all her parts, that of Dido in 
 Piccinni's opera of the same name. The Queen 
 had just conferred upon the Italian composer a 
 fixed pension, instead of the annual presents which 
 he had hitherto received ; and he wished to ac- 
 knowledge her generosity by producing a new
 
 1 8 2 Idols of the Fre7ich Stage. 
 
 masterpiece. Marmontel proposed the subject of 
 Dido. Piccinni at once accepted it, and retired 
 into the country to compose the work. When the 
 opera was finished, Mme. de Saint-Huberty, for 
 whom the principal part was intended, met the 
 composer at Marmontel's country house. She 
 dined with the two collaborators, and afterwards 
 sang at sight the whole of her music. "She 
 entered into the spirit of it so thoroughly," said 
 Marmontel, " that I fancied she was on the stage. 
 Piccinni was delighted." 
 
 At this particular time Mme. de Saint-Huberty 
 was entitled to leave of absence, and she had 
 made arrangements for a visit to the south of 
 France. She took her part with her, telling 
 the composer that he could rehearse the opera 
 without her, as she should certainly know her 
 music quite thoroughly before she came back, 
 and probably before anybody else would be 
 ready. 
 
 The piece, then, was put into rehearsal, while 
 Dido made a highly successful tour in Provence. 
 She excited everywhere the greatest enthusiasm. 
 At Aix, however, she unfortunately caught cold.
 
 Madame de Saint- H^iberty. 183 
 
 and such a severe one that for a time she lost 
 her voice. Meanwhile, Dido was being actively 
 rehearsed. The part of the heroine was taken 
 by a chorus singer who, without attempting to 
 sing Mme. de Saint -Huberty's music from begin- 
 ning to end, read the part, and did her best to 
 replace the prima donna in the concerted pieces. 
 When Mme. de Saint-Huberty returned to Paris, 
 she had quite recovered her voice, and the piece 
 was ready for representation. 
 
 " The part of Dido," she wrote to one of her 
 friends, "having been composed for me, for my 
 voice, and being the only very interesting part 
 in the piece, it will be impossible to give it 
 anywhere without me. This looks like conceit 
 on my part, but I will explain the matter to you. 
 The part of Dido is all acting. The recitative 
 is so well composed that it is impossible 
 to sing it.* A number of persons had attended 
 the general rehearsals of Dido, and had come 
 to the conclusion that it was one of Piccinni's 
 
 *"Le recitcatif est si bien fait qu'il est impossible de le chanter." 
 This itself needs explanation. Apparently it was thought desirable 
 that the recitative should he declaimed but not sung^.
 
 1 84 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 worst productions. But Piccinni consoled him- 
 self by saying : ' Wait till my Dido comes ! ' At 
 the first rehearsal which took place with myself 
 in the part, everyone said : ' Why, he has re- 
 composed the whole work.' This, however, was 
 out of the question, only four days had elapsed 
 since the previous rehearsal. This was what 
 Piccinni said in reply : — 
 
 " ' No, gentlemen, I have changed nothing. But 
 until now Dido was being played without Dido.' " 
 
 It was at Fontainbleau, in presence of the King, 
 that Bido was given for the tirst time. The 
 success of the piece, and especially the success of 
 the actress, was beyond all expectations. Never 
 had such enthusiasm been witnessed at the Court. 
 Even Louis XVI. was delighted, though, as a rule, 
 he did not like opera, his special aversion being 
 for comic opera which was not really comic. " Je 
 n'aime pas les boufFons qui ne me font pas rire," 
 he said, on one melancholy occasion, when a per- 
 formance at the Com^die Italicnnc had not in- 
 spired him with any degree of mirth. 
 
 The pi-aisc whicli he is said to have bestowed 
 upon tlie opera of Dido was not, however, such
 
 Madame de Saint- Huberty. 185 
 
 as could have delighted the composer. "It has 
 given me as much pleasure," he said, "as a fine 
 tragedy." 
 
 As for the principal singer, he at once ordered 
 til at a pension of fifteen hundred livres (francs) 
 should be given to her ; and he sent Marshal de 
 Duras to compliment her, and to tell her what 
 delight she had caused him. 
 
 " This," writes an eyewitness, " was the finest 
 scene of the evening. When Marshal de Duras 
 arrived behind the scenes, followed by a crowd 
 of courtiers in gala costume, Mme. de Saint- 
 Huberty had not yet had time to change her 
 stage attire. She was standing up with the 
 crown on her head, draped in the scarlet mantle 
 of the Queen of Carthage. Marmontel and Pic- 
 cinni, intoxicated with joy, had thrown themselves 
 at her feet, and were kissing her hands. They 
 only rose when they saw M. de Duras come 
 forward to repeat the King's words. The actress 
 listened to the Marshal, and her countenance, still 
 animated by inspiration, became illumined with 
 the joy of this new triumph. The blush of pride 
 rose to her forehead. It was a wonderful sight.
 
 1 86 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 There was so much grandeur, so much nobility 
 and majesty in her bearing, with these men at 
 her feet, that better even than during the repre- 
 sentation she gave the idea of the Queen of Car- 
 thage. All the great nobles present seemed only 
 her courtiers." 
 
 Dido at this moment was indeed a queen. She 
 was still, however, but a theatrical queen. A few 
 days later one of the great nobles of the Court 
 went to pay a visit to Mme. Saint-Huberty, and 
 found the sublime Dido " huddled up in an old 
 petticoat, and playing at piquet with her little 
 page, on a table covered with a dish-cloth." 
 
 At Paris Dido obtained a greater success than 
 even at Fontainbleau. The first representation, 
 which took place at the Opera on the 1st of 
 December 1783, caused indescribable enthusiasm. 
 The public could not find means to express its 
 admiration. After Dido's great air, " Ah, que je 
 fus bien inspiree ! " the audience rose in a mass, 
 and the performance was interrupted for nearly a 
 f[uarter of an hour by frantic applause. The suc- 
 ceeding air, " Ah, prends pitie de ma faiblesse ! " 
 raised the delirium of the audience to the highest
 
 Madame de Samt-Huberty. 187 
 
 pitch ; and now, by a reaction, the whole house is 
 said to have "burst into tears." 
 
 The newspaper critics, the chroniclers, the pri- 
 vate correspondents of the various crowned heads 
 in Russia and Germany, who were kept regularly 
 informed by their literary correspondents of all 
 that took place at Paris, spoke with one accord 
 in praise of Dido the opera and of Dido the 
 dramatic vocalist. 
 
 " Mme. de Saint-Huberty," wrote Bachaumont, 
 "played the part of Dido with the highest talent. 
 She rose above her ordinary level, and showed 
 herself not loss a great actress than an accom- 
 plished singer. Impossible to be more pathetic." 
 
 Grimm, so seldom moved to enthusiasm, becomes 
 enthusiastic, and almost lyrical. " It would be im- 
 possible," he wrote, " to combine in a higher 
 degree the most exquisite sensibility, the most 
 perfect taste, and the most profound attention to 
 dramatic requirements. The acting was so expres- 
 sive and so pathetic as to be really worthy of 
 the noble but unhappy Queen of Carthage. She 
 sings like Todi ; she has the dramatic genius of 
 Clairon. Such a model has not for a lons^ time
 
 i88 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 been seen on the stage, and will not soon be seen 
 
 again. 
 
 Ginguene wrote as follows : — " The talent of this 
 sublime actress has its origin in her extreme sen- 
 sibility. An air might be better sung, but it 
 would be impossible to give to any air, to any 
 recitative, truer, more passionate expression. No 
 action could be more dramatic than hers ; no 
 silence more elocjuent. It is impossible to forget 
 lier terrible dumb-show, her tragic immobility, and 
 the frightful expression of her countenance dur- 
 ing the long ritornello of the chorus of priests, 
 tow^ards the end of the third act, and while the 
 chorus is being sung." 
 
 At the performances she did no more than re- 
 place herself in the position in wdiich she had 
 naturally found herself at the first of the final 
 rehearsals. Someone spoke to her of the impres- 
 sion which she seemed to feel, and which she 
 communicated so fully to the audience. "I really 
 experience it," she replied ; " after the tenth bar, 
 J was all but dead." 
 
 " This reply," writes Gaboriau, in his chapter 
 CM Mine, de Saint-Huberty, reveals the secret of
 
 Madame de Saint- Huberty. 189 
 
 tlie great lyric tragedian's talent. An actress of 
 genius, she knew how to keep her head ; but she 
 gave up her whole heart, her whole soul. She 
 really suffered the grief which she expressed in 
 so heart-rending a manner. She really felt as if 
 she must die. To such a point was this true, 
 that after each performance she was so exhausted 
 that it needed several hours for her to recover 
 herself." 
 
 Castil-Blaze, writing with a very different know- 
 ledge of the musical art from that possessed by 
 M. Gaboriau (who tells us, in some remarks on 
 Saint-Huberty's singing, that one of her airs was 
 " d'un diapason tres etendu "), declares of Mme. de 
 Saint-Huberty that she was the first " vocalist " who 
 appeared at the French Opera. At the concerts 
 of sacred music known as the Concerts Spirituels, 
 she held her place by the side of Mara and Todi, 
 who were never engaged at the French Opera. 
 She obtained, indeed, such a success at these 
 concerts that Metra, writing on the subject, seems 
 to regard her as too dangerous a rival of the two 
 vocalists, who, as vocalists, were certainly more 
 eminent than Saint-Huberty. " Why should I not
 
 1 90 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 say," he writes, " that there is nothing ' spiritual ' 
 in hearing at these concerts Mme. de Saint- 
 Huberty, who, in the most voluptuous costume, 
 with naked bosom, with eyes full of voluptuous- 
 ness, recites in a passionate voice the Psalms of 
 David ? " 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Meanwhile, the success of Bido was fully main- 
 tained at each succeeding representation. At the 
 twelfth performance an incident took place which 
 marks a point in the history of the lyric stage. 
 Dido, in the final scene of the opera, had just 
 stabbed herself with the sword of ^Eneas, had 
 just uttered one dying cry of grief and love, 
 when suddenly a crown of laurel was handed 
 to the orchestral conductor to be placed at her 
 feet. The house rose in a fury of excitement, 
 and called out that the crown should be placed 
 on the singer's head.
 
 Madame de Saint- Huberty. 191 
 
 The Intendant, M. de la Ferte, wrote on this 
 subject, in one of his reports : — 
 
 " On Friday evening last a crown was thrown 
 on to the stage bearing this inscription : ' To the 
 immortal Saint-Huberty.' The actress who was 
 on the stage with her picked it up, and placed it 
 on Mme. de Saint-Huberty 's head. 
 
 " This business, apparently the result of an ar- 
 rangement made beforehand, and in which Mme. 
 de Saint-Huberty may herself have taken part, 
 deserves attention ; for those who in this manner 
 give crowns (a thing previously without example 
 at the theatre in connection with an actor) might 
 equally accustom themselves to throw baked apples 
 or oranges, as happens in England to actors who 
 do not meet with approbation. The confusion 
 would then be beyond remedy." 
 
 The actress referred to by M. de la Ferte as 
 having picked up the crown, and placed it on 
 Dido's head, was Mdlle. Gavaudan, one of Mme. de 
 Saint-Huberty's most intimate friends. 
 
 Mme. de Saint-Huberty was, as we have already
 
 192 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 seen, full of generosity, and at the theatre lost no 
 opportunity of helping on struggling artists who 
 had the same difficulties to contend with which 
 she herself had found so painful. One of her 
 protegees, Mdlle. Maillard, rewarded her for her 
 kindness by trying to get from her the part of 
 Dido. The ambition of the uncrrateful woman 
 " o'erleaped itself." Profiting by a passion with 
 which she had taken care to inspire the Intendant 
 de la Ferte, old, and slightly imbecile, she secured 
 an appearance, but only to be hissed off the 
 stage, in a part which, more than any other, 
 Mme. de Saint-Huberty had made entirely her 
 own. 
 
 A day or two after her coronation in the part 
 of Dido, Mme. de Saint-Huberty, on an off-night 
 at the Opera, attended a performance at the 
 Comedie Italicnne. No sooner was she per- 
 ceived in her box than the whole audience rose, 
 the performance stopped, and everyone cried out, 
 " Vive la Reine de Carthagfe." 
 
 For Mme. de Saint-Huberty in opera, as for 
 .Mdlle. Salle in ballet, Mdlle. Clairon in tragedy, 
 and MniL'. Fa\art in comedy and comic opera, is
 
 Madame de Saint- Huberty. 193 
 
 claimed the honour of having played parts in the 
 costumes historically appropriate to them. The 
 costumes worn at that time on the French stage 
 (nor were they much better on our own) were 
 simply ludicrous. But the public was accustomed 
 to them, and the managers found it more economi- 
 cal to keep to costumes already in the wardrobe 
 than to order new ones for every fresh piece. In 
 the heroic operas of Gluck, Achilles and Aga- 
 memnon wore wigs, curled and powdered, sur- 
 mounted by plumed helmets ; while their legs were 
 encased in pale green or pink rose breeches, with 
 clocked silk stockings and shoes with red heels. It 
 is recorded of Gluck that, when Vestris wished to 
 introduce a chacone into one of his operas, the 
 composer objected to it on the ground that " the 
 Greeks, whose manners we are endeavouring to 
 depict," knew nothing of such a dance. It was 
 apparently only to anachronisms in music and 
 dancing that Gluck objected. 
 
 The costume of the actresses was, if possible, still 
 more absurd. They all wore trains, the length of 
 which was in proportion to the importance of the 
 
 part. The train of an ordinary actress was held 
 VOL. II. N
 
 194 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 by a page dressed in black or white. But actresses 
 representing queens were entitled to two trains and 
 two pages, who followed them everywhere, into 
 palace gardens, and even into dungeons, when by 
 an adverse fate they were condemned to imprison- 
 ment in some solitary tower. " Nothing is more 
 amusing," writes a critic of the time, " nothing 
 more comic than the perpetual movement of these 
 little rascals, who have to run after the actress 
 when she is tearing- about the stacje in moments of 
 distress. Their activity keeps them in a constant 
 .state of perspiration. Their embarrassment, their 
 blunders, excite general laughter. Thus a farce is 
 always going on which diverts the spectator in 
 an agreeable manner when the situation is too 
 touching or too sad." 
 
 When she appeared as Dido, Mme. de Saint- 
 Huberty would have no little boj^s running 
 after her — ready to pursue her even to the 
 funeral pyre. She, at the same time, threw off the 
 conventional train, and all the trappings which 
 had habitually accomjjanied it, to appear only in 
 the tunic designed for her by an artist of the 
 period who had studied arch!\3ology. The operatic
 
 Madame de Saint- H liberty. 195 
 
 directors strongly objected to the introduction of 
 archaeologists and other costly pretenders into their 
 domain, " If," as one director is accused of saying, 
 "this fury for truthfulness of costume enabled us 
 to save a little money ! But, on the contrary, 
 models must be brought in, men of learning must 
 be consulted, artists have to be paid ; and all this 
 costs money, much more money than the dresses to 
 which we are accustomed. Besides, when the piece 
 is laid aside, all the costumes appropriate to it 
 have to be laid aside too." 
 
 When the time arrived for taking Dido into the 
 provinces Mme. de Saint-Huberty began her t our 
 at Marseilles, where she gave twenty-three repre- 
 sentations with the greatest possible success. As 
 her departure drew near, it was resolved to 
 organise a fete in her honour; and a very mag- 
 nificent one it must have been. The vessels in 
 the harbour hoisted their colours, salutes were 
 fired, and in the evening the entire city was 
 illuminated. An eight-oared gondola, lined with 
 satin, and furnished with velvet cushions, had been 
 prepared ; and on her arrival it was ofi'ered to 
 Mme. de Saint-Huberty by the ladies of Marseilles,
 
 196 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 who insisted, moreover, on attiring her in a mag- 
 nificent Greek costume. The gondola went out to 
 sea escorted by more than a hundred rowing-boats 
 and sailinfj vessels. Barges full of musicians took 
 part in the water procession, and aquatic sports 
 were gone through, in which Mme. de Saint- 
 Huberty crowned the winners. 
 
 These rejoicings were renewed on land. A plat- 
 form had been erected, on which, as in an opera, 
 the queen of the entertainment took her place in 
 the midst of a crowd of worshippers. Before 
 her the national dances of Provence were per- 
 formed ; and when this open-air ballet was at an 
 end, a banquet was held, at which Mme. de 
 Saint-Huberty, occupying the seat of honour, re- 
 ceived the homage of two hundred of the most 
 distinguished inhabitants. 
 
 When, after the festivities, she drove home, 
 an extra carriage was found necessary for the 
 wreaths and crowns which had been oficred to 
 her. 
 
 At Toulouse, if the feXes given in Mnic. de 
 Saiiit-liuberty's honour were less splendid, the 
 enthusiasm of the public was equally great. In
 
 Madame de Saint- Hitberty. 197 
 
 the third act of Dido, the performance at the 
 last representation was suddenly stopped, when a 
 dozen young girls, dressed in white, advanced to- 
 'wards Mme. de Saint-Huberty to offer her a 
 basket of flowers, surmounted with a crown. 
 
 At Strasburg — the city, it will be remembered, 
 where she first appeared on the stage — she re- 
 ceived an honour which will be remembered when 
 all the others have long been forgotten. An artil- 
 lery officer of the garrison. Napoleon Bonaparte 
 by name, who, according to recent historians, was 
 unable to spell, showed that he could write very 
 ingenious verses; and these he addressed to the 
 heroine of the moment. Napoleon appreciated 
 good music, by preference that of the Italian 
 composers ; and Mme. de Saint-Huberty, in the 
 part of Dido, must have impressed him greatly 
 in order to draw from him the following stanza, 
 which I dare not call a sonnet, but which is some- 
 thing like one : — 
 
 " Eomains qui vous vantez d'liiie illustre origine, 
 Vojez d'oil dependait votre empire naissant : 
 Didoii u'eiit pas de charme assez jouit^sant 
 Pour arr^ter la fuite oil sou aniaut s'obstine ;
 
 198 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 Mais si I'autre Didon, ornement de ces lieux, 
 
 Eut ete Eeiiie de Carthage, 
 II eut, pour la servir, abandonne ses dieux, 
 
 Et votre beau pays serait encor sauvage." 
 
 At Lyons, where Dido met with the same ap- 
 plause as at other cities, she was much struck by 
 the local tenor, Saint-Aubin by name, who became 
 to her a sort of ^neas, not only on the stage, 
 but also in private life. When she returned to 
 Paris, nothing would satisfy her but to have him 
 engaged at the Opera ; and her influence with 
 the Minister was sufficient to procure from him 
 an order on the subject, which the tenor, who 
 seems to have been attached to the Lyons Theatre, 
 was, willing or unwilling, obliged to obey. 
 
 The royal command was in the following terms: — 
 
 "By order of the King, — 
 
 "M. de Saint-Aubin, alto (haute-contre) of the 
 Lyons Theatre, is ordered to come immediately to 
 Paris, in order to appear at the Opera. 
 
 " Done," etc. 
 
 In vain did the Lyons manager reply that the 
 services of M. de Saint-Aubin could scarcely be
 
 Mada7ne de Saint- Huberty. 199 
 
 dispensed with, inasmuch as there was no one to 
 replace him, that he owed the management three 
 thousand four hundred and thirty-three francs 
 and four sous, and that Mdlle. Destouches, who 
 had undertaken the direction of the Opera, and 
 whose affairs were ah-eady in confusion, would be 
 ruined by the singer's departure. But Mme. de 
 Saint - Huberty gained the day. Saint -Aubin in 
 due time made his debut at Paris, when he was 
 pronounced by the critics a tolerably good singer, 
 but (alas for the taste of Dido !) far too stout. 
 After a year's love duets with Mme. de Saint- 
 Huberty, the stout tenor remembered that he 
 had a wife and two children at Lyons, and 
 showed a strong inclination to rejoin them. Mme. 
 de Saint-Huberty had again recourse to the good 
 offices of the Minister, and a new royal command 
 was now issued, by which Saint-Aubin's wife and 
 children were ordered to Paris. 
 
 The prima donna's exigencies seem about this 
 time to have given much trouble to the manage- 
 ment of the Opera. She received nothing in the 
 way of salary that can be compared with what 
 is paid in the present day to a singer of quite
 
 200 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 inferior merit. But she could not foroet that 
 during her provincial tours she had been remunerated 
 at the rate of thirty thousand francs (£1200) a 
 year ; and she looked upon herself, all the time she 
 was singing in Paris, as shamefully underpaid. 
 It may here be suggested that the five hundred 
 livres which M. de Goncourt, on the authority of 
 Arthur Young, makes her receive for her per- 
 formances at one evening party, were possibly 
 five hundred French livres or francs — certainly not 
 five hundred pounds sterling. It is only in our own 
 time that such sums have been paid to vocalists, 
 or rather to one vocalist, Mme. Adelina Patti ; for 
 singing, not at private parties, but at theatres oi- 
 concerts. 
 
 If, however, Mme. de Saint-Hubert_y, with her 
 four hundred a year, was ill-paid at the Opera, 
 she, perhaps for that very reason, exercised an 
 influence sucli as could scarcely be tolerated by 
 a private manager in the present day. We have 
 seen that if she wanted to sing witli a particular 
 tenor, she caused liim to be ordered for the Opera 
 by royal command. We find her, moreover, pro- 
 testing in quite a menacing tone against tlie
 
 Madtune de Saint- Huberty. 201 
 
 dismissal of this member of the company, and in- 
 sisting^ that this other sliould be forthwith liberated 
 from prison. In the latter case, the incarcerated 
 one had evidently done her best to provoke the 
 director. But she was one of Mme. de Saint- 
 Huberty's particular friends; and the all-powerful 
 prima donna required that without any further 
 ado she should be set free. Mdlle. Gavaudan, 
 the young- lady in question, had declared that 
 she would on no account sins; in the now-forofotten 
 opera called the Golden Fleece. The director, 
 according to the custom in such cases, reported 
 the matter to the police, and the recalcitrant 
 singer was carried off to La Force, where she 
 appears to have been treated as a first-class 
 misdemeanant. She had been cast for a part in 
 the opera of (Enone, in which the principal 
 character was to be played by Mme. de Saint- 
 Huberty, and the prima donna insisted upon her 
 young friend being taken from prison and 
 brought to her house, first to dine with her, 
 and then to go to a grand rehearsal of Sacchini's 
 new work. This arrangement seems to have 
 filled the two friends, as it was sure to do,
 
 202 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 with delight. Their gaiety, however, was not 
 without one dark shade, for wherever Mdlle. 
 Gavaudan went a police officer accompanied her. 
 We may be quite sure, however, that Mme. de 
 Saint-Huberty did not admit him into her 
 dining-room. Here she and her young 'protegee 
 seem to have enjoyed themselves immensely ; and 
 after the repast they went together, in the best 
 spirits, to the rehearsal, where the prima donna 
 said aloud to everyone who cared to hear her 
 that the Golden Fleece was a wretched opera, and 
 that her friend Gavaudan did quite right in 
 refusing to have anything to do with such a 
 work. She at the same time declared that, for 
 such a trifle, it was absurd and unjust to keep 
 a young lady in prison. She also told the 
 manager of the Opera, Dauvergne, that, unless 
 he reformed his ways, she would use her in- 
 fluence with the Ministry and the Court to get 
 him turned out of his place. She, in fact, wrote 
 to the Intendant, M. de la Ferte, to demand, 
 not indeed the dismissal of Dauvergne, but the 
 liberation of Gavaudan. 
 
 This time, however, Mme. do Saint-Huberty
 
 Madame de Saint- Huberty. 203 
 
 did not gain her point. She had written to M. 
 de la Fcrte in sucli a tone of irony and menace 
 that, standing upon his dignity, he refused to 
 comply with lier request. He had held his post 
 of Intendant, he said, for thirty years, and had 
 never before been accused of injustice. He quite 
 agreed that Mdlle. Gavaudan was a very 
 charming person, and essential to the pleasures of 
 the public. But the manager had done quite right 
 in insisting upon her accepting the part assigned 
 to her, that of Calliope in the Oolden Fleece ; 
 and it was with the sanction of the Ministry 
 that the young lady's arrest had been ordered, 
 
 Mme. de Saint-Huberty became very sulky, and 
 at the rehearsal of (Eno7ie paid no attention to 
 what was going on, but contented herself with 
 observing the toes of her shoes. Mdlle. Gavaudan 
 had now been informed that it was being seriously 
 considered whether she should not be punished by 
 solitary confinement in a genuine dungeon. The 
 fair young prisoner took fright, and at once sent 
 to the manager the following letter: — 
 
 "The orders of the Ministry, sire, being such
 
 204 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 as you have communicated to me, I must submit 
 to them, and play on Friday the part of Calliope 
 in the Golden Fleece, since my liberty is at this 
 price. 
 
 "I have the honour .... 
 
 "Gavaudax, the Youxger." 
 
 But this spirited young person had not yet 
 said her last word. On the day for which the 
 performance of the Golden Fleece had been fixed, 
 an official came to the prison in order to set 
 her at liberty. She informed him that for the 
 present she would remain where she was, that 
 she had ordered her dinner, and intended to eat 
 it. The official, however, had been ordered to 
 take her out ; and, after many arguments, and 
 a slight exercise of force, he managed to get her 
 into the street, telling her that she might after- 
 wards cpQ wherever she thouGfht fit. She went 
 back to the prison, where she dined copiously, 
 not without wine. Then, in the liveliest con- 
 dition, she went to the Opera, had a furious scene 
 with the stage manager, who, during her imprison- 
 ment, had given her dressing-room to another
 
 Madame de Saint- Hiiberty. 205 
 
 singer, and after a quarter of an hour's violent 
 language calmed down, dressed herself for the 
 part of Calliope, and sang very charmingly. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 One constant cause of dispute between Mme. de 
 Saint-Huberty and the management of the Opera, 
 supported by the Minister, was her determination 
 to wear the costumes appropriate to the parts 
 she played. Such was the stupidity, the sordid 
 economy of the directing powers, that she had 
 always the greatest trouble in obtaining permis- 
 sion to substitute for the conventional costume of 
 the operatic queen such dress as the personage 
 she was to represent might fairly be supposed to 
 have worn. 
 
 M. de la Ferte says, in one of his letters on 
 this subject : — " I have just ordered Saint-Huberty's 
 dress. This is terrible. The consulting committee 
 of the Opera held one day a special general meet-
 
 2o6 Idols of the Fre^ich Stage. 
 
 ing to consider whether Mme. de Saint-Huberty 
 could really be allowed to have the costume she 
 desired for the part of Armida. Madame de 
 Saint-Huberty," said the report on the subject 
 addressed to the Minister, " has sent us the design 
 of a dress she requires for the part of Armida. 
 The committee considering that this part, in which 
 Mme. de Saint-Huberty has not yet been seen, 
 might give to the work the charm of novelty, and 
 procure for the Opera adv^antageous receipts during 
 a series of representations, has thought it right 
 to agree to Mme. de Saint-Huberty's expressed 
 wish ; the more so as she has no objection to 
 share the part with Mdlle. Levasseur, it being 
 arranged that, in case of illness, the costume made 
 for this Opera shall be worn by the substitutes 
 as well as by Mme. de Saint-Huberty herself." 
 
 In the margin of the report the following obser- 
 vation of the Minister appears : — " Good for this 
 time only, and without the establishment of a 
 precedent. All the members of the company must, 
 without distinction, wear the dresses furnished to 
 them by the administration of tlie Opera, so long 
 as they arc considered in a fit state to be worn."
 
 Madame de Saint- Htiberty. 207 
 
 Two years later, in 178G, there was a fresh 
 dispute about the costumes of Penelope and of 
 Alcestis; and M. de la Ferte felt it necessary to 
 write to Mme. de Saint - Huberty the following 
 letter : — 
 
 " It is not, madame, M. de la Laistre who decides 
 what dresses are to be worn, but the persons ap- 
 pointed by the King to watch over the wardrobe 
 and the expenses. I cannot disguise from you 
 that at Fontainbleau there was much displeasure 
 about the dress you exacted, and which, almost 
 on your sole authority, you ordered for the part 
 of Penelope, a dress which seemed in no way 
 suitable either to the position of this princess, 
 so long afflicted, or to the magnificence of the 
 period, fabulous though it be. You must have 
 noticed that it was not thought becoming for 
 you to wear it at Paris. You now require a 
 simpler dress for Alcestis. All I can do is to 
 send your letter to M. Bocquet, that he may 
 consult with M. Dauvergne, and see that what is 
 necessary be done. You must be convinced of 
 our desire to satisfy you in all reasonable things.
 
 2o8 Idols of the FrencJi Stage. 
 
 and to be generally agreeable to you. But, at 
 the same time, you ought to understand that you 
 are obliged to conform to established rules, like 
 all the other members of the company, and like 
 those who played the first parts before you ; for 
 if, instead of accepting the appointed costume, 
 each one wished to dress according to individual 
 taste, the result would be hopeless confusion, 
 together with an expenditure both useless and 
 ruinous for the King and for the Opera." 
 
 In September 1788 the director-general of the 
 Opera wrote to M. de la Ferte that there would 
 be a great dispute on the subject of Mme. de 
 Saint-Huberty's dress in the part of Chimene, 
 which miffht involve the makinrj of six new 
 dresses, two for her, and one for each of her four 
 attendants. 
 
 Everyone in the present day will sympathise 
 with Mme. de Saint - Huberty in her constant, 
 though sometimes inetibctual, desire to obtain from 
 the management a dress historically suitable to 
 whatever part she was about to play. Whether 
 she was equally right in rebelling against the
 
 Afadauie dc Saint- Huberty. 209 
 
 authority of the musical conductor may be ques- 
 tioned. Even now, the conductor most esteemed 
 by singers is the one who will allow them at 
 will to prolong their high notes, to introduce a 
 profusion of unmeaning ornaments, and generally 
 to take liberties with the time. When, on one 
 occasion, Sophie Arnould found tliat she was 
 at cross purposes with the hatLeiir de mesure^ 
 she exclaimed, in answer to his representations : 
 " La mesure ? Quelle bete est-ce la ! " Mme. de 
 Saint-Huberty declared one day to the company 
 assembled on the stage, " not like a reasonable 
 woman, but like a fury," that M. Vion was in- 
 capable of holding the baton, and that if he 
 appeared any more in the orchestra to beat 
 time, a duty for which he was entirely unfit, 
 she, on her side, whatever might be the result, 
 Would undress herself, and refuse to sing her 
 part. 
 
 Soon afterwards, before the season was at an 
 end, and without asking anyone's permission, she 
 started for Alsace, with the view of sino-inof at 
 the Strasburg theatre. But an order from the 
 
 Minister forbade her appearance, and she was 
 VOL. II. o
 
 2 1 o Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 at the same time summoned to return without 
 delay to Paris. 
 
 At last Mme. de Saint-Huberty was so disgusted 
 with her life at the Opera, and with the difficulties 
 (many of them of her own creation) by which 
 she was constantly surrounded, that she resolved to 
 resign, and accordingly wrote to the director the 
 followinof letter : — 
 
 C3 
 
 " The trouble, the disgust, the vexation, caused 
 to me by the reprimands and threats which your 
 continual complaints bring upon me from the 
 Ministry, far from increasing my courage, affect 
 my health and strength, and will, at last, bring 
 about what is so ardently desired: the annulment 
 of my engagement, and my retirement from the 
 theatre, for it is impossible for me to support 
 any longer such persecution. You know, sir, that 
 I am well aware how much you hate me, and 
 that I expect to feel all the effects of your 
 hatred."
 
 Madame de Saint- Hiiberty. 2 i i 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Not having lost her voice, Mme. de Saint- 
 Huberty did not retire from the Opera, not, at 
 least, until some two years later, in 1790, the 
 year after the outbreak of the Revolution. But 
 Mme. de Saint-Huberty had now made the ac- 
 quaintance of the man who was to influence the 
 whole of her remaining life, Count Louis 
 d'Antraigues, an intriguer in his way, like her 
 first husband, but in a different way. Count 
 d'Antraigues claimed to be a descendant of the 
 d'Antraigues who was wounded by the side of 
 Henry IV. at Coutras, and to whom the brave 
 monarch afterwards addressed one of his most 
 famous letters. When, in 1789, he represented 
 his native province, Le Vivarais, in the Assembly 
 of the States General, his claim, which would 
 have entitled him to certain privileges, was con- 
 tested. Soon afterwards the ancestry of which 
 he had hitherto boasted would have done him 
 much more harm than good, and the question 
 was prudently enough allowed to subside. He
 
 2 [ 2 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 liad begun life in the army, and leaving his 
 regiment because, as scandal would have it, he 
 had neglected to fight a duel which circum- 
 stances seemed to require, travelled for some 
 years in foreign parts. But at the time of his 
 becoming acquainted with Mme. de Saint-Huberty, 
 he lived for a great part of every year at Paris, 
 in the society of philosophers, actresses, men of 
 science and politicians. He took a great interest 
 in ballooning, and was the friend of the Mont- 
 golfiers and of Blanchard. He was on intimate 
 terms with Rousseau. He was quite at home 
 with the members of the Comedie Fran^aise, and 
 he had been introduced to Mme. de Saint-Huberty 
 as far back as 1783. For several years he cor- 
 responded with Mme. de Saint - Huberty when 
 liis absence in Le Vivarais prevented his seeing 
 her ; and his letters, which have been preserved, 
 testify to his admiration and affection for the 
 singer, though for some time there was no ques- 
 tion in them of passionate love. One of his 
 earliest letters is interesting, as showing that at 
 the height of her fame Mme. de Saint-Huberty 
 still led a simple life.
 
 Madame de Saint- Hubcrty. 2 i 
 
 "I have heard enemies of yours," he writes 
 "accuse you of meanness, and laugh at you for 
 driving about Paris in a hired vehicle. But I 
 also know many excellent and honourable persons 
 who admire you on account of this very simpli- 
 city. Do you think that one can see without 
 sympathy, without enthusiasm, a woman so much 
 admired, so celebrated as you, drive out in a 
 hackney carriage when she could so easily com- 
 mand the gilded chariot of vice and infamy ? 
 What can be finer than to see talent in all its 
 brilliancy associated with the virtues of a noble 
 soul ? It is delightful, for those who can ap- 
 preciate it, to be able to feel enthusiasm without 
 alloy ; it is glorious for the woman who inspires 
 it not to excite in the heart of her admirers that 
 regret which is always caused by seeing a sublime 
 talent exercised by a man or woman who, person- 
 ally, is contemptible. For you alone was reserved 
 this glory." 
 
 Count d'Antraigues' correspondence with Mme. 
 de Saint-Huberty extends over many years ; and 
 it can be seen from Mme. de Saint -Hubertv's 
 letters that she adopted all the philosophical and
 
 2 1 4 Idols of the FreiicJi Stage. 
 
 scientific views of her future husband. She thinks 
 as hio-hly of the Montgolfiers as the Count him- 
 self. Some of Mme. de Saint-Huberty's letters 
 are so well written that the Count accuses 
 her of wasting her time in correcting them and 
 copying them out afresh in order to show her 
 wit. 
 
 After helping to the best of his ability to bring 
 about the Revolution, the Count saw enough of 
 the proceedings of the constituent Assembly to 
 which he belonged to bewail its tendencies now 
 that he clearly perceived them. He had pub- 
 lished, in 1788, pamphlets on the "Rights of the 
 People " and on the " Constitution of the Monarchy " 
 — meaning, no doubt, its reconstitution. He accused 
 the nobility of having formed in the nation a 
 nation apart, a separate order of the state, which 
 for centuries had kept the people in slavery. 
 " The Third Estate," he wrote in a memorandum 
 on the States General, " is the People, and the 
 People is the basis of the State ; it is the State 
 itself." 
 
 The States General, however, had scarcely met 
 when he began to change his opinions; and Mira-
 
 Madame de Sainl-Hitberty. 215 
 
 beau, in a published letter addressed to him, 
 accused Count d'Antraigues of turning like a 
 weathercock, and of not knowing his own mind. 
 The Count replied that he had written his book 
 on the Rights of the People for quite another 
 people, not for the cruel people he saw around 
 him. He was now accused of open apostacy, 
 and in 1790 found it prudent to quit France. 
 He retired to Switzerland, and in April 1790 
 Mme. de Saint-Huberty joined him at Lausanne, 
 where they were secretly married. By suddenly 
 leaving France, Mme. de Saint-Huberty had caused 
 herself to be regarded as an dniigree ; and, though 
 she returned to Paris for the express purpose 
 of asserting her rights to property which she 
 had acquired, her representations and demands 
 led to nothing. The Bishop of Como, in whose 
 diocese the Count d'Antraigues and Mme. de 
 Saint-Huberty were married, had granted to the 
 officiating priest permission, for grave reasons 
 known to him, " to perform the ceremony with- 
 out the usual proclamations, and without inquiries 
 or proofs, at whatever time, whatever hour, and 
 whatever place might be selected."
 
 2 1 6 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 The day after the marriaf^e, Count d'Antraigues 
 addressed to his wife this letter : — 
 
 "I may die, my dear wife, and cannot acquit 
 myself too soon of a sacred duty. 
 
 " There may be wanting to our union some 
 formalities which, according to the law of France, 
 are required for the legalisation of marriages ; and 
 imperious circumstances may prevent me from 
 fulfilling these for some time to come. If I am 
 to die before that time, I should wish you to 
 render to my memory the honour due to it by 
 rendering to yourself that which is also due to 
 you. I declare, then, that after seven years of 
 friendship, of mutual confidence, I have united 
 by marriage to my fate that of the woman who 
 had the courage to share my destiny ; that on 
 the 29th of December 1790, after having obtained 
 from the Bishop of Como a dispensation for 
 the publication of banns, and permission for us 
 to marry at any time and place that might 
 please us, I married you in the Chateau of Castel 
 San Pietro, in presence of two priests as 
 witnesses.
 
 Madame de Saint- H liberty . 217 
 
 " Witli many reasons for keeping this marriage 
 secret, I did not conceal from you the most 
 important of all : the grief it would cause to 
 my worthy and venerable mother. But I knew 
 her, and was sure that, if she had to bewail 
 my loss, she would forgive our secret union, 
 and would recognise the wife of her son in 
 the woman who watched over his fate, who 
 softened its rigour, and who received the last 
 sighs of his heart." 
 
 The Count now became the devoted servant 
 of the Bourbons, and the agent of all the foreign 
 courts who were willing to promote the restora- 
 tion of the monarchy. The Count had only been 
 able to scrape together some hundreds of pounds ; 
 and it was not until the death of the King, in 
 1793, that he received any pay for his services. 
 It was only, indeed, at that time that his 
 active services began, unless his publication of 
 several pamphlets against the proceedings of the 
 revolutionary Assembly in France can be so 
 considered. He, at the same time, addressed 
 letters to the various courts, and succeeded in
 
 2 1 8 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 bringing about a joint understanding between 
 those which were already opposed to the French 
 Revolution. 
 
 Some years afterwards, the Count and Countess 
 went to Venice, and were still there when 
 the French took possession of the city. Count 
 d'Antraigues was at this time specially attached 
 to the service of Russia ; and when Mordvinoff, 
 the Russian Minister, about to quit the place, 
 obtained from the French legation a passport for 
 himself, his secretary and his attaches, he included 
 among the latter the Count d'Antraigues, who, 
 with his wife and a child born to them in 
 Switzerland, travelled as part of the Minister's 
 suite. At Trieste the carriages of the Russian 
 Minister were surrounded by bayonets, and the 
 various members were brought before Bernadotte, 
 who was here in command. Mordvinofi' ex- 
 hibited the passport he had obtained from the 
 French leofation, on which Bernadotte said to him 
 abruptly : " Tell me at once, which is the Count 
 d'Antraigues ? " 
 
 "It is I," replied d'Antraigues ; and he was im- 
 mediately arrested, in spite of Mordvinoffs repeated
 
 Madame de Saint-Huberty. 2 1 9 
 
 declarations that the Count was attached to the 
 service of Russia, 
 
 On the point of being taken back to Milan, 
 d'Antraigues begged the Russian Minister to take 
 cliarge of Mme, de Saint-Huberty. 
 
 " I have already offered," replied MordvinofF, " but 
 she will not hear of it. She insists on sharing 
 your captivity." 
 
 Touched by so much devotion, the Count ex- 
 claimed that Mme. de Saint-Huberty was his 
 lawful wife. " I declared to my tyrants," he 
 writes in a letter on the subject, " that I was 
 married, that I had a son, and that I must see 
 them both. They listened to my prayers. She 
 came with that dear child of tive years old, who 
 threw himself round my neck. As for her, full of 
 courage, she extended her hand to me, and for 
 the first time in presence of strangers I called 
 her my wife. This moment, which made her mine 
 for ever, caused me to forget my foes, my per- 
 secutors, the future and the present. I owe that 
 to my enemies. To say how much I was in- 
 debted in these frightful circumstances to my wife 
 would be impossible."
 
 2 20 Idols of the Fre^ich Stage. 
 
 After seizing' the Count's trunks, and taking 
 from them his portfolio and all his papers, the 
 French authorities allowed his wife and child to 
 accompany him back to Milan, whither he was 
 sent under escort. 
 
 Arrived at Milan, the Count lost no time in 
 writing- to his mother to inform her of the 
 marriage contracted seven years before in Switzer- 
 land. The mother received the news in the most 
 gracious manner. 
 
 " The name of mother," wrote the old Countess 
 to the new one, "which you give me, my dear 
 daughter, makes me hope that you will receive 
 with pleasure the name which in testimony of my 
 affection I offer to you. It is a gift which the 
 heart alone can appreciate, and yours will not be 
 closed to anything that comes from the mother of 
 your husband. I know that you constitute liis 
 happiness and his consolation. May you be happy, 
 all tliree. I thank you for the obliging things 
 you are kind enough to say to me. I can only 
 contribute to your mutual satisfaction by my 
 prayers, which I offer to God several times each 
 day."
 
 Madame de Saint- Hubcrty. 221 
 
 At Milan the Count was taken straight to the 
 residence of the Commandant, who at once 
 separated him from his wife, and sent him to 
 a convent where prisoners of war were confined, 
 with orders that lie should be strictly watched. 
 A sentinel was, in fact, placed at the end of his 
 bed. 
 
 Soon afterwards he was taken to the castle, 
 and there placed in a dungeon twelve feet long 
 by six broad. 
 
 On 12th June he was told that he would have 
 to start immediately for Paris, though, in con- 
 sideration of the state of his health, there seemed 
 to be some probability that his departure might 
 be postponed. The same evening, however, he 
 was driven in a carriage to a place some seven or 
 eif<"ht miles distant from Milan, where he had an 
 interview, which lasted for two hours, with 
 Bernadotte, in presence of Berthier. He was asked 
 to give explanations in reference to the papers 
 found in his portfolio, which had not been 
 examined in his presence. He was questioned 
 in particular about a memorandum, in which the 
 writer represented himself as the author of the
 
 222 Idols of the FrencJi Stage. 
 
 coalition formed between Berlin, Vienna and 
 Madrid, which, after publishing it, the Directory, 
 on the 4th of September 1797, made the pretext 
 for its couj) d'etat. 
 
 He denied the authorship of the document, 
 declaring that he had not been to Vienna for 
 nineteen years, and that he had never set foot 
 either in Berlin or in Madrid. Bernadotte came 
 to no decision, and Count d'Antraigues was taken 
 back to his dungeon. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Countess d'Antraigues, remain- 
 ing at Milan, hurried about the city soliciting 
 from morninsT till night either the liberation of 
 her husband, or, at least, the mitigation of the 
 rigour with which he was being treated. 
 
 At last, thanks to the urgent representations 
 and prayers of his devoted wife. Count d'An- 
 traigues was liberated on parole, with permis- 
 sion to visit the libraries and to walk about 
 the citv, but on the understanding that he was 
 not to change his place of abode. But six weeks 
 afterwards, on the 25th of August, he somehow, with 
 or without a secret permission from the authorities, 
 disappeared, Tlie people who lived in the same
 
 Mada7ne de Saint- Htiberty. 223 
 
 house had not the least idea that he had srone : 
 and, as he was supposed at the time to be ill, 
 Mme. de Saint-Huberty continued to make broth 
 and prepare various remedies in rather an ostenta- 
 tious manner, saying that her husband was still 
 seriously indisposed. 
 
 The Count's friends have raised the question 
 whether or not he received a hint from the Com- 
 mandant to be off. It appears more probable, 
 however, from the letter, partly in cypher, which 
 he left for his wife, that he broke his parole 
 and fled, to avoid being sent to Paris, where he 
 would almost beyond doubt have been put to 
 death. "On this 25th August 1797," the letter 
 began, " at four in the morning, at the moment 
 of my flight, if God vouchsafe to bless my at- 
 tempt, my dear wife will do all she can to rejoin 
 
 i. 7 17 12 16 18 9 22." 
 
 rae at J j^ 3 p J. ^ j. 
 
 The letter contained full instructions as to cer- 
 tain bills, drawn upon Vienna and other places, 
 which the Countess was to bring with her. 
 Addresses, too, were given of various rela- 
 tives in Italy, Switzerland and France, to whom 
 she was to apply for money. She was also to
 
 2 24 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 receive funds from MordvinofF, the Russian Minister. 
 In case of his being recaptured, the Countess was 
 to send him his trunk, his dressing-case, his books, 
 and, moreover, ^ '^ \ ^l r.' She was further to 
 write to the Emperor and to the King of Spain, 
 urging them to take action. Finally, she was to 
 take the greatest care of her marriage certificate, 
 and of all the papers necessary for establishing 
 the identity of the child. 
 
 According to one version of the Count's escape, 
 it was due to a bribe of ten thousand francs, 
 which the Countess had realised by the sale of 
 her jewels. 
 
 As soon as she was informed that her husband 
 had passed the frontier, she hastened to follow him, 
 and on the 30th of August addressed to the Mar- 
 quis D'Andreoli, in whose house they had been 
 lodging, the following letter: — 
 
 " Monsieur le Marquis, I have the lionour to in- 
 form you that, having obtained our liberty on con- 
 dition that we should make our departure incognito, 
 we have fortunately succeeded in placing ourselves, 
 together with our effects, in safety, without any
 
 Madaine de Saint- Huberty. 225 
 
 suspicion being aroused on the subject. Accord- 
 ingly, Monsieur le Marquis, I have the honour to 
 thank you for all the attentions you showed us 
 during my husband's captivity and my residence 
 with you. I send you herewith the keys of our 
 apartments, which, I think, are in the same con- 
 dition as when we entered, as well as the linen 
 you were kind enough to lend us. 
 
 " Countess d'Antraigues." 
 
 It was understood in the Royalist Party that 
 the Count d'Antraigues owed his escape entirely 
 to his wife ; and to recognise at once her devo- 
 tion to her husband, and her services to the 
 "cause," the Count of Provence, in his theoretic 
 character of King, decorated her with the order 
 of Saint Michael. 
 
 In the month of January 1798 the Count 
 
 d'Antraigues made an official announcement of 
 
 his marriage. In May 1800 he received from 
 
 the King of the two Sicilies, both for himself 
 
 and for his son, the royal order of Constantine, 
 
 together with a pension. On 16th June 1804 
 
 the Countess d'Antraigues received from the 
 VOL. II. p
 
 2 26 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 Emperor of Austria a patent confirming, in 
 flattering terms, a pension which she had pre- 
 viously obtained. 
 
 " His Majesty the Emperor — King," ran the 
 document, " has very graciously resolved that 
 the life pension of one thousand ducats in specie, 
 previously granted to Mme. Anne - Antoinette 
 Clavel de Saint-Huberty, Countess d'Antraigues, 
 in memory of the services rendered by her to 
 her late Majesty, Queen Marie - Antoinette of 
 France, as superintendent of the music of this 
 august princess, be assigned for the future 
 to the State Exchequer, and be paid quarterly, 
 beginning from the present date, on the signed 
 receipt of this lady or her husband, His Majesty, 
 wishing that this pension be subject to no 
 charge, duty or diminution of any kind. 
 
 " COLLOREDO." 
 
 This patent found the couple at Dresden, where 
 the Count d'Antraigues was fulfillinof a secret 
 mission for the Einperor Alexander of Russia, 
 corresponding with Sweden through the Swedisli
 
 Madame de Saint- H liberty. 227 
 
 Minister Alopeus at London, and working generally 
 to bring about a European coalition against the 
 Emperor Napoleon I. The Count and Countess 
 passed at Dresden the greater part of the year 
 1804, all the year 1805, and the first months of 
 the year 1806. Then, driven away by Napoleon's 
 victories, they could find no place to stay at on 
 the continent, and took refuge in England, where 
 the Count at once entered into relations with the 
 Foreign Office. Mention is several times made of 
 him in Stapleton's Life of Canning, and in the 
 same writer's edition of Canning's Correspondence. 
 
 He is supposed to have communicated and sold 
 to the English Government the secret articles? 
 real or imaginary, of the Treaty of Tilsit. Ac- 
 cording to M. Thiers {History of the Consulate 
 and of the Evipire), he had not "earned the 
 money " which the English Government paid him. 
 It is difficult, indeed, to understand from whom 
 he could have obtained particulars of a treaty 
 drawn up with so much privacy, and signed per- 
 sonally by Napoleon and Alexander. 
 
 The legend on the subject, as received in 
 France, is that the Count had somehow obtained
 
 2 28 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 knowledge of the treaty, and had communicated 
 his information to Canning, who, in return, gave 
 .the Count a pension payable out of the Secret 
 Service money ; and it was this, always accord- 
 ing to the accepted legend, which, a few years 
 afterwards, caused the assassination both of the 
 Count and Countess. 
 
 Fouche, it is said, wished to know what was 
 going on between Count d'Antraigues and Canning, 
 and for that purpose sent two secret agents to 
 London, with orders at all cost to intercept the 
 correspondence. The Count's servant, Lorenzo, is 
 further said to have shown to the agents the 
 letters which passed between his master and 
 the Foreign Office ; and it was when he found 
 that his treachery was about to be discovered, 
 throuoh a visit which the Count was on the 
 point of making to Canning, that, losing his 
 head, he first assassinated his master and mistress, 
 and then committed suicide. 
 
 What, however, could Count d'Antraigues' secret 
 correspondence matter to the French Government 
 in presence of the open facts that England was 
 carrying on war against Napoleon's forces in
 
 Madame de Saint-Hziberty. 229 
 
 Spain, while Napoleon himself, at the head of 
 an immense army, was invading Russia ? 
 
 It appeared, moreover, from the evidence given 
 at the inquest, that Lorenzo killed his master 
 and mistress in a fit of rage due simply to his 
 having received notice to leave. 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 The following account of the tragic affair appeared 
 in the Times of July 23d, 1812 :— 
 
 " The Count and Countess d'Antraigues, French 
 noblesse, and distantly related to the unfortunate 
 family of the Bourbons, resided on Barnes Terrace, 
 on the banks of the Thames. They lived in 
 a style which, though far from what they had 
 formerly moved in, yet was rather bordering 
 on high life than the contrary. They kept a 
 carriage, coachman, footman, and a servant out 
 of livery. The latter was an Italian or Pied- 
 montese named Lawrence ; and it is of this 
 wretch that we have to relate the followino-
 
 230 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 particulars. The Count and Countess, intending 
 to visit London as yesterday, ordered the carriage 
 to be at the door by eight in the morning, which 
 it accordingly was ; and soon after that hour 
 they were in the act of leaving the house to get 
 into it, the Countess being at the door, the Count 
 coming downstairs, when the report of a pistol 
 was heard in the passage, which, it has since 
 appeared, took no effect ; nor was it then ascer- 
 tained by whom it was fired. Lawrence was 
 at this time in the passage, and, on the smoke 
 subsiding, was seen to rush past the Count, and 
 proceed with great speed upstairs. He almost 
 instantly returned with a dirk in his hand, and 
 plunged it up to the hilt into the Count's left 
 shoulder ; he continued his course and made for the 
 street door, where stood the Countess, whom he 
 instantly despatched by plunging the same dirk 
 into her left breast. This last act had scarcely 
 been completed when the Count appeared also at 
 the door, bleeding, and following the assassin, who 
 made for the house and ran upstairs. The Count, 
 though extremely weak and faint, continued to 
 follow him ; but so great was the terror occasioned
 
 Madame de Saint- H liberty. 231 
 
 that no one else had the same resolution. The 
 assassin and the Count had not been upstairs 
 more than a minute when the report of another 
 pistol was heard, which satisfied those below that 
 Lawrence had finally put an end to the existence 
 of his master. The ahirm was now given, and 
 the cry of ' Murder, murder ! ' resounded from every 
 mouth. The Countess was still lying at the front 
 door, by which the turnpike road runs, and at 
 lenffth men of sufficient resolution were found to 
 venture upstairs, and, horrible to relate, they 
 found the Court lying across his own bed, groan- 
 ing heavily, and nearly dead, and the bloodthirsty 
 villain lying by his side a corpse. He had put a 
 period to his own existence by placing a pistol 
 that he found in the room in his mouth and 
 discharCTino: its contents through his head. The 
 Count only survived about twenty-five minutes 
 after the fatal blow, and died without being able 
 to utter a single word. 
 
 "The Countess had by this time been brought 
 into the house ; the wound was directly on her 
 left breast, extremely large, and she died with- 
 out uttering a single word. The servants of the
 
 232 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 house were all collected last night; but no cause 
 for so horrid an act was at that time known : 
 all was but conjecture. 
 
 "The following circumstances, in so extra- 
 ordinary a case, may be, however, worth while re- 
 lating. The Count, it appears, always kept a 
 brace of pistols loaded in his bedroom, and a small 
 dirk. About a month ago the Countess and 
 the servants heard the report of a pistol up- 
 stairs, and were in consequence greatly alarmed ; 
 when one of the latter, a female, went upstairs 
 and looked into her mistress's room, it was full 
 of smoke, and she screamed out. On its clearing 
 away, she saw Lawrence standing, who told her 
 nothing was the matter : he had only fired one 
 of his master's pistols. It afterwards appeared 
 that he had fired into the wainscot ; it was 
 loaded with ball, and the ball from the pistol 
 is yet to be seen. 
 
 "The Count and Countess were about sixty 
 years of age. The latter was highly accom- 
 plished, a great proficient in music, and greatly 
 admired for her singing in fashionable parties. 
 There is no reason whatever to believe that
 
 Madame de Saint- Huberty. 233 
 
 Lawrence was insane. Only about ten minutes 
 previous to his committing this deed of blood, 
 he went over to an adjoining public-house and 
 took a glass of gin. He had lived only three 
 months in the family, and report says was to 
 be discharged in a few days. 
 
 "The Count and Countess had resided in Barnes 
 for four or live years, and have left an only son, 
 who, we understand, is at present in this country 
 studying the law. 
 
 " Besides his house on Barnes Terrace, Count 
 d'Antraiofues had a town establishment, No. 7 
 Queen Anne Street, W. He was fifty- six, and the 
 Countess fifty-three years of age. The Count had 
 eminently distinguished himself in the troubles 
 which have convulsed Europe for the last twenty- 
 two years. In 1789 he was actively engaged in 
 favour of the Revolution, but during the tyranny 
 of Robespierre he emigrated to Germany, and was 
 employed in the service of Russia. At Venice, in 
 1797, he was arrested by Bernadotte, at the order 
 of Bonaparte, who pretended to have discovered in 
 his portfolio all the particulars of the plot upon 
 which the 18th Fructidor was founded. The Count
 
 2 34 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 made his escape from Milan, where he was con- 
 fined, and was afterwards employed in the diplo- 
 matic mission of Russia at the Court of Dresden. 
 In 1806 he was sent to England with credentials 
 from the Emperor of Russia, who had granted him 
 a pension, and placed great dependence upon his 
 services. He received here letters of denization, 
 and was often employed by the Government. The 
 Countess was the once celebrated Mme. Saint- 
 Huberty, an actress at the Theatre Fran9ais. 
 She had amassed a very large fortune by her 
 professional talents." 
 
 Needless to say, she never appeared at the 
 Theatre Fran9ais. 
 
 The same impression of the Times contained 
 this other account : — 
 
 " The Count d'Antraigues, a very eminent politi- 
 cal character, formerly a deputy of the nobility 
 of Vivarais to the States General, author of many 
 eloquent tracts, who had married the celebrated 
 singer and actress of the Royal Academy of Music 
 at Paris, Mme. Saint - Huberty, was murdered
 
 Madame de Samt- Hicberly. 235 
 
 yesterday morning at seven o'clock, along with 
 his lady, in their summer residence on Barnes 
 Terrace, by one of their servants named Lorenzo, 
 a Piedmontese, aged twenty-five years, who had 
 been only a few months in their service, and 
 whom they had no reason to suspect of such a 
 diabolical design, 
 
 " Both the Count and Countess d'Antraigues were 
 preparing to come to town, as they usually did 
 every Wednesday. The Count had an appoint- 
 ment (as we understand) with his particular 
 friend Mr Canning to meet him at ten o'clock, 
 and had actually taken his papers in his hat, 
 and proceeded down the staircase from his bed- 
 room, his lady, who went before, being at the 
 door waiting, and calling for the servant to open 
 the carriacje. Lorenzo at that moment took from 
 the bed of his master a pistol and a most superb 
 Turkish poignard, which the Count d'Antraigues 
 had brought with him from Constantinople. He 
 discharged the pistol at his master, at six paces 
 distance, on the staircase, and missed him, the 
 ball passing between the Count and the Countess. 
 
 " The murderer, seeing that the ball had not
 
 236 Idols of the FrencJi Sta^e. 
 
 taken effect, took to the poignard, and stabbed his 
 master in the shoulder. Though the blow was 
 mortal, the Count had still strength enough to 
 walk to his room. The servant then ran to the 
 Countess, who was shrieking, and plunged in the 
 most audacious manner the poignard into her 
 breast. She fell, and died instantly, without any 
 groans, saying only, ' Lorenzo ! Lorenzo ! ' 
 
 " It appears that the Count died, as soon as he 
 re-entered his room, from an effusion of blood in 
 his chest. The murderer, bewildered and frantic 
 after his ferocious deed, came to the room where 
 his master was lying, and seizing on another of 
 the four pistols which the Count kept constantly 
 for his protection at his bedside, with the poignard, 
 under a presentiment that one day or other his 
 life would be attempted, discharged the contents 
 into his mouth, and shattered his head in the 
 most fearful manner. He died on the spot, and 
 fell dead by the side of his master. 
 
 " The alarm was given by the coachman, who 
 was standing at the door, and the other servants. 
 Two professional men came instantly, but no assist- 
 ance could prevail. The house was besmeared with
 
 Madame de Saint-Huberty. 237 
 
 blood, and presented a most shocking spectacle, 
 the three bodies being extended in such a small 
 space. The coachman drove to town to fetch the 
 doctor, and the lawyer who was generally employed 
 by the Count, and to convey the melancholy 
 tidings to the house of the deceased in Queen 
 Anne Street, W., where a great crowd of people 
 were collected during the whole of the day. Dr 
 Chavernac of Gerrard Street, the surgeon, and 
 Mr Trickev, the solicitor, both the intimate friends 
 of the deceased, went post-haste to Barnes Terrace. 
 The papers, jewels and other effects of the Count 
 and Countess were put under seal in their presence, 
 and in that of a magistrate and several respect- 
 able neighbours. A coroner's inquest is to take 
 place this day at Barnes on the three bodies. 
 
 " No cause is yet known for the atrocious act 
 which has deprived of life two persons, who, 
 by their talents, knowledge, amiable manners and 
 powerful connections, ranked very high in society. 
 The Count was a man of colossal stature and 
 imposing countenance, only fifty-eight years of age, 
 and his lady fifty-two. 
 
 " Mr Vansittart, the Chancellor of the Exchequer,
 
 238 Idols of tJie French Stage. 
 
 the particular friend of the Count, was informed 
 of the lamentable event early yesterday, and 
 Lord Sidmouth commissioned Mr Brooks of the 
 Alien Office to take, conjointly with Count La 
 Chatre, Commissary of His Majesty Louis XVIIL, 
 the proper measures to secure the papers and 
 property of the deceased, who had been formerly 
 Commissary of His Most Christian Majesty in 
 Italy, and till his death an agent and corre- 
 spondent of the Emperor of Russia." 
 
 The Times of 24th July 1812 contained this 
 report of the inquest : — 
 
 "An inquest was held yesterday at the '"White 
 Hart,' Barnes Terrace, before Charles Jemmett, 
 Esq., Coroner for the County, after a view of the 
 bodies of the Count and Countess d'Antraigues, 
 and of Lawrence who murdered them. 
 
 " Susannah Black, the first witness, deposed 
 that, on the 22d July instant, she was ordered by 
 the Countess, about eight o'clock in the morning, 
 to take some books, etc., to the carriage door; 
 that she followed the Countess to the door, and
 
 Madame de Saint- H liberty. 239 
 
 saw Lawrence near the carriage, with his face to 
 the door, and ordered him to open the carriage 
 door for his mistress, instead of which he walked 
 into the liouse, and as he passed her mistress a 
 pistol was fired, but she did not know wlio 
 discharged it. She saw the Count on the stairs, 
 and Lawrence going up the stairs. Did not see 
 anything in his hand. She afterwards saw 
 Lawrence coming downstairs wnth a pistol in 
 his right hand, and his left hand behind hin), 
 but could not see whether he had anything in 
 it or not ; that she ran into the garden alarmed ; 
 and that, on her return into the house by the 
 hall, she went to the front door and saw her 
 mistress lying on the ground, in the footpath of 
 the street, near the carriage. She called for 
 assistance, and another servant and the coachman, 
 David Hebditch, came to her, and they took 
 the Countess into the house. There was a srreat 
 deal of blood about her, and she was alive, 
 though speechless. Mr Ball, a surgeon, was sent 
 for, who attended immediately. But her mistress 
 died in a few minutes after the same. Witness 
 stated that one day, about three weeks ao-o.
 
 240 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 when the Count was absent, she was with the 
 Countess in her bedroom, when they heard a 
 loud report, and- she ran downstairs thinking- 
 it was a rap at the door. But finding no one 
 there, she called ' Lawrence,' but no one answered. 
 She then returned upstairs. The Countess met 
 her at the door of the bedroom, and said it 
 was the report of a pistol. Witness ran upstairs 
 to the Count's room, and on coming to the door 
 saw some smoke issue from it, and saw Lawrence 
 in the room. She asked him what he was doing, 
 and he answered ' Nothing.' She then went to 
 her mistress, and told her Lawrence had fired 
 ofi" a pistol. The Countess went upstairs, and 
 witness followed her, and heard her talk to 
 Lawrence very coolly, but could not tell what 
 she said, as she spoke French or Italian ; but the 
 Countess told her afterwards that he said he 
 had been handling the pistol and it went off. 
 When Lawrence came to the kitchen, she asked 
 liiiii how he dared to meddle with his master's 
 pistols in his absence, and he answered it went 
 ofi" by chance as lie was handling it. Slie never 
 knew of any ({uairel or anger between the Count
 
 Madame de Saint- Htiberiy. 241 
 
 and Lawrence. Said Lawrence was a sober man, 
 but latterly had been more passionate than 
 before. Yesterday morning, the wind having 
 blown the parlour door to with a great noise, 
 the Count spoke rather sharply to Lawrence, 
 thinking he banged it and would wake his 
 mistress. Lawrence had lived in the family 
 about three months. Believed the dagger pro- 
 duced to be her master's, having many times 
 seen it hanginof in his room. 
 
 " Elizabeth Ashton, another servant of the 
 Count and Countess, deposed that when the 
 Countess came first downstairs, she was standing 
 at the street door to wait on her mistress. The 
 carriage was at the door. Her mistress passed 
 her, and #ent towards the carriage — the Coijnt 
 was coming downstairs. Witness heard the re- 
 port of a pistol, was stunned by it, said she 
 was a dead woman, turned round and said 
 ' Lawrence ! Lawrence ! ' when, looking up, she saw 
 Lawrence coming downstairs with a pistol in one 
 hand and a dagger in the other. She screamed 
 out, and ran into the street, crying ' Murder ! 
 
 murder ! ' went over to the public-house to give 
 VOL. II. Q
 
 242 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 an alarm, and on her return found her mistress 
 lying on the footpath of the street near the 
 carriage, and being so affected that she found 
 she could not give any assistance, she went away. 
 
 " David Hebditch, coachman to the Count and 
 Countess, deposed that he received orders from 
 Lawrence to have the carriage ready yesterday 
 morning, the 2 2d July, at five minutes before 
 eight; that he was at the door with the carriage 
 before the clock struck eight ; that, as soon as 
 he arrived there, Lawrence came to the coach, 
 opened the door, and put into the carriage a 
 tin can filled with oil ; that he then went into 
 the house, and soon afterwards returned ; that 
 when the Countess came down, and was proceed- 
 ing to the carriage, Lawrence went into the house, 
 and soon after he passed his mistress the report 
 of a pistol was heard ; that the Countess asked 
 him, the coachman, what was the matter, and 
 he answered it was from the inside of the house ; 
 that in a few minutes afterwards, as he was 
 sitting on his box before the door, he saw 
 Lawrence come downstairs, and, with a sharp 
 instrument he lield in his hand, which the wit-
 
 Madame de Saint-Huberty. 243 
 
 ness believed to be a dan^fjer, strike it into the 
 shoulder of the Count — he saw the dagger enter 
 his shoulder ; that Lawrence then passed the 
 Count, and proceeded towards the street door ; 
 that he, the coachman, got off the box as 
 quickly as he could, and, as he was going towards 
 his master, the Countess passed him, going to- 
 wards the carriasre, and, on turninfj round to 
 follow her, he saw her staggering, and she fell, 
 exclaiming, ' It was Lawrence ! it was Lawrence ! ' 
 He saw blood about her, and some on the ground, 
 but could not tell exactly what part it came 
 from. Did not see Lawrence afterwards, but in 
 about three minutes more heard report of another 
 pistol, which appeared to come from upstairs. 
 Soon after the Count came to the door, and 
 blood ran out of his sleeve. Left him there, and 
 went to assist the Countess into the house. On 
 surgeon coming and desiring her to be stripped, 
 went out of room to look after his master, and 
 found him sitting on the bed in his own room 
 in a reclining posture, with his feet on the floor. 
 Was then alive, but speechless. At the same 
 time saw Lawrence, with his face lying on the
 
 244 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 floor, apparently dead, with some blood near his 
 mouth. Mr King, a surgeon, then came and de- 
 sired the Count might be stripped. Witness 
 assisted to do so, and held him while they got 
 a sponge and some water and washed the wound. 
 After that he went away, and drove carriage to 
 town. Believed Lawrence was sober. He spoke 
 very correct to him, the coachman, when he gave 
 him his order, and did not appear at all mentally 
 deranged. 
 
 " William Hitchin, master of the ' Sun ' public- 
 house at Barnes, deposed that yesterday morn- 
 ing, about eight o'clock, coming along the street, 
 he saw Lawrence put a tin can into the Count's 
 carrias^e, and return into the house. When he 
 got opposite the door, he heard the report of a 
 pistol. Turned immediately round, and saw the 
 Count and Countess just within the door. The 
 Countess said somethini; to the coachman, who 
 answered, ' It is indoors, my lady.' The Count 
 and lady returned into the house. He then heard 
 some persons screaming, and was going to get 
 some weapon, but coachman begged him not to 
 go, and he did not. The coachman and he
 
 Madame de Saint- Hiiberiy. 245 
 
 were going into the house when the Countess 
 came out of the house, passed them, and fell 
 down. Thought she had only fainted, and, while 
 standing by her, saw the Count come out of 
 the house, with blood streaming from his 
 shoulder. The Count instantly returned into the 
 house, and immediately afterwards witness heard 
 the report of a pistol in one of the upper rooms ; 
 this report occurred before the Count could pos- 
 sibly get to his own room. Some people came 
 up, and he accompanied them into the house. 
 The first thing he saw on the floor of the pas- 
 sage was a dagger, bloody, and with some silk on 
 it as if it came from a shawl ; on desiring a 
 person to go upstairs with him, he refused with- 
 out having a weapon, on which witness gave 
 him the dagger, and himself took a poker. 
 The coachman followed, and the witness desired 
 him to go first into the room, which he 
 did. On entering the room, he saw the Count 
 sitting on a bed, alive, but speechless, and 
 Lawrence lying on the floor dead, with a brass 
 double-barrelled pistol close to him. 
 
 "Matthew Ball, Surgeon, of Barnes, deposed that,
 
 246 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 about a quarter past eight o'clock in the morning, 
 a woman came to his house, and desired him to 
 come immediately to Count d'Antraigues', for the 
 Count and Countess were both murdered; inune- 
 diately went, and when he came into the house, 
 saw the Countess lying on the floor of the 
 parlour, and a great deal of blood both on the 
 floor and on her clothes. Then examined and 
 found a large lacerated wound on her right 
 breast, made by a sharp instrument, which had 
 passed through the tliird and fourth ribs to the 
 cavity of the chest, from which a great eff'usion 
 of blood had proceeded. As soon as he found 
 the wound was mortal, and that she could not 
 live many minutes, witness went up to the Count 
 to assist Mr King, a surgeon, who had previously 
 gone up to dress his wound, and found the Count 
 had received a wound on his left shoulder from 
 a sharp instrument, which had penetrated four 
 inches. He was motionless and speechless, and 
 died in about a quarter of an hour after his 
 (Mr B.) seeing him. Saw two small leaden bullets 
 in the string-board of the stairs, which appeared 
 to have been shot from a pistol. When he en-
 
 Madame de Samt-Hiiberly. 247 
 
 tered the Count's room, saw Lawrence lying on 
 the floor on his belly, with a quantity of blood 
 under his face ; on examination found a loaded 
 pistol had been discharged into his mouth, the 
 contents of which had very much lacerated and 
 torn his mouth, and from which wound he had 
 instantly died, the bullet being still lodged in the 
 vertebra of the neck. 
 
 " The Coroner then told the jury that, as they 
 had not only heard what the witnesses had 
 sworn, but also the depositions read over to 
 them, it was unnecessary for him to go into a 
 recapitulation thereon. He should, therefore, leave 
 them to determine whether, from the evidence 
 they had heard, they believed, first that Lawrence 
 had murdered the Count and Countess ; and 
 secondly, whether he had committed suicide, being 
 in his senses. 
 
 "In about five minutes the jury returned a 
 verdict that Lawrence had murdered the Count 
 and Countess, and had afterwards committed 
 suicide, being in his senses."
 
 RACHEL. 
 
 Elisa Felix, who became so celebrated under her 
 assumed name of Rachel, was born at Muuf, a 
 village in Switzerland, on 28th February 1821. 
 Her father, Jacques Felix, and her mother, Esther 
 Haya, were both French and both Jewish. They 
 dealt in second-hand clothes, but were so poor 
 that Elisa, at the ago of ten, turned street-singer 
 with her sister Sophie. As she was singing one 
 day in a thoroughfare at Lyons, Choron, who 
 happened to hear her, was struck with the beauty 
 of her voice, and, approaching her, inquired as to 
 her circumstances and her family. He next paid 
 a visit to her father, whom he found in a garret, 
 and offered to admit the child to the Institution
 
 Rachel. 249 
 
 of classical music of which he was director. The 
 proposition was accepted, and a month afterwards 
 the Felix family installed themselves at Paris. It 
 was at Choron's sugp^estion that Elisa exchanged 
 her name for that of Racliel ; but the director's 
 confidence in her future as a vocalist was soon to 
 be overthrown, for the child completely lost her 
 voice. She then passed from the Institution to a 
 dramatic school established by a disappointed old 
 actor named Saint- Aul aire, who, although he could 
 find no favour on the boards himself, could at 
 least train others for the stage. 
 
 She progressed rapidly, and ere long attempted 
 the representation of some of the light characters 
 of Moliere. It was in tragedy, however, in the 
 plays of Corneille and of Racine, that she was 
 destined to shine, and at the age of seventeen 
 she had already identified herself with at least 
 half-a-dozen of the heroines of these great masters. 
 Already her critics could find no adequate words 
 in which to praise her, and already her audiences 
 experienced every emotion, every transport which 
 she exhibited or rather felt upon the stage; for 
 she so completely lost herself in whatever character
 
 250 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 she was playing that she could scarcely be said 
 to act. She no longer knew herself to be 
 Rachel. 
 
 A record, however, of her successes would fill a 
 volume. It is probable that she hastened her end 
 by excessive study, for she would sometimes 
 within a few months learn half-a-dozen difiicult 
 and elaborate parts, so as to represent them in 
 the highest perfection. She often complained of 
 fatigue and exhaustion, and she was destined to 
 succumb at the early age of thirty-eight to con- 
 sumption. 
 
 In view, perhaps, of her Jewish descent, Rachel 
 was frequently, though with great injustice, 
 accused of illiberality. Whenever she arrived in a 
 new town to give a performance, the municipality 
 were scarcely contented unless she gave to the 
 poor the whole of her share of the receipts. She 
 gave much ; but " not giving everything," as M. 
 Arsene Houssaye puts it, "she might as well have 
 given nothin<;." 
 
 Nothing vexed her more than to hear herself 
 accused of meanness. One of her best friends. 
 Baron Rothschild, said to her, by way of consola-
 
 Rachel, 2 5 1 
 
 tion : " It" I had listened to everyone who asked 
 nic for assistance, I should be obliged now to 
 borrow five francs from you." 
 
 " My dear Baron," she replied, " you are only 
 troubled in this way at Paris, but I am followed 
 by importunities all over the world." 
 
 On one occasion, when a friend wrote to her to 
 borrow live hundred francs, she replied : "If I 
 were to send you the five hundred francs you ask 
 for, I should some day, perhaps, have need of 
 the money, and you might find it difficult to give 
 it back. If you will allow me to send you a 
 hundred francs, I am quite certain, on the other 
 hand, that I shall never need them, so that you 
 need not trouble yourself about repayment. I 
 enclose, all the same, two hundred ; you will 
 understand me." 
 
 She was always ready with a happy remark, 
 and was sometimes really witty. When one 
 evening, behind the scenes at the Theatre Fran- 
 ^aise, two actresses came to blows, one of them 
 lost her chignon in the struggle. " My dear," 
 exclaimed Rachel to the victorious combatant, 
 " you have deprived her of one of her illusions."
 
 252 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 In reference to the gift of eternal youth pos- 
 sessed by so many actresses, she once wrote : 
 " Look at a good housewife side by side with a 
 good actress, and what do you observe ? At 
 forty the former is already an old woman, 
 because she has troubled herself too much about 
 her domestic affairs. The actress of forty is 
 still quite young, because she has never bothered 
 about washing bills or the expenditure of her 
 cook. The housewife has always been pre- 
 occupied with her household, wliereas an actress 
 has had no preoccupation except in connection 
 with art and love : two fountains of youth. 
 
 " But I am almost copying Brantome, for 
 it is he who says : ' Live like the rose. The 
 more a flower is cultivated, the longer it 
 lasts.' " 
 
 One of Rachel's greatest dramatic triumphs 
 was achieved in Scribe and Legouve's play of 
 Adrienne Lecouvreur. It was long, however, 
 before she could be prevailed upon to represent 
 the chief character, though it had been written at 
 her own suggestion. M. Legouv6 required all his 
 ingenuity to circumvent her caprice. Of the
 
 Rachel. 253 
 
 means by which he at length removed her pre- 
 judice against the piece, he himself gives an 
 account which is far too interesting to be omitted. 
 
 "The drama of Adrienne Lecouvreur" he says, 
 " now so well known, in which the chief incident 
 is the death of an eminent actress by means of 
 a poisoned bouquet presented by a jealous rival, 
 was the joint composition of Scribe and myself, 
 and had been undertaken by us expressly for 
 Rachel at her own suggestion, I might even say 
 at her own request. But the few months that 
 we devoted to writing the piece had the effect 
 of disgusting her with it. Changeful and 
 fickle by nature, she was still more so by 
 instability of character. She was continually 
 asking everybody's opinion, and, of course, every- 
 body's opinion left its impression. A few jest- 
 ing remarks from some thoughtless critic com- 
 pletely disenchanted her with the idea that had 
 transported her with delight five minutes before. 
 This was at least the case with our poor Adrienne. 
 Rachel's last advisers completely frightened 
 her. Such a daring, not to say shocking, de-
 
 2 54 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 parture from the legitimate drama ! What ! 
 Herinioiie and Pauline consent to speak in 
 prose! The daughter of Corneille and Racine 
 become the step-daughter of Monsieur Scribe ! 
 Unheard of profanation ! 
 
 "On the day of the reading, therefore, Rachel, 
 as may be imagined, came to our meetino- 
 fully determined to refuse the part. The room 
 was quite full. The actresses — at that time they 
 were permitted to judge like other people — were 
 quite as numerous as the actors ; and a certain 
 quiet courtly air prevailed over all the assembly, 
 striking me the very instant I entered with an 
 uneasy, chilling foreboding. 
 
 " Scribe took the manuscript and began to read. 
 I buried myself in an arm-chair, and quietly 
 watched. 
 
 " I soon became aware of a double play taking 
 place all round me, and compelling me to be a 
 most interested spectator. First, there was our 
 own, performed by Scribe's tongue ; secondly, there 
 was the other, progressing silently in the hearts 
 of the judges, but visible as a noonday sun to the 
 eye of the watchful observer. Vaguely informed
 
 Rachel. 255 
 
 of the secret dispositions of their illustrious com- 
 rade, the judges felt themselves to be in a some- 
 what perplexing predicament. A work written 
 for Mdlle. Rachel, hut one which Mdlle. Rachel 
 herself was unwilling to play, was decidedly 
 capable, if received by the committee, of becoming 
 a subject replete with difficulties of many kinds, 
 vexatious lawsuits not being the least of the 
 number. 
 
 " Instead of listening to Scribe, therefore, as 
 he rolled off Adrienne, the judges carefully 
 watched Rachel's countenance ; and as this coun- 
 tenance preserved a marble impassibility, the other 
 countenances preserved a marble impassibility too. 
 During the whole course of those five long acts 
 she never smiled, never approved, never applauded. 
 The universal stillness, in fact, was so complete 
 that Scribe, thinking he saw one of the judges 
 falling asleep, interrupted the reading to exclaim 
 with great politeness : — 
 
 " ' Do not consider me, my dear sir. No cere- 
 mony, I beg.' 
 
 " The judge defended himself very earnestly, 
 and that was the only incident of the reading.
 
 256 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 Stay, I am wrong. There was anotlier incident, 
 or at least the beginning of one, in the last scene 
 but one of the final act. Rachel, interested 
 in the situation in spite of herself, raised her back 
 a little from the arm-chair in which she had been 
 reclining, as motionless as if she formed part of 
 it, and leaned forward slightly as if to listen 
 with intentness to the words ; but noticing that 
 I had observed the movement, she sank back 
 quickly into her arm-chair, and instantly resumed 
 her marble countenance. 
 
 " The reading over, Scribe and myself went into the 
 director's room, where the director himself joined 
 us in a few moments, and told us, with an air of 
 regret, probably quite sincere, that Mdlle. Rachel 
 ' did not see herself in Adrienne,' and, as the 
 work had been composed expressly for her, that 
 the committee would prefer taking no immediate 
 action in regard to it. 
 
 " ' In other words,' observed Scribe as we left 
 the room, ' our piece is refused. Good ! We must 
 wait for another opportunity.' 
 
 " Next morniuij: three diiferent managers came
 
 Rachel. 257 
 
 to make us offers for the work. Scribe, who 
 dearly loved retaliation, and, above all, liked to 
 revenge himself while he was in the heat, wished 
 to close the bargain at once. But I demurred. 
 
 "'No, my dear friend,' said I. 'Our piece was 
 written for the Theatre Fran9ais, and it is at the 
 Theatre Fran9ais that it must be played. The 
 part was composed for Rachel, and Rachel will 
 have to act it.' 
 
 " ' But how can we induce Rachel to act it ? ' 
 " ' How ? I do not know. But Rachel will 
 play it, and nobody else. While we were work- 
 ing at the piece, though your share in it is con- 
 siderably larger than mine, you often honoured 
 me by saying that I understood Adrienne better 
 than you. I always believed, in fact, that there 
 was something original and striking in the tragic 
 actress who has learned nobility of character from 
 the noble heroines she is so fond of repre- 
 senting, and who, by dint of interpreting the 
 great Corneille, has imbibed into her soul some 
 of the great Corneille's grandeur. Therefore, this 
 great personage must appear nowhere else than 
 
 at the theatre of the great Corneille himself.' 
 VOL. n. R
 
 258 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 " My earnestness half convinced Scribe. He 
 promised to wait a little. The managers became 
 more importunate, one of them saying, by way 
 of an irresistible argument, — 
 
 " ' My leading lady has never died on the stage. 
 She would love to be poisoned.' 
 
 "Arguments of this kind I had no great diffi- 
 cultj' in meeting ; but when six months had passed 
 without improving the aspect of things, Scribe 
 protested to me that he would wait no longer. 
 
 " ' Give me but a week,' I replied. ' You are 
 going to spend a few days at Sericourt. Start on 
 your trip to-day. At your return, if I have 
 done nothing, I surrender gracefully.' 
 
 " ' Very well,' was Scribe's answer. ' This day 
 week I shall expect you to breakfast at eleven.' 
 
 " ' Farewell. Till eleven o'clock this day week.' 
 
 " Off Scribe started. The course I now adopted 
 was as follows : — 
 
 " A new director had been appointed for the 
 Theatre Franoais. I called on him at once, and 
 spoke to him in substance as follows : * You are 
 aware that IMdlle. Rachel has refused our piece. 
 Had .she a riLjlit to refuse it ? That I do not
 
 Rachel. 259 
 
 know. Had she a right to put her refusal in 
 such a form ? That I do know. She certainly- 
 had no such right. That was not the way to 
 return to such a man as Monsieur Scribe a work 
 which he had been requested to write. That 
 was rather offensive treatment towards a master of 
 the highest rank, and, permit me to add, towards a 
 young man who is not in the lowest. Mdllc. 
 Rachel, no doubt, is long since aware of all this, 
 and regrets her precipitancy. Such talents as 
 hers cannot but be acquainted with some of 
 the commonest usages of politeness. Now, a way 
 is still left to bring about a fair understanding, 
 to reconcile her own interests and ours. I shall 
 ask her formally, not to play our piece but to 
 listen to it fairly ; not at the theatre, not before 
 her fellow-artists, but in her own drawing-room, 
 in the presence of a few of her most intimate 
 friends. She may choose them herself. She may 
 invite as many or as few as she pleases. I shall 
 come alone, with my manuscript. If the work 
 is then pronounced unsuitable, I take away the 
 piece, and we consider the matter finally settled. 
 But, if it pleases Mdlle. Rachel and her friends,
 
 2 6o Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 she will play it, she will have a grand success, 
 and she will call me her deliverer.' 
 
 " ' The offer is accepted,' wrote Rachel that very- 
 evening to her friends. ' I cannot refuse M. 
 Legouve's request ; but I shall never play that 
 
 .' I must omit the term she employed to 
 
 express her disdain. It is enough to say that it 
 was more expressive than polite. 
 
 " The next evening but one had been appointed 
 for the reading. The judges selected by Rachel 
 were Janin, Merle, Rolle, and the director of the 
 Theatre Fran^ais. 
 
 "I felt, no doubt, a little flurried as I entered 
 the room, but I was quite master of myself. I 
 knew I was in the right, and had carefully 
 trained myself for the encounter. I had thought 
 over the question with myself somewhat in this 
 way : Scribe was certainly an excellent reader, 
 and had really read our piece admirably before 
 the committee, except as regards one part, that of 
 Adrienne. In my opinion he had not individual- 
 ised the role, sufficiently for Rachel ; lie had read 
 it certainly witli much spirit, grace, and warmth, 
 but, as I thought, not without something of the
 
 Rachel. 26 J 
 
 mannerism of a young leading actress. The 
 grandeur I considered rather tame ; the heroine 
 was somewhat obscured beneath tlie woman. 
 Now, it was on this precise point that I had 
 determined to attack Rachel, to capture her, to 
 tame her, to break her in, as it were, by pre- 
 senting to her a new, and at the same time a grand 
 and noble personage. Her success would be no easy 
 matter ; her attempt would be beset with great 
 danger and difficulty. To diminish this danger, 
 and to smooth down this difficulty as much as 
 possible, was evidently our business. It was our 
 business to sketch, in faint but tangible outline, 
 how she was to pass gradually from one line of 
 character to another, and to convince Rachel her- 
 self that what the public would consider a 
 complete metamorphosis was in reality nothing 
 more to her than a mere change of costume. 
 This was the point that Scribe had not suffi- 
 ciently insisted on; this was the fine shading 
 that he had not sufficiently brought out and 
 this was precisely what I had been carefully 
 preparing myself during the last two days 
 to render perfectly visible and palpable to my
 
 262 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 audience in general, but to Rachel herself in 
 particular. 
 
 " I arrive, and the actress accords me a charm- 
 ing reception, full of that wheedling, cajoling, 
 coaxino- o-race which became her so well. Her 
 own fair hands prepare my glass of sugared 
 water; her own fair hands bring me a chair; 
 her own fair hands dispose the curtains so that I 
 may have the benefit of the most favourable 
 light. I could not help smiling to myself, re- 
 membering, as I did too well, the famous phrase, 
 
 ' I will never play that ,' and knowing, as I 
 
 ili<l too well, the why and wherefore of all this 
 pretty strategy. It was to sugar-coat the pill. 
 How could so sweet and courteous a listener be 
 ever suspected of secret ill-will and malice afore- 
 thought ? It was all what is called in French 
 theatrical slang ' preparation.' 
 
 " I beofin. Throuofhout the first act Rachel 
 applauded, approved, smiled — did, in short, exactly 
 tlio contrary of what she had done at the com 
 mittee reading. How was this ? It was easy to 
 see. Her part was well prepared. As an excuse 
 i'ur her rejection, she wished to be able to say
 
 Rachel. 263 
 
 that Adrienne's character did not suit her, and as 
 Adrienne does not appear before the second act, 
 praising the first act could evidently do no harm ; 
 on the contrary, her very praises would give an 
 air of impartiality to her subsequent strictures, and 
 spread an air of sincerity over the regrets of her 
 subsequent refusal. 
 
 " More ' preparation ; ' but unfortunately here, 
 as often elsewhere, " preparation " overshot its 
 mark. The acting was so exceedingly good 
 that it did not pass for acting at all. Her 
 friends, witnessing what they considered her 
 genuine satisfaction, began to experience some- 
 thing like satisfaction themselves, and, seeing 
 her applaud warmly, applauded too. The reader, 
 emboldened by all these unequivocal signs of 
 approbation, took new courage, and mastered the 
 first act in good style, holding his audience well 
 in hand. In fact, to use a metaphor, he felt him- 
 self already sailing serenely under a press of 
 canvas, impelled by that electric current of success 
 which is so well known to dramatic authors, and 
 which, he was now sure, would manifest itself at 
 the decisive moment of victory.
 
 264 Idols of the French Stage, 
 
 "In the second act Adrienne makes her appear- 
 ance, holding in her hand the part of Bajazet, 
 which she is studying. The Prince de Bouillon 
 approaches her and observes gaily: 'You still 
 appear to be looking for something. What is it, 
 may I ask ? ' ' I am looking for the truth,' she 
 replies. ' Bravo ! bravo ! ' exclaimed Janin. ' Ah/ 
 said I to myself, 'that comes from a friend, for 
 certainly the phrase does not merit a bravo.' 
 Rachel, too. was a little startled, and gave 
 Janin a look that seemed to say : ' What ! a 
 traitor here?' Fortunately, the traitor's opinion 
 soon became everybody else's opinion. Rachel 
 surprised, and very much embarrassed, at not 
 tinding herself filled with her former disdain, 
 made but a feeble resistance against the general 
 impression, and at the end of the second act 
 even chimed in with the prevailing sentiment, 
 saying : ' Well, I always thought there was some- 
 thing in that second act.' 
 
 " This was her last semblance of defence. From 
 the very beginning of the third act, she divested 
 herself of her former prejudices as completely as 
 politicians do of unpopulaj- opinions. She ap-
 
 Rachel. 265 
 
 plauded, she laughed, she shed tears, every now 
 and then muttering : ' How foolish I have been ! ' 
 At the end of the fifth act, she even threw her- 
 self on my neck, exclaiming, with streaming 
 eyes : ' How have you kept yourself off the 
 stage ? ' 
 
 " The reader had saved the author. 
 
 "I was charmed and flattered beyond measure, 
 as you may imagine; the more especially as, 
 a few months before this, having heard Guizot 
 deliver a rousing speech on some subject or 
 other, she had cried out: 'How I should have 
 liked to play tragedy with such a man ! ' 
 
 " Next morning, at eleven o'clock precisely, I 
 rang Scribe's bell. 
 
 " ' Well,' he said, with a bantering air, and 
 evidently expecting to have a good laugh, ' what 
 luck ? How did you get on ? ' 
 
 " My only answer was to pull out one of the 
 regular notices sent to the actors, and to read it. 
 
 " ' Theatre Fran^ais — this day at noon, first 
 rehearsal of Adrienne Lecouvreur.' 
 
 " ' What ! ' he exclaimed ; he was actually too 
 stupefied to utter another word.
 
 2 66 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 "I told him the whole story, and a month after- 
 wards the curtain rose for the first and extremely 
 successful representation of our joint production." 
 
 It has been said that Rachel died young. It 
 was durino- a rehearsal of Adrienm that she 
 conceived a strange presentiment of her end, 
 which was then not far distant. 
 
 Of this rehearsal, with its melancholy forebod- 
 ings, and of her sad death, three years afterwards, 
 M. Legouve's account is deeply interesting: — 
 
 "That month," he writes, revealed to me a 
 curious instance of the weird and strangely mys- 
 terious emotions that are often attendant on 
 dramatic interpretation. 
 
 " One evening, a few days after the first re- 
 presentation of Adrienne, the ordinary business 
 of the theatre was interrupted for a regular 
 stage rehearsal. Scribe, detained at the Grand 
 Opera by preparations for Le Prophete, could not 
 be present. Incessant corrections and repetitions 
 delayed us all so long that it was fully eleven 
 o'clock before we got through the first four acts.
 
 Rachel. 267 
 
 In fact, it was so late that we decided that it 
 was time to stop altogethci*. Everybody had gone 
 away except Rachel, Regnier, Maillart and myself. 
 Suddenly Rachel exclaimed : ' Here we are, quite 
 alone, masters of the situation. Suppose we 
 try the fifth act. I have not rehearsed it yet. 
 But I have been studying it carefully for the 
 last three days, and I should like to know how I 
 am succeeding.' 
 
 " We went out on to the vast stage. No gas, no 
 footlights, no light at all, in fact, but the little 
 argand lamp standing beside the vacant prompter's 
 hole. No spectators even, except a firemen fast 
 asleep on a chair between the wings, and myself 
 seated among the music stands of the orchestra. 
 
 " From the very beginning, something in 
 Rachel's accents thrilled me to the heart. Never 
 before had I seen her so truly, simply and 
 affectingly tragic. The flickering little smoky 
 lamp threw livid hues on her face, which were 
 positively terrifying, while the emptiness of the 
 great auditorium imparted to her voice a strange 
 sonority, that startled as well as enthralled. The 
 effect was deathlike !
 
 268 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 " The act over, on our return to the green- 
 room, I happened to look into a mirror, and could 
 not help noticing how pale my face was. Regnier 
 and Maillart, too, were like sheets. As for Rachel, 
 she sat for a time in a corner, silent, fluttering 
 nervously, and wiping the tears that still flowed 
 down her cheeks. I went up to her, pointing 
 by way of compliment at her companion's faces, 
 and saying as I took her hand : — 
 
 ' " You have played that fifth act, my dear, 
 as you will never play it again in all your 
 life.' 
 
 " ' That is my own conviction,' she replied. 
 ' But do you know why ? ' 
 
 " ' I think I do. None being here to applaud, 
 you never thought of acting for effect, and you 
 became in your own imagination poor Adrienne, 
 expiring at midnight in the arms of her two 
 friends.' 
 
 " After thinking over this observation for a few 
 moments she replied, — 
 
 " ' No. That is not why. An exceedingly strange 
 phenomenon took place within me. It is not 
 over Adrienne that I have been weeping, but over
 
 Rachel. 269 
 
 myself! Something suddenly told mc that, like 
 Adrienne, I should die young. I felt as if I were 
 lying in my own room, at my last moment, 
 present at my own death ! And when I repeated 
 the lines : " Farewell, dramatic triumphs ! Fare- 
 well, entrancing art that I have loved so much ! " 
 you saw me shed real tears. With mournful 
 despair, I was rapidly realising how soon 
 time would sweep away every recollection of 
 my little talents, and how the world would 
 soon be left without the faintest trace of poor 
 Rachel ! ' 
 
 " Alas ! Poor Rachel's presentiments were only 
 too well founded ! A very few years later she 
 lay on her deathbed, like her sister Rebecca, and 
 with the same hopeless, implacable disease, at a little 
 village in the south of France. In the hospitable 
 home of a warm-hearted friend of Sardou's, she 
 had received a singularly cordial and sympathetic 
 hospitality. In this romantic villa of his, he 
 had, however, indulged his somewhat mystical 
 love for the fanciful by accumulating, in strange 
 and curious contrast, many monuments of the 
 different religions of the far East. Every piece
 
 270 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 of furniture was symbolic of something. Arriv- 
 ing hurriedly from her long journey, and almost 
 completely exhausted, Kachel, without looking 
 around, had hardly strength enough left to throw 
 herself on a bed. Waking up suddenly in the 
 middle of the night, she utters a wild shriek 
 of terror ! Her eyeballs stare in a stony agony ! 
 What does she see ? The bed on which she lay 
 was shaped like a tomb, and straight before her 
 eyes, and almost within arm's reach, she sees 
 the misshapen figure of a woman stooping as 
 if to seize her. It was only a wooden image 
 holding the curtain. 
 
 " ' It is Death ! ' she screamed at last, flinoino' 
 herself madly out of bed. ' Help ! help ! Protect 
 me from Death I ' 
 
 "Her last days were passed in those alternate 
 iits of terrible illusion and gloomy consciousness 
 which are peculiar to organic maladies. She often 
 said : — 
 
 " ' For six hours of the day I clutch at some- 
 thing like hope ; the rest of the day is filled 
 with black despair.' 
 • " Her sufferings, strange to say, sometimes
 
 RacheL 2 7 1 
 
 revealed themselves in plastic attitudes full of 
 a soft elegance — attitudes of which, no doubt, 
 she was fully conscious, for never, even when 
 writhing under the severest bodily agony, did she 
 cease for a moment to " see " herself. In this she 
 resembled all the great dramatic performers. They 
 are to themselves an everlasting, never-wearying, 
 always interesting spectacle. However great their 
 despair, however cruel their suffering, they can 
 always view it with the eye of a spectator, and see 
 that it becomes them. Rachel knew that she 
 exhibited the elegant pose of a young heroine 
 dying of a deadly disease ; by way of variety, 
 she sometimes outlined a OTaceful statue of 
 grief. 
 
 " Chance having brought me at the time to 
 Toulon, I immediately hastened to Sardou's 
 romantic villa overhanging the Mediterranean ; 
 but she was too weak for me to be permitted 
 to see her. Next morning, however, she sent 
 me a note expressing her warmest thanks for 
 my visit. It concluded with the following 
 most amiable and flattering, but, alas ! expiring 
 words : —
 
 272 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 " ' No one can create real women better than 
 you. Promise to write me a play to celebrate 
 my return to the stage — ' 
 
 " In three days she was dead."
 
 SARAH BERNHAUDT. 
 
 A LITTLE girl, as Sarcey relates, once presented 
 herself at the Paris Conservatoire in order to 
 pass the examination for admission. All she 
 knew was the fable of the "Two Pigeons," but 
 she had no sooner recited the lines — 
 
 " Deux pigeons s'aimaient d'amour tendre. 
 L'un d'eux, s'eunuyant au logis — " 
 
 than Auber stopped her with a gesture. 
 
 "Enough," he said. "Come here my child." 
 
 The little girl, who was pale and thin, but 
 
 whose eyes gleamed with intelligence, approached 
 
 him with an air of assurance. 
 
 VOL. IL S
 
 2 74 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 " Your name is Sarah ? " he said. 
 
 " Yes, sir," was the reply. 
 
 " You are a Jewess ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, by birth ; but I have been baptised." 
 
 " She has been baptised," said Auber, turning 
 to his colleagues. " It would have been a pity if 
 such a pretty child had not. She has said her 
 fable of the ' Two Pigeons ' very well. She must 
 be admitted." 
 
 Thus Sarah Bernhardt, for it was she, entered 
 the Conservatoire. She was born at Paris in 
 1847. Her father, after having her baptised, had 
 placed her in a convent ; but she had already 
 secretly determined to become an actress. In her 
 course of study at the Conservatoire she so 
 distinguished herself that she received a prize 
 which entitled her to a debut at the Theatre 
 Fran^ais. She selected the part of Iphig^nie, in 
 which she appeared on the 11th of August 1862 ; 
 and at least one newspaper drew special attention 
 to her performance, describing her as " pretty and 
 elegant," and particularly praising her perfect 
 enunciation. Slie afterwards played otlu'r parts 
 at the Th6ritrc Fran^ais, but soon transferred
 
 Sarah Bernhardt. 275 
 
 herself from that house to the Gymnasc, though 
 not until she had made herself notorious by 
 having, as was alleged, slapped the face of a 
 sister-actress in a fit of temper. 
 
 The director of the Gymnase did not take too 
 serious a view of his new actress, who turned up 
 late at rehearsals, and sometimes did not turn 
 up at all. Nor did her acting make any great 
 impression at the Gymnase, where, it is true, she 
 was only permitted to appear on Sundays. At 
 this theatre she lost no time in exhibiting that 
 independence and caprice to which, as much as 
 to her talent, she owes her celebrity. The day 
 after the first representation of a piece by Labiche, 
 Un Marl qui lance sa fenvtne, in which she 
 had undertaken an important part, she stealthily 
 (juitted Paris, addressing to the author a letter 
 in which she begged him to forgive her. 
 
 After a tour in Spain, Sarah returned to 
 Paris, and appeared at the Odeon. Here she 
 created a certain number of characters, in such 
 plays as Les Arrets, Le Dixime de la Rue de la 
 Faix, and Le Bdtard, but chiefly distinguished 
 herself in Ruy Bias, and in a translation of King
 
 2/6 Idols of the Frefich Stage. 
 
 Lear. Already she had riveted the attention of 
 the public and the press, who saw that a brilliant 
 future lay before her. 
 
 At the end of 1872 she appeared at the 
 Comedie Francaise, and witli such distinction 
 that she was retained, first as a pensionnaire, at 
 a salary of six thousand francs, and afterwards 
 as a societaire. Her successes were rapid and 
 dazzling ; and whether she appeared in modern 
 corned V, in classic tracked v. or as the creator 
 of characters in entirely new plays, the theatre 
 was always crowded. Her melodious voice 
 and pure enunciation, her singularly varied 
 accents, her pathos, her ardent bursts of passion, 
 were such that her audience, as they hung- upon 
 her lips, forgot the caprices and eccentricities by 
 wliich she was already characterised in private life. 
 It seemed, however, that Sarah's ambition was to 
 gain personal notoriety even more than theatrical 
 fame ; and by her performances of one kind or 
 another outside the theatre make herself the talk 
 of society. She affected to paint, to chisel, and 
 to write ; sent pictures to the Salon, published 
 eccentric books, and exhibited busts. She would
 
 Sarah Bernhardt. 277 
 
 receive her friends palette in hand, and in the 
 dress of a male artist. She had a luxurious 
 coffin made for her, covered with velvet, in which 
 she loved to recline ; and she more than once went 
 up in a balloon. 
 
 Her caprice, whether in private or in public, 
 was altogether unrestrained. In 1880 Emile 
 Augier's admirable comedv, L' Aventuriere, was 
 revived at the Comedie Fran^aise, and the 
 author confided the part of Clorinde to Sarah 
 Bernhardt. After the first representation, how- 
 ever, she was so enraged by an uncomplimentary 
 newspaper criticism that she sent in her resig- 
 nation to M. Emile Perrin, director of the 
 theatre, quitted Paris, and came to England, 
 where she gave a series of representations, and, 
 appearing among us for the first time, caused 
 a veritable sensation in London society. Mean- 
 while, M. Perrin instituted against her, in the 
 name of the Comedie Fran^aise, a lawsuit for 
 breach of contract, with damaores laid at 
 three hundred thousand francs. It was at 
 this juncture that Sarah accepted the ofters of 
 an enterprising manager for a tour in America,
 
 278 Idols of the French Stage. 
 
 \yhere she achieved no less phenomenal suc- 
 cesses than in Europe. 
 
 A sensational account of this American tour 
 was afterwards published by one of her associ- 
 ates, Mdlle. Marie Colombier, under the title 
 of Sarah Bernhardt en Amerique. This was 
 followed by a second volume from the same 
 pen, entitled Sarah Barniiin. The latter book, 
 as its title suggests, was not intended as a 
 compliment ; and Sarah Bernhardt brought an 
 action against the writer, by which she was 
 compelled to expunge from her scandalous volume 
 all that was offensive. 
 
 The rest of Sarah's career is too recent to 
 be traced in detail. Nor can the life of an 
 actress of our own time be dealt with so freely 
 as that of a Sophie Arnould or an Adrienne 
 Lecouvreur. 
 
 From America Sarah returned to Paris, where she 
 revived all her old successes, and where, in 1888, 
 at tlie Odcon, she produced a one-act comedy from 
 lier own pen, entitled L'Aveii, which met with a 
 somewhat frigid reception. 
 
 Among her numerous eccentricities, Mdlle. Bern-
 
 Sarah Bernhardt. 279 
 
 hardt once got married ; London, by reason of the 
 facilities it affords for this species of recreation, 
 being chosen as the scene of the espousals. The 
 hero of the matrimonial comedy, which was soon 
 followed by a separation, to which, after many 
 adventures on the part of both husband and wife, 
 a reconciliation succeeded, was M. Damala, a Greek 
 gentleman, possessed of considerable histrionic talent, 
 who died only this year from over-indulgence in 
 narcotics. 
 
 THE END.
 
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