THE THEIATR  RNAS








THE THEATRE FRANCAIS
IN THE
REIGN OF LOUIS XV.
BY
ALEXANDER BAILLIE COCHRANE, M.P.
IN ONE VOLUME.
LONDON:


HURST


AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS,
13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1879.


All Rights Reserveld








PREFACE.


THE following letter was received by the Lord
Mayor of London, from the Secretary of
the Com6die Francaise, soon after the terrible
disaster of the "Princess Alice."
" My Lord,
" A disaster has fallen upon a portion of the
population of London. A subscription-list has
been opened by your Lordship in aid of
the necessitous families who have been the
victims of this catastrophe. The Societaires
of the Com6die Francaise, retaining an appreciative recollection of the assistance which was
rendered to them in 1871, hasten to add their




vi


Preface.


tribute to the subscription. And I am directed
by them to remit their offering into your
Lordship's hands. I beg you, therefore, in their
name, to receive the enclosed; and
I am, my Lord, your most obedient servant,
"EMILE PERRJN, Administrateur-G6ngral;
"E. GOT, J. DELAUNAY. MAUBANT, C. COQUELIN,
FRiDoRIC FEBVRE, G. WORMS, CH. THIRON, TALBOT,
les Soci6taires-Membres du Comit6 d'Administration de la Com6die Franqaise."
Since the receipt of the above it has been announced that the Company will, next season, be
permitted to give a series of performances in
London.
Those who enjoyed the privilege of attending
their representations in 1871, when this distinguished Society took refuge in our country
from the turmoils of their own, will entertain a
grateful appreciation of this permission which has
been granted by the French Government. The
magnificent Farewell Banquet in the Crystal Palace
offered them on the last occasion, marked the




Preface.


vi* i


high consideration in which they were held by
the most distinguished personages in the realm.
It was a just tribute to the important place which
the Thdatre Frangais fills in public opinion, and
to the wisdom of the State in maintaining, by large
subsidies, such a high standard of Dramatic
Art.
I have for some time had by me notes relating
to the History of the Thdatre Frangais. These
are connected by a slight narrative in this
volume, which, in anticipation of this visit, may
not be wholly devoid of interest.
The question of the expediency of State support to the Stage has been recently commanding
public attention. And when we see the important
position of the Theatre Francais, and the great
influence which it exercises, we may fairly
consider, whether if our Government gave State
aid to one theatre on condition of its maintaining the highest standard of Dramatic Art,
and of conduct and management, it might not
lead to the general elevation of the Drama
throughout the country,  thus rendering it




viii              Preface.
an important agent in the education of the
people.
I shall be well satisfied if this volume should
aid in directing public attention to this important social question.




THE THEATRE FRANCAIS.
CHAPTER I.
W E picture Old Paris, the Paris of the
eighteenth century, when the city was
so rich in all its traditions, in its great historical
associations. Tortuous and sinuous at that date
were the windings of the streets and lanes; no
wide Boulevards marked the divisions of the
city-it was the Paris of curved, and not of
straight lines, where the historian, the painter,
and the archaeologist found subjects of interest
at every turn; it was the city associated with
the history of France; the city of the League,
of the Fronde, of the Guises, of the Medici,
of the Valois; and aptly did it represent the
B




2


The Thedtre Franfais.


genius of the nation, and the mind of the
people; so irregular, so incomplete, so full of
surprises, in many things deficient, but always
picturesque.  In those days its contrasts, its
lights and shades, were more marked than they
are even now, when luxury has so much increased. In all great cities the palace and the
hovel, the wide space gladdened with sunshine,
and the dark fetid alley, splendour and squalor
are ever found in painful proximity; but in no
city were these contrasts so strong as in Paris
at that period, for the Renaissance had burst
forth and erected edifices beautiful in their forms
and proportions; while the new taste failed to
touch the squalid dwellings of the poorer classes,
these crept up to the Tuileries, the grandest
memorial of Catharine de' Medici, they might
be seen from that square where Louis XIV. invited the chivalry of Europe to witness a tournament unrivalled in its magnificence; they looked
down on those bright gardens unsurpassed in their
beauty which Le N6tre, at his master's command,
had called into existence, on the spot which re



Old Paris.


3


cently had teemed with penury and wretchedness;
narrow streets or rather lanes, and dirt encumbered spaces had to be traversed, before the
courtiers, in all their pomp and splendour, could
reach the palace to dazzle and shine in the most
brilliant of courts. Henri IV., and Louis XIII.,
vied with each other in the embellishment of
certain parts of the city, the Great Cardinal
added the Palais Royal to the numbers of the
splendid palaces, which were not less remarkable for their beauty of detail than for their
grandeur of design: and yet Paris at this time
was rather a collection of small towns of different styles and ages than a city built with any
unity of plan. Louis XIV. might publish edicts
to the authorities  of the different districts
commanding them to improve the degraded
condition of the people, but little or nothing was
done towards the attainment of that object; notwithstanding the Court itself suffered from the
wretched condition of many of the most important thoroughfares; it was only at intervals
that two carriages could pass each other in the
B 2




4


The Theatre Francais.


streets, and in this city, which paved only
for the aristocracy, pedestrians, when the unwieldy gorgeous carriages rolled by, had to
retreat for safety under a porte-cochere, or were
bespattered with mud as they stepped from
stone to stone, which answered the purpose of
pavement; but true to the cheerful Bohemian
nature of these true children of Paris, unrespected and uncared for, all this discomfort, amid the confusion which arose from the
warning shouts of the drivers and the cries of the
crowd, their narrow escapes from being run
over, seldom led to irritation. If the horses,
prancing and curvetting, drove the pedestrians
against the sharp angle of a wall, or into a
dirty narrow doorway, still there was a certain
pleasure in looking at a coachman so magnificent in his scarlet and gold.  The exuberant vanity of a nation which rises superior
to all disaster, and which defies all criticism,
was gratified by a dazzling splendour such
as no other capital could show, and by the
grandeur of the monarchy which had made
Paris the centre of European civilization; and




The Flower-girl of the Tuileries.


5


thus it was that, amid all their sufferings and all
the abuses which prevailed, the people were proud
of the Court and the glories of the Grand
Monarque; of a race of kings the descendants of
Saint Louis, and the more so as at this time
Louis XV. preferred " sa bonne ville de Paris"
to the dull magnificence of Versailles, or the
loneliness of Saint-Germain.
One day, however, the good temper of the
people was too severely tested. There was a
young girl who every morning took up her station
at the gate of the Tuileries, which leads out of
the great Court into what is now the Rue
Rivoli; she was well known and much cared
for in the neighbourhood, not alone for her
own merits, but because she was said to be
cruelly treated by an unjust stepmother; she
was singularly fair, and possessed a grace which
seemed to raise her far above the class to which
she belonged. The bloom had deserted her
cheek, but the expression from its gentleness
won the regard of all, and appealed to the
heart, for " a sweet face is a silent advocate."




6           The Thgdtre Francais.
She was known as the graceful little flowergirl-and her occupation was an appropriate
one, for she was as pale as the lilies which
she tied together. Many a hard-working man
would take a flower and put a sou into the
basket, feeling amply rewarded by her smile of
grateful recognition; gay courtiers and graceful
ladies knew the little Sophie, and frequently
stopped to purchase a bouquet. There the world's
poor child sat day after day, frequently faint
and weary, but happy to escape from the dulness of her garret, or still more from the
harsh treatment of her hard-hearted stepmother; but in her loneliness-the loneliness
of a crowd-sad thoughts would sweep across
her mind when life seemed to her, as it seems
to many, a strange enigma. She was powerless
to reason, she could only feel the contrast
between her own existence and that of the
brilliant beings who dashed fairy-like through
the gateway of the Palace. Her destiny seemed
to be cast in the darkness instead of the daylight
of existence, painful indeed for one so young to




Accident to Sophie.


7


feel the spring-time of her life passing away
with none of the sense of enjoyment which is
youth's most precious inheritance, and when
these thoughts struck her heart, the flowers
would sometimes be moistened with tears instead
of dewdrops.
One morning a great crowd collected around
the Tuileries to see the King leave the Palace
for an excursion to Versailles; it was a moment
of severe distress, bread was dear, and even
then cries were raised from time to time against
the fermiers-generaux; the streets were crowded,
and among the mass were some men with
low, moody, gloomy countenances, the precur-.sors of those who were hereafter so have such
a terrible influence on  public events.  The
cortege was preceded by the advanced guard,
who cleared the street, and was followed by
the lumbering state-carriage of the Marquis de
Villemars, first gentleman of the chamber.
As the leaders were passing Sophie, one of
them kicked over the trace and then reared;
the coachman rose from his seat, and handled
f




8


The Theatre Francais.


his whip so wildly that the lash struck one
of the crowd, who vented his anger in invectives, and seizing a stick from a bystander
aimed a blow at the coachman, but hit the
near wheeler, which sprang forward, slipped
on the pavement, and fell against the wall,
knocking down Sophie, who gave a cry and
then lay motionless.
The indignation of the crowd burst forth in
vehement cries, and it was not until the
Marquis de Villemars, with a grand courtesy,
in which the French noblesse were never deficient, addressed a few words to them that
they were appeased, and with cries of "Vive
le Roi!" were ready to turn their anger against
the offender who had struck the blow. The
traces were cut, and the horse raised, while
strong arms lifted Sophie; her face was colourless, the long fair hair had escaped from its
net and fell over her shoulders.   She was
strikingly interesting in this repose, one flower
she still held in her hand, the remaining contents of her basket had been scattered and




Thze Count d'Andore.


9


trodden down. The Marquis did not notice or
paid no attention to the little group at the
corner. The harness was hastily mended, and
the carriage rolled on.  The detachment of
the garde de corps that followed was commanded
by the young Count d'Andore; he had witnessed
the accident, and as he passed the corner he
reined in his horse to look at the young girl,
who was in the arms of one of these rough
men, and whose voice had quite a tender
pathos in it, when, in answer to the Count's
inquiries, he replied, "It is la petite Sophie,
the flower-girl, who  lives close by in the
Rue de la Grille, I fear she is killed by
that gold-laced coachman. Ah, Monsieur," he
added, "if all the great men were like you,
there would not be so many sad hearts in
Paris." For the Count had placed some money
in the man's hand, charging him to take
every care of her, and to call at the mainguard in the afternoon to report her condition;
he was to ask for the Count d'Andore, and, " Now
my friends," he said, "clear the way for the




10


The Theatre Fratnfais.


escort, I hear by the trumpets that His Majesty
has left, and I must gallop to the front."
" Oui, Monsieur Le Comte." " Vive le Roi!"
the crowd exclaimed, for all hearts, even the
rudest, are touched by sympathies and gracious
deeds, and kind words possess a marvellous efficacy
for good. Moreover, the appearance of the Count
was greatly in his favour, a loyal heart beamed
in every feature. "Voila un brave et beau!"
exclaimed a voice from the crowd. He possessed that winning manner which flows from the
depth of the heart, he sat his horse with all
the grace of the haute ecole.  The glittering
helmet and shinning cuirass, with the gay trappings of the charger, completed the charm; and it
was with one expression of admiration that the
crowd fell back and enabled the Count to
resume his place at the head of the escort.
The Rue de la Grille, so called from a long,
low, melancholy building, situated at the end
of the street, and which had evidently at one
time served as a house of detention, passed
behind the stately buildings which, at that




Rue de la Grille.


11


date, were situated on the quays. Here the art
of the Renaissance, under the patronage of the
last of the Medici, had sprung into life with all
its lavish ornamentation. Some of the facades of
the buildings even defied the northern climate,
and brilliant frescoes rivalled those of Venice
and Verona.* It was a melancholy change from
the gay scene by the fast flowing river
* There were some magnificent hotels close to the
Louvre; there was one especially which attracted universal interest and admiration; it was that of the Constable, Monseigne-r Louis de Bourbon, which was situated
next Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois. It still, in the reign
of Louis XV., bore the traces of the decree fulminated
against the Constable; the beautiful sculptured arms
had been partially destroyed and mutilated, the cornices
and doors had been publicly bedaubed with yellow by
the executioner, which is the sign of high treason, and
the marks of this colour still remained, while over the
entrance was sculptured, as if in bitter irony, the proud
motto, " Esptrance." Andr6 de Chesn6 says, "Esprance ecrite en grosses lettres sur son portail, pour
l'espoir je pense qu'un roi devait de son estoc naitre en




12


The Thedtre Franfais.


to the Rue de la Grille, a street of gabled
gloomy houses, some of them so tall that the
sun but rarely relieved the shadows which
they cast on the opposite walls, and yet it
contained one or two buildings not altogether
destitute of pretension, and which could boast
of historic associations, but they were so timela France, et qu'il unirait les deux hotels en un, aussi
bien que les deux maisons. C'est ce grand Roi qui a
8t6 la bande de leurs, pour jouir du pur ecu des Fleurs
de Lys." This palace contained a magnificent hall
which rivalled any in the Louvre, where royalty frequently consented to hold high festival. Sauval, who
died in 1670, gives a description of it. " Sans contredit
c'est la plus large, la plus longue de tout le royaume,
et la couverture si rehaussee que le comble parait aussi
eleve que ceux des edifices de Saint-Germain et de SaintEustache, et enfin ce qui a &t6 cause que sous Louis XIII.
un lieu si vaste et si voisin du Louvre fut choisi pour
la representation des bals, ballets, et autres magnificences
de son mariage. Louis XIV. s'en est servi jusqu'a nos
jours pour ses ballets, et pour la com&die."-Sauval,
" Antiquitds de Paris."




Contrasts of Parisian Life.


13


worn that few would have cared to explore the
labyrinths of their apartments. The class which
occupied the first floors of these houses were
of a rank which would surprise us at the present day; but after the first floor, in the upper
stories, the inhabitants were of a humbler
grade; they contained the varied classes of the
lower orders. The long-suffering, the dissolute;
the thrifty, the reckless; the lonely one, and
the crowded family were residing side by side
in these apartments; the endless variety of
contrasts  of  Parisian life  might here  be
studied in all its phases. And it was in one
of these garrets that the little flower-girl
dwelt.
"Here is the house," said the few people
accompanying the man who carried her in his
arms. And they stopped at one of the better
class of buildings. "Her step-mother is the
portiere; here, Madame Guerin, is poor little
Sophie, she has met with a bad accident,"
and the man entered the porter's lodge, laying
the child tenderly on the bed.




14


The The'atre Franfais.


"Where is Madame?" the man said, "like
every concierge never to be found I"
"And what is that to you?" replied     a
harsh grating voice. "I have enough to do in
this house without waiting here all day to
have my room reeking with your bad tobacco.
What is all this trouble about? why is this
miserable child here instead of being in her
garret? get up," she said, as she drew near the
truckle-bed.
A man, called Marcel, seized the virago by
the arm as she was approaching the bed, and
the woman, strong and passionate as she was,
could not escape from his grasp.
"Look here, Madame Gudrin," he exclaimed,
"your husband was kind to me when I was
a lad. He never did a worse job for himself
and his child than when he married you,
leaving his money for her support in your
power. Everyone in the whole quarter has
heard of your bad treatment of her, how she
has been driven into the street to sell flowers
in the most piteous weather. When the storm




Madame Guermi


15


was bitter, and the wind icy cold; how she
is beaten if she does not bring back any
money; it is you who are the cause of her
lying here. The world's poor child she has
become; but even our cold bad hearts love her,
the poor little Sophie-send for a surgeon, show
that you have one spark of feeling in your
nature."
The woman's hard evil glance was fixed on
Marcel, and there was danger in her look.
"Go for a surgeon yourself, you have chosen
to bring the brat here when she should have
been taken to a hospital; let those who caused
the accident suffer the penalty, what have I to do
with another woman's child? little enough was
left to keep her, it was a bad day for me when I
married her father. I should have had enough
to make others pull the cordon for me, whereas
all day, and even all night, it is 'cordon, if you
please;' if I did please, I would lock them all
out, but this child gives me more trouble
than  all the  other  locataires.  And  now
she will be my ruin with her doctors,"




16


The Thdtre Franfais.


and then followed a number of adjurations
such as an ill-tempered concierge can alone
command.
Marcel was about to reply in no pleasant
mood, when a soft and gentle voice was heard.
"I hope, Madame Gudrin, you do not include
me among those who give so much trouble,"
and the kindness, gentleness of the tone at once
soothed even the virulant woman. "La voix
c'est la fleur de la beaute;" what nameless power
is there in the simplest words that flow from
the heart!
It was Madame Denain, who occupied the first
floor, and was therefore a person of great importance to the concierge; and she possessed
qualities which endeared her not only to the
residents in the house, but also to the district;
she was truly a sister of charity not only to the
poor in their necessities and sorrows, but also
in  some measure at times to their faults.
"Dites-moi toujours le chemin par oi la faute a
passee," was her expression; there was in her
heart a deep fountain of sympathy, it has been




Madame Denain.


17


well said that we love those on whom we
confer benefits, for interest grows into anxiety
for their welfare, and anxiety is blended with
affection; she often sought to conquer errors by
looking away from them, it was human love
tolerating even intolerance; this self-denying
nature is less rare than may be imagined, and
we meet with it in places where it is least
expected, " like a milk-white swan in an ordinary
village lake."  It was certainly not to have
been looked for in a quarter like that of the Rue
de la Grille. Madame Denain had long passed the
age when men commended her for her beauty, but
she possessed the charm described by Savonarola
which grows with years, "Plus les cr6atures
s'approchent de la beaute de Dieu, plus elles
sont belles, et de deux femmes la meilleure
excitera le plus d'admiration;" all the neighbours,
rude as they were, had learnt to appreciate hel
excellence, even Madame Guerin had frequently
listened with respectful attention to her expostulations as to the treatment of her stepdaughter. It is true they had little practical effect,
c




18


The Theatre Franfais.


still it was something to touch the callous heart
even for a moment; but Madame Guerin could not
change her evil nature, any more than others can
change habits after they have become inveterate.
As well expect a leafless tree on the barren
waste, with its branches bent towards the south
by the blast of the cold north wind, again to raise
its top rich with foliage, as expect the kindliness
and wealth of nature to return to the wasted heart;
frequently after Madame Denain's entreaties,
reproaches, and even blows, had not been spared
for the helpless child, and but for the gravity
of the occasion such would have been the case
at present, but Madame Guerin had one great
quality, even in her fits of rage, her passions
were controlled by her selfish interest. And
thus it was that when Madame Denain offered
to take charge of Sophie, to see her carried
to her room and to pay for the doctor, she
saw it would be a mode of ridding herself of a
great responsibility; so Marcel took the suffering
girl in his arms, and, followed by Madame
Denain, carried her up the narrow stair that led




Kindness of the Poor.


19


to the cinquieme, not without many kind offers
of assistance from the various occupants of the
different stories, for the poor are ever kind to
the poor, and Sophie was the enfant cherie of the
whole house.


2




20


CHAPTER II.
O N the fifth floor were two rooms opposite each
other; both belonged to Madame Gudrin,
but she found it more convenient to sleep in the
lodge than to pay for a substitute. The one room
was filled with whatever property she possessed,
the other had been grudgingly allotted to Sophie;
it certainly was not much for the daughter to
have inherited, the only merit it possessed was
one for which it was indebted to its height.
From its narrow window the view of Paris was
beautiful; churches, palaces, gilded domes
and tapering spires might be seen glorious in
their architecture; glimpses of the Seine were




Contrasts of Life.


21


caught as it wound by wide quay and busy mart;
it was Sophie's sole enjoyment to gaze on the
star-spangled sky, or on the storm-driven clouds
when they overspread the city. Her mind, when
at night she watched the heavens, seemed relieved from the bondage of the daily drudgery,
from the din and worry of the street; but alas!
from her views of brighter skies and dreams of
happier days, she had to return to the daily
struggle of life. Her nature rose upwards and
onwards into Heaven's expanse, but, after birdlike soaring high, how many, like the flowergirl, have to drop to earth again; in every life
there must be a great disproportion between
the hope, the expectation, and the fulfilment, for
our acts are ever smaller than our wishes; but
it is in cases such as Sophie's that the
difference between the heart's desires and the
want and the void of existence becomes intensely
painful; it seems so sad to find this contrast
when youth is just budding into life, and
that  life  a  pure  and   true  one,   and
still more sad when purity and truth have




22


The Thdeatre Franpais.


to contend against the cruelty and falseness of
age.
Sophie's room, although small and poor,
afforded evidence that she possessed refined
and graceful tastes; it was natural that one
whose daily life it was to sell flowers should
love them for their own sake, and a taste for
flowers is the cheapest and most prized luxury
of the poor. It is one of the civilizing agents
England owes to the continent; it was the
Flemish refugees, under the persecution of Alva,
who introduced into this country the love of
gardens, and numerous flowers hitherto unknown;
and their houses in the suburbs of all our great
manufacturing cities were at once distinguished by
the flowers which were placed on the window-sills;
in no way is Heaven's goodness more manifested
than in the flowers which are lavished on every
clime, and if we disregard them, it is only because
they are so common. It has been well said, if any
man could have invented a rose, no reward would
have been considered sufficient for him, and yet we
fill vases with roses, and with indifference contem



Sophie's Room.


23


plate their beauty; this, however, was not the
case with Sophie, flowers were her friends, and
their brightness relieved the coldness of the
scant furniture of the room. Above a vase full
of lilies of the valley, was a small crucifix well
placed near the lilies of the field:
Sweet nurslings of the vernal skies,
Bathed in soft air, and fed with dew."
In one corner was the uncurtained bed, and
by its side a table with a book of prayers, lying
open. Poor as the room appeared, it was neat
and clean; it was the first time Madame Denain
had entered it, and it added to her interest in
the little sufferer.
What noise and disturbance had failed to
effect, stillness and repose accomplished-Sophie
awoke from her swoon.
"Where am I? where are my flowers?" she
murmured; "if they are lost I shall be scolded
by maman. And I am in such pain."
" Your maman will not scold you, ma petite,"
said Madame Denain, "only let the doctor




24


The Theatre Francis.


examine where you feel pain; you have had a
severe accident, my child, but will soon get well,
and we will take great care of you."
" I am so happy if you tell me I shall not be
scolded; and the pain is not more than I feel
sometimes after I am beaten, if I don't bring
home enough money."
" Do not be afraid, my child," said Dr. Philippe,
"I will not add to your pain," and gently and
tenderly he examined her side; her lips quivered,
her hands were clasped together during the
examination, but she did not utter any
cry.
Dr. Philippe was well known in the neighbournood for his attention to the poorer classes; he
felt more heart in his work among them than
when he frequented the aristocratic quarters of
the Faubourg. He, like Madame Denain, was
struck by Sophie's appearance, and he had heard
enough below to know that here was a case
in which there was a heart as well as a body to
be healed.
"Madame Denain, I am happy to sav there




Words of Kindness.


25


is no great injury.  Nothing which rest and
quiet cannot cure without the aid of a doctor.
You must lie still, my child, be perfectly quiet,
and, in a few days, you will be well again.
Meanwhile, I will send you something to relieve
the pain and put you to sleep."
" But I shall be punished if I am idle, and
do not sell my flowers," said poor Sophie.
Madame Denain whispered to the doctor, and
then said: " No one shall punish you, my child.
I will speak to your maman, and will myself
take charge of you for the present, so make
yourself quite happy, and be at rest.  I will
return in a short time, and hope to find you
asleep," and she left the room with Doctor
Philippe.
A strange feeling came over the child when
she was alone. It was the first time she had
heard the accents of love and tenderness. Her
life had been so hard a one, that she regarded a
life of harshness and cruelty as a natural normal
state; and now when she was spoken to with
kindness, a new world of thought was opened




26


The Theatre Francais.


to her; it seemed as if she was drawn nearer to
that blue sky of which she could catch a glimpse
from her bed through the half-open window.
That anyone should care for her was so unusual. Notwithstanding the pain she suffered,
an indefinable sense of happiness, she had never
felt before, came over her, and filled her eyes
with grateful tears; the garret, where benevolence had entered, wore a brighter appearance;
the bird in its cage, hung outside the window,
sang more blithely; the flowers gave forth a
sweeter perfume.  And all this change from
unrestto peace, from cloud to sunshine, because
a true woman, faithful to woman's mission in
life, had breathed the word of Hope. And truly
this power of conferring blessings, if we did but
realize it, is one common to us all. It belongs
not to any grade of society, or to any age —there
exists not a man, woman, or child who does
not possess the gift of sympathy. A power
which can shed light on the life of others is the
possession of the humblest as of the highest.
It is the expression of Love in its noblest sense




Love.


27


-of Eros, not of Anteros —of that Love which
Hesiod says, "is the soother and softener of
life, that relaxes the weary limbs;" not of that
which Ugo Foscolo is picturing, when he writes
"amore che quanti gioji permette e manda
pianti."  Not Love represented by wingless
Psyche mourning over the irretrievable past; but
that Love which lives, and moves, and has its
being in the happiness of others; that "records
injuries in dust-kindnesses in marble;" that
finds its life and energy in Renunciation, conscious that without sacrifice there is no Sacrament; there are more Soeurs de Charite even
among the gay and brilliant of society than we
are aware of. Hearts are truer and warmer than
cynicism chooses to acknowledge:
Like diamonds blazing in the mine,
They fear in open day to shine."
Many people are more ashamed of doing good
than of doing evil.  Madame Denain was not
one of these; kindness was in her a habit,
it never occupied her mind what people thought




28


The Thedtre Franais.


of her, or whether her conduct won approval
or censure. When she returned in a short time
to Sophie's room, she found her in a peaceful
slumber; but she awoke at the sound of a foot
on the stair, which she thought was her stepmother's, and covered- her face with her hands,
saying, "Forgive me, maman!"
Madame Denain calmed her with the assurance
that by the Doctor's orders her step-mother was
on no account to enter the room. And Sophie
was happy.   She told Madame Denain that
she had dreamed of a procession, of the crowd,
and the brilliant escort, and the young officer
who commanded it; then the scene had changed
to the gloomy room of the concierge, and she
shuddered as she dwelt on the sad memories it
recalled. " I feel so quiet, peaceful now," she
added, "that I hope I shall remain as I
am."
" No, dear Sophie," said Madame Denain,
" you must get well, and do not make yourself
uneasy about the future, that I will try to render
pleasanter for you than the past. We shall see,




A New Interest.


29


fears are frequently airy voices whispering harm,
where harm is not. Many tremble anticipating
evils which will never befall them, and bewail what
they are never to lose. You have found a friend
in me, Sophie; and you have still a better friend,
of whom you read in this volume, who will never
desert you."
She observed that Sophie was fatigued, and
again going to sleep; she then smoothed her pillow
and gazed on her sweet child-like countenance
with deep interest; what was to be the future
of this young girl-would her mind grow in
beauty and intelligence? would time destroy,
lower, or elevate? Here, at any rate, was a new
and deep interest for one who, like Madame
Denain, was childless; here was a heart in which
might be engraved noble thoughts; she hoped
it might be her charge for the future to guide,
protect, and lead her to happiness through
excellence.




30


CHAPTER III.
CONVALESCENCE is the reward of illness  and   suffering,  and  Sophie enjoyed the repose and peace' to which she had
so long been a stranger. Madame Denain and
Dr. Philippe were untiring in their attention
to her, and found in her looks of gratitude
their sufficient recompense. They brought her
fresh flowers and books, which were to her a
novelty, and afforded her constant enjoyment,
and the new world of imagination burst upon
her mind, which had hitherto been entirely
occupied with the miseries of her daily life. At
times, when she was tired, Madame Denain




Provence.


31


would read to her or tell her incidents in her
own life.  She owned a small property in
Provence, the garden of roses and of France;
she knew that country well, and Sophie listened
with enraptured interest to her stories of that
land so rich  in   all its associations —the
fountain-head of all poetry and romance, the
delight of the troubadours. Provence afforded
a wide field for many a conversation. At one
time the subject was the history of the great
Camisard chief Cavalier, who defied the power
of the Grand Monarque, and won the admiration of the great marshals opposed to him,
whose exploits were the glory of the wild
mountain district the Cevennes, le desert, as
the people called it, for it seemed to reconcile itself
with their assumed name of les enfants de Dieu.
In thus recalling her recollections and following
the course of the rapid Rhone, town after town
was a theme for many a descriptive tale. Arles,
rich in the ancient remains of its former greatness,
with the amphitheatre, that noble memorial of the
days when the Roman legions occupied the




32


The Thadtre FranCis.


whole of the South of France, and the Latin
race overshadowed the world. Long did they
delay at Avignon with its grand palace, the abode
of the Papal Court in the seventh century. She
told her the history of Rienzi, the last of the
tribunes, who was a prisoner in the dungeons
of the castle, and whose life was saved by the
influence of Petrarch. Here was the theme
which Sophie was never tired of listening to,
and Madame Denain was well fitted to talk
upon it; she was an excellent Italian scholar,
and Petrarch was her favourite poet. Frequently
had she made the pilgrimage to the Fountain
of Vaucluse, whose beauty and solitude filled
the heart of the young poet, even before he
met Laura, whose name he has associated with
his immortality of fame,
c" Chiare, fresche e dolci acque."
Madame Denain repeated many of the sonnets
which depict the mind of the young poet rippling
in its cadence like the Sorgues as it rolls over its
mossy bed and sparkling pebbles. All this was a




Convalescence of Sophie.


33


new source of ideas to Sophie, and she thought
how happy it would be some day to visit these
beautiful countries, and read books so full of
interest.
It was after one of these conversations that
the doctor pronounced Sophie convalescent, and
that she would soon be able to go about as
usual. The poor girl was little elated at this
decision; she thought her dream of happiness
had been dreamt, and that the bitterness of her
life was to recommence, and the colour again deserted her cheeks; but her mind was soon
relieved when Madame Denain told her that
she was not to sell flowers any more, but was
to stay with her for the future, and that in a
few days she would be moved to her apartment.
Sophie protested that she was afraid of becoming a burden to her, but Madame Denain ex.
plained that she had once a dearly-loved
daughter who died in her youth, and that
Sophie would fill up the void left in her home.
"And Maman- " said Sophie.
"Has given her consent, dear child;" she
D




34


The Thedtre Francais.


did not proceed to explain that she had actually
been purchased from her step-mother, who, when
Madame Denain, proposed to adopt Sophie, suddenly discovered the admirable merits of the little
flower-girl; she calculated how much Sophie
brought back every evening, and expatiated on the
grace and beauty of the vendor, which added
greatly to the value of the flowers, and many
evil thoughts passed through the bad woman's
mind to which she did not dare give expression; her need was great, but her greed was
greater; she was the worst type of a class
among whom exists a terrible destroyer of all
natural affection, Want! Suffering in many
instances is wholesome discipline; but in others
it is more enervating to the soul than the most
exuberant prosperity; it is very sad when
these struggles with the world harden the
heart, when all sense of love and gentleness,
all appreciation of purity and excellence, cease
to exist. It cannot be doubted that Madame
Guerin was quite indifferent to the welfare of her step-daughter; thus by Madame
Denain's kind intervention, for a certain sum




Taken to lMass.


35


paid down, and a small pension settled upon
her, Sophie was free.
The next day was Sunday, and Madame
Denain proposed to   Sophie to take her to
mass at Notre Dame, and afterwards to show
her a small house at St. Germain, which she
had recently purchased. and which she intended
to make her future residence. When Sophie
was informed of this plan she could scarcely close
her eyes from excitement; for the first time
in her life she, who had never been beyond the
Place Louis XV., was to drive into the country.
It was July, and the Sunday dawned warm and
cloudless —a real Parisian Sunday, when the sky
seems, like the population, to beam brighter for
the occasion.  Sophie, in her Sunday dress,
very plain and simple, but worn with that grace
which is instinctive in the nation, was waiting
counting the minutes.  The carriage arrived
in good time, and it was with a beating heart
Sophie accompanied Madame Denain down
the stairs; great was her relief when she
had passed the door of the concierge without
D 2




36


The Theatre Francais.


seeing her step-mother.  What a novel sensation  it was, relieved from  all anxiety, to
emerge out of that melancholy narrow street,
and after passing the quays to find herself in
the full blaze and splendour of the Place
Henri IV.   Paris  on   a summer    morning,
its clear atmosphere, the sparkling river,
tower and church standing out against the blue
sky, with the masses of foliage in the distance.
Sophie thought that she had never seen the city
appear so beautiful; something of this was partly
owing to her own frame of mind, for the
light on an object comes frequently from our
own hearts.
Sophie had never visited Notre Dame, and
she was struck with astonishment as she
entered one of the most magnificent structures
that architectural skill ever raised to the glory of
God. Nothing is more remarkable than its
admirable proportions, its noble simplicity, the
rose window with its elaborate tracery, the
lace-like parapets, the flowers and foliage of
exquisite workmanship, the varied colours cast




Notre Dame.


37


by the sun as its rays flow through the
richly-stained glass. If ever there is a sympathy between the beholder and the building
it is in one of these glorious cathedrals, of which
it has been well said, men may imitate them, but
can never create another. Why is it that, on
entering such a sacred edifice, even the
ignorant and untutored mind is elevated to
noble and lofty ideas? It is not alone the
majesty of the building,   it is not   only
the beauty of its colouring and proportions,
it is not that the hearts of those who built
the shrine were like the pinnacles themselves,
directed heavenward; it is that the edifice has
been concecrated to the glory of God, and
still more consecrated by the emotions, the
sorrows, the  prayers, the repentance, the
sufferings of generations of worshippers; the
very pavement has been worn by the knees
and moistened by the tears of penitents.
Within these walls, the rich and poor, the bad
and good; Ormuzd and Ahriman, the comforter and the mourner, have knelt side by side.




38


The Theatre Francais.


For generations processions have swept forth,
alike, through the Brides' door, and through
the aisles to the portals of the gloomy vaults.
Without, wild passions may have raged tumultuous through the darkness of evil days; but
within all is peace. The light is ever burning,
and the still small voice of Mercy speaks in
accents of tenderness to the heart.
The   organ   pealed  forth  its   solemn
tones as Madame Denain and Sophie entered;
the Cathedral was crowded to hear one of the
eminent preachers who dared to raise his voice
against the luxury and vice of the day. There
was only room in one of the side aisles, and
there Sophie knelt; and few prayers, among
the many offered up, were more fervent than
those of the young girl. Little did she think
as she knelt there that in her person would
be hereafter exemplified the hard rules of that
Church into whose bosom she was pouring forth
all the deep feelings that agitated her; that
she was destined to fall under the anathema of
that Faith which was at once her consolation




Persecution.               39
in the present, and her hope in the future.
If under the most Christian King, the Church
from time to time suffered persecution, she
in her turn cruelly persecuted. When highly
gifted Christian men, who, by the grandeur of
their thoughts and the majesty     of their expression, elevated the mind above the commonplace details of life, who could raise the soul
by conscious strokes of art, who were the
masters of all passions and their own, when
such were denied the right of Christian burial,*
and the Church fulminated its edicts against the
stage while it failed to denounce the excesses of
the Regency, or the extravagances of the Court
of Louis XV, the Church of France lost its
spirit of Catholicity.
* Moliere died February, 1673; it was M. La Grange
who expressed the indignation of the theatrical body at
the manner in which his remains were treated. " On
ne l'enterrait pas celui-la a Saint-Denis, on lui accordait, a peine un peu de terre, mais il s'etait fait aimer
et on le pleurait."




40


The Theatre Franpais.


For it was at this time that those who represented on the stage those grand master-pieces
Sainte-Beuve says: "Le Curd de Saint-Eustache, sa
paroisse, lui refusa la sepulture ecclesiastique. La venve
de Moliere adressa, le 20 fevrier, une requete k l'Archeveque de Paris, Harlay de Champvallon, accompagnee
d'une d'Auteuil; elle courut a Versailles se jeter aux
pieds du Roi; Louis XIV. congedia le cure et la veuve,
en meme temps il 6crivit a l'Archeveque d'user de quelque
mioyen terme, il fut decid6 qu'on accorderait un peu de
terre, mais que le corps s'en iroit directement, et sans
etre presente a P'eglise."
And this, the eloquent writer continues, was one
whose talent " Desormais etait un des ornements, et des
titres, on dirait meme de l'humanitd. Moliere est un des
homines au profit de qui se font, et se feront toutes les
conquetes possible de la civilisation nouvelle. Les reputations, les genies futurs, les livres peuvent se multiplier, les civilisations peuvent se transformer dans
1'avenir; mais il y a cinq ou six grandes ceuvres qui sont
entrees dans le fonds inalienable de la pensee humaine.
Chaque homme qui sait lire est un lecteur de plus pour
Mloliere."




Drive to St. Germain.


41


of Corneille, Racine, Moliere, all names that
must live as long as the French language, were
refused the right of being buried in consecrated
ground, and now the hour was drawing near
when Sophie Gu6rin's destiny drew her towards
that stage which by her unrivalled excellence she
was soon to adorn.
The mass concluded, Madame Denain remembered her promise to take Sophie to St.
Germain; the drive, though long, was a delightful
one; the Champs Elys6es, which they traversed,
were very different from the magnificent avenue of
the present day, but were equally frequented by
the pomp and fashion of the capital; never had
Sophie imagined a sight so picturesque and varied.
Once out of Paris the woods extended on all
sides, blending almost into one large forest
the woods of Versailles and Meudon with that
of St. Germain. The small house belonging to
Madame Denain was situated close to the entrance
at the back of the palace garden, almost joining
that magnificent terrace which has been the delight
of so many generations of Parisians: need we ask




42


The Theatre Franfais.


if Sophie was delighted with the room which her
kind friend had appropriated to her? She longed
for the day when they were to take possession
of her new home. Madame Denain herself was
well pleased to think she should soon leave her
present gloomy abode, and it was late before
they were tired of visiting every corner of the
cottage and  garden, and  with joyful and
grateful hearts they returned to Paris.




43


CHAPTER IV.
AMADAME DENAIN, in adopting Sophie
Gudrin, was not solely influenced by her
desire to withdraw her from the harsh guardianship of her step-mother; from time to time her
attention had been attracted to the graceful manners and charming voice of the little flower-girl,
and it occurred to her that she was particularly
adapted to a career in which there was an opening to a brilliant success, and in which she
herself possessed certain personal influence.
Madame Denain's brother, Monsieur Bonval,
married Mademoiselle la Grange, the grand



44


The Theatre Franpais.


daughter of the great actor of the Th6Atre
Gu6negaud, which company at that date (1674)
had not yet received the designation of "les
Comediens du Roi," and who inheriting her
grandfather's dramatic power had at an early
age been received into this important and
critical society; subsequently a distant relative
unexpectedly left her a large fortune and a
Chateau near Fontainebleau, where they resided
after she had withdrawn from the stage, and
where it was a great pleasure for Madame
Bonval to collect her former associates to
rehearse  the  new   pieces, in  which  she
frequently  took  a   part,  and  gave   the
benefit of her tact and excellent judgment to
the younger members of the corps. Madame
Denain was an admirable critic, and although
she never acted, she frequently read a part in
such a manner as to make it a privilege to
listen to her. Sophie had never been to a
theatre, and the large play-bills which she saw
on the walls in Paris conveyed to her no idea




Age of Louis XIV.


45


of the stage.  She was surprised and a little
frightened when Madame Denain told her that
they were to pass a week at Montfleury with
Monsieur and Madame Bonval, when a play
would be acted by the elite of the company of the
Theatre Francais, for she had heard enough to
be aware of the eminent talent of those of whom
it consisted.
The age of Louis XIV. was a great epoch,
not alone   for  its political and  historical
interest, but also for the progress of the drama
and of letters; from this period dates an influence which no other country has ever
possessed in so great a degree as France, the
influence of the stage. It was the idea of
Louis XIV. that, if the stage was to exist at
all, the position of those who performed great
parts, and who represented great characters,
should be worthy of the authors whose works
they placed before the public, and if so were fit
objects for state support and protection; the
king and his great minister, Mazarin, regarded




46          The Theatre Franfais.
the stage as one of the most important means
of elevating the public taste. His predecessor,
the Cardinal Richelieu, had himself been
a  play-writer, and  the   Grand   Corneille
owed   something  to  the  admiration  and
poetic  appreciation  of  the  great  PriestMinister when he became one of the earliest
members of that illustrious body, the Acad6mie,
which was founded by Richelieu in 1634. But
it was not only as respects the stage, but in all
matters connected with arts and refinement,
the French nation advanced so rapidly, while its
rulers were endowed with the spirit of the
Renaissance. The Royal Academy of Painting
and Sculpture was established in Paris in 1648;
and it was Colbert who, in 1665, founded that
admirable institution the Academy at Rome. it
was felt, and justly felt, that the education of the
taste of the people was second only in importance
to its military and political progress; notwithstanding this, the stage had to contend against
the church. The calling of the actor was de



Enactments against Actors.


47


graded by Ecclesiastical tradition; the transcendent genius of a Shakespeare and Corneille,
the eternal heritage not of one country but of
the world, was overshadowed by the gloom of
fanaticism, which in France became cruel persecution. In France, so far back as the Council
of Arles, in 314, a solemn decree excommunicated all persons exercising the theatrical profession; no sacraments were to be administered
to them, and as marriage is one of the sacraments they were practically denied the right of
marriage. These enactments were set aside from
time to time by the will of the King, but were
never abolished; and although so deeply interested in the well-being of the stage, the
King did not venture to call another Ecclesiastical Council, as in all probability it would only
have renewed, or have even rendered more severe,
these edicts; yet by a strange contradiction the
most eminent of the clergy were at times the
great supporters of the drama. In 1631 the
Cardinal La Valette was so pleased with the
actor Mondory, that he gave him a pension.




48


The Thedtre Franpais.


And it was the same prelate who brought
Corneille to Paris.
In opposition to the church, the theatre
in France was supported by all that was
eminent and illustrious in the country, and to
its influence was greatly owing the position
which Paris so long held as the centre of
refinement and taste; but the most important step taken in the interest of the stage
was when the Theatre Franqais    was constituted and endowed by the State. In the
early period of Louis XIV. there had existed
three companies of Paris comedians, that of the
H6tel de Bourgogne, Le Theatre de Marais,
and the Troupe de Moliere; those of the
Hbtel de Bourgogne, as early as the days of
Louis XIII., had styled themselves or at any
rate were distinguished as the Troupe Royale
des Comediens, and they sent a memorial to
the King praying him that they might be
permitted always to occupy the same hotel,
without paying any rent to the Confreres de la
Passion, to whom it had originally belonged.




La Comedie Franfais.


This conflict with a powerful confraternity
lasted from 1615 to 1677, when Louis XIV.
settled the question in a summary manner; he
turned the Confreres de la Passion adrift, but
insisted on the company paying the same tax,
only it was to go to the HBpital Gen4ral; thus
was the charge for the poor levied on every
theatre; but what was of the greatest importance to the stage, the three theatres already
mentioned were united in one, that of the
lHtel de Bourgogne, when they were granted
permission to take the name of Les Comediens
du Roi; and this was no empty honour, for
the King shortly after bestowed a subsidy on
the theatre, and it was the foundation of that
admirable society which is known as La Comedie
Francaise.
It is probable that but for some subvention
the works of Corneille and Racine would never
have been put on the stage. Moliere had his
own small theatre, and his plays did not demand such an outlay as the classic Masters of the
French Drama. But the prices were too low to
E




50


The Thetdre Franfais.


command the highest art without the royal
support; the best boxes were only three
francs, the pit fifteen sous, the gallery ten sous;
these were the prices of the H6tel de Bourgogne.
Moliere's were even lower. The actor Villiers
wrote:
Venez done, tous les curieux,
Venez: apportez votre troque,
Dedans notre Hotel de Bourgogne,
Venez en foule: apportez-nous
Dans le parterre quinze sous,
Dix sous dans les galeries."
And out of these poor returns, one sixth had
to be paid as a tax for the poor. It would
appear also that even these receipts were diminished by the great families supporting the
stage by their presence, and omitting to paya practice which is, perhaps, not peculiar to any
country, or to any period.   Therefore, but for
the great Ministers, Richelieu and Mazarin, the
drama would have fallen as low in France as it
did in England at that period. The Comedie




Pensions.


51


Francaise was not more assisted by the State
aid than by the admirable Constitution of the
Society. To be admitted a member of this body
was, from the first, considered a great distinction;
it could only be by the almost unanimous approval
of the whole Company that any actor or actress
might enter as a pensionnaire; they then had to remain in this grade a year before becoming eligible
to join the Company as societaires. And every
societaire was compelled to be re-elected at the
expiration of ten years. It required no less than
twenty years' service to obtain a pension of four
thousand francs; but these pensions were guaranteed by the State, the charge being divided
equally between the government and the societaire
who succeeded to the place of the retiring member,
so that every actor or actress of ability, and of
good conduct, was secured from future want; also
on the death of any member, the whole company
subscribed to give a small donation to the next
heir, as is graphically expressed, "afin de le
donner dans la perte qu'il a faite une consolation
plus forte que les meilleurs complimens."
F2




52


The Theatre Franpais.


The excellent result of the foundation of the
Comedie Franqaise, and of the support given it by
the State, was proved by the admirable conduct
which was one of the characteristics of the Members
of the Company. Chappuzeau in the chapter of
his work on " Le Theatre Francais," entitled,
De la Conduite des Com6diens," praises their
exemplary conduct in their families —no people
were more attentive to their religious duties:
on the Sundays and Festivals of the Church, on
all the Holy Days, and during the Passion Week
and Holy Week the theatre was closed, and the
Company frequently, in a body, attended the
religious services, " puisqu'ils avaient embrasse
un genre de vie qui est fort du monde, ils
devaient, hors de leurs occupations, travailler
doublement a s'en detacher."
This Society was also remarkable for their
charities. The same writer tells us that the
Company took certain hospitals and religious
houses under their special care, and not unfrequently gave representations, when the receipts
were entirely devoted to the poor. All the per



Charities of the Comedie Franqaise.  53
secutions and ecclesiastical censures to which
they were subjected were met by them in the true
Christian spirit of forgiveness of injuries; thus
while Bossuet affirmed that "la pratique constante est de priver des sacrements, et a la vie,
et i la mort, ceux qui jouent la comedie, s'ils
ne renonqent a leur art, et de les passer a la
Sainte Table comme des pecheurs publics,"
Madeleine B6gart bequeathed a large sum to
the Church of Saint Paul, in perpetuity, for two
masses a week; also, a sum to be distributed
daily to five poor people, in memory of the " five
wounds of our Saviour." And even under the
Regency, the theatre was opened in 1716, " Au
nom de Dieu, de la Vierge Marie, de Saint Fran9ois de Paul, et des ames en purgatoire;" and a
glorious tribute to their merit was given by the
Magistracy of Paris, when the President of the
Bar, on a great public occasion, said:
" I should be unjust if I were to pass over in
silence the virtues of the Members of the Comedie Francaise, for never has one of this
body been brought before any tribunal, and this




54


The Theatre Franqais.


cannot be said almost of any other public body
in the whole kingdom."
And yet, when Cr6billon died, and the Curd
of Saint-Jean de Latran consented to perform
the funeral service, he was sentenced to pay a
fine of two hundred francs, and to three months
of seclusion.
The account that Madame Denain gave Sophie
of the rise of the Theatre Frangais greatly interested her; and she expressed the feeling
how pleasant it would be to belong to such a
Society; the observation was agreeable to Madame Denain, and she waited with almost as
great impatience as Sophie the day that was
fixed for their visit to Mont Fleury.




55


ChAPTER V.
M ONT FLEURY is one of those old chateaux
which are peculiar to France, and possess
an aspect and an architecture of their own.
Built more than three centuries since, surrounded by a moat, and with towers at each
corner, it was formerly capable of being defended against any incidental attack, although
not of withstanding a regular siege. Approached
from the road by a long wide avenue of poplars,
it was situated on an extensive plateau, while
the hills around it were covered with the then
wild forest of Fontainebleau. La Fontaine-belleEau, which Henri III. called "notre delicieux




56


The Theatre Franiais.


sejour de Fontaine-belle-Eau." Time had to this
date dealt very tenderly with some of these grand
Historic Chateaux; if any of the walls were crumbling away, the thick ivy concealed the decay. It
was reserved for those living a quarter of a century
from this period to witness the overthrow of so
many such memorials of the chivalry and glories
of France.
At this time, also, utilitarianism refrained from
touching the beauty of the forest with its hard hand.
The town of Fontainebleau and the neighbouring
hamlets, had not encroached on the wild beauty
of these vast regal demesnes; the few houses in
the immediate vicinity of the palace only
sufficed to lodge the retinue when the Court
inhabited it. As in the days of our Norman
sovereigns, the chase was one of the great prerogatives of the Crown, and for the sake of
reserving immense tracts of country for the royal
sport, large sacrifices were made by themselves,
and were required from the people; and, indeed,
even so late as the latter part of the reign of
Louis XV., when the " small cloud" might have




Royal Parks.


57


been seen on the horizon, and " the first gust
of the future tempest which was to blow down
alike palace and cottage, might even then, by the
attentive listener, have been heard rustling around
each dwelling;" even then the forest laws were
as stringent as ever, and the divine right of game
was as carefully protected. The park of Versailles formed an enclosure of ten leagues. Rambouillet contained thirty thousand acres. In the
park of Fontainebleau herds of a hundred stags
might be seen; but, severe as were the forest
laws, the people derived one advantage from
them, when, even so near the capital as at Versailles and at Meudon, large spaces were claimed
and taken possession of by the Crown for their
diversion of the Court the public being permitted
the enjoyment of them so long as they in no
way interfered with the Sovereign's sport, and
it was a great delight at holiday times to
travel down to Fontainebleau or Chantilly, and
wander for many miles amid the charms of these
solitudes. Sophie, who had never been so far
from Paris, was in exuberant spirits as they




58


The The'dtre Franfais.


traversed the varied and beautiful scenery, for
no forest in France is more diversified; there
are chains of hills, almost worthy the name of
mountains, separated by large gorges; and desolate tracts, laid waste by fire, are surrounded
by woods in all the majesty of their antiquity;
there are rocks piled on rocks, with torrents
dashing between them, worthy of the pencil of
Salvator Rosa, the sunlit glades contrasting with
the deep shadows of the masses of wood; now
and then a herd of deer would fly across
the road, turn to gaze on the carriage, and then
dash on to new pastures. They drove by some
of those venerable trees which were known to all
frequenters of the forest; indeed, the old road
was constructed not as in modern times, to
find the shortest distance from post to post,
but the surveyors and local administrators in
former days were themselves frequently admirers
of the scenery amid which their work lay, and the
road was carried so as to gratify the traveller
by the beauties of the country through which he
was journeying; so Sophie had the opportunity of




M. Bonval's Chateau.


59


seeing many of those trees which are considered to
be the grandest of the forest. They are all design
nated by names dear to France, as associated with
its glories; there is the oak of Charlemagne, of
Clovis, of Henri IV., of Sully, and there they
still remain defiant of the storms which sometimes sweep away acres of the weaker plants.
Not far from Mont Fleury they saw the chapel,
now destroyed, built in memory of Saint Louis,
who was there rescued from the hands of a band
of robbers; and then they turned into the long
avenue  which  led  to  the  chateau  where
Monsieur and Madame Bonval were waiting to
bid them welcome.
After a life passed in the Rue de Grille, it
may be well imagined how much Sophie was surprised at the grandeur of the chateau, a grandeur
arising not from the richness of its decorations
or its furniture, but from the noble proportions
of the rooms. Monsieur Bonval did not affect
to maintain a feudal establishment, on the
contrary, nothing could be simpler than his
mode of life.




60


The Th7atre Franfais.


In France, except at moments of national
extravagance, the upper classes are remarkable
for their simplicity of life, for a far greater independence of character and of " what will people
say" than is generally found in England. Neither
Monsieur Bonval nor his wife forgot her origin,
and they felt that it would have been a great mistake for the grand-daughter of Monsieur La Grange,
by accident the proprietor of a splendid chateau, to have attempted to maintain the state of
its former aristocratic owners, but they exercised
a most generous hospitality, and, above all, were
the friends and protectors of the poor for many
miles round. The entrance-hall was used as a
theatre for the performances of the Comedie
Frangaise when they paid their former colleague
a visit; somewhat gloomy and sombre, it formed
a contrast to the adjoining apartments, which
were furnished in the light style of the period.
At the end of the gallery was a little chapel,
which had been recently restored, and the sunset
cast its bright colours on the white marble
pavement; exquisite bas-reliefs carved in oak




Reception at the Chateau.


61


ornamented the altar.  The arms of the old
family were panelled in the walls. The place
that knew the De Chaumonts in former days,
would know them no more, but many more
chateaux associated with all the deeds of the days
of chivalry were before long to pass out of the possession of the great families into those of unknown
strangers. No one at that time, amid all the glitter
and splendour of the Court of Louis XV., for a
moment foresaw the coming troubles.
The next day the establishment was occupied with preparations for the reception of their
theatrical friends.  A  temporary stage was
erected in the hall.  At this time, as well as
during the whole reign of Louis XIV., the
mise-en-scene of the Comedie  Francaise was
little attended to. The interest was really centered in the play, not in its decorations; in
general there was but one scene: a room with
four doors, and this was supposed to represent
any period or any country.   It was only on
very grand occasions, when the King and Court
were present, that great extravagance in deco



62            The Thetdre Franfais.
rations was much expected. There was therefore  little  trouble  required  to  prepare  the
great hall, and Sophie passed her time in
wondering   what   these   important personages
resembled. To the untutored mind an actor is
always an abstraction, and those who see him
on the stage, embodying the great conceptions
of the great poets, cannot realize him as he
leaves the stage-door in ordinary and too frequently  time-worn    dress,   as was the case
at this date at the Comediens Italiens, and
other small theatres.*
* Chappuzeau writes: " Le Theatre Italien dtait le
centre de la libert6, la source de la joie, l'asile des chagrins domestiques: les Italiens donnent un champ libre
sur la scene a tout le monde; l'officier vient sur le bord
du Theatre 6taler ing6nieusement aux yeux du marchand
la dorure qu'il lui doit encore; l'enfant de famille, sur
les frontieres de l'orchestre, fait la moue a l'usurier qui
ne saurait lui demander le principal, ni les intdrets; le
fils, ml6e avec les acteurs, rit de vive voix son pyre avaricieux faire le pied de grue dans le parterre, pour lui




Great Histrionic Names.


63


At this period all the interest in the stage
was centered in the Com6die Francaise; the
best part of a century had elapsed since its
foundation, but the great histrionic names
conferred honour on the country. There were
Champmesle, Baron, Poisson, La Grange, La
Tuilerie, Haute-Roche, Verneuil, and among the
actresses, De Brie, Dupin, Guyot, De Croisy
Raisin, Beuval; many of these had transmitted
their talents to their descendants, and their
names were still represented on the stage. Of
the later families who were introduced to the
theatre, the two names that excited the greatest
interest, were the Mesdemoiselles Dumeslin and
Clairon. Both these were invited on the present
occasion to the chateau and excited the greatest
curiosity in Sophie; as she stood at the window
which overlooked the long avenue, and when the
laisser quinze sous de plus apres sa mort. Ainsi quand
on voit un homme a l'H6tel Bourgogne, on peut dire
qu'il a laisse tout son chagrin chez lui, pourvu qu'il y
ait laiss6 sa femme."




64


The Thedtre Francais.


two carriages did appear, she felt as if a crisis
in her destiny was drawing near.  Is it the case
that not only in the "sunset of life there is
mystical love," but that there are moments in
the spring time of life when the mind seems to
be able to seize through the passing minutes a
faint glance of the future.  Sophie had, at all
events, the trepidation which is the herald of
great events or great emotions.
When the carriages drew up at the entrance,
and Sophie saw their occupants, the illusion was
dispelled; she could not realize that these
ordinary mortals were the " Comtdiens du Roi,"
whom all the great people of the Court
crowded to see perform; there was nothing
grand or majestic in the appearance of these
personages-even Mademoiselle Dumeslin and
Mademoiselle Clairon, of whom she had heard
so much, did not realize the creations of her
imagination. They were all in excellent humour,
much pleased with their drive, and instead of
high-flown sentences and ideas, they gossipped
about all the ordinary events of society, as if




Mademoiselle Clairon.


65


they had never lived with the tragic muse or
evoked tears and sighs from a sympathizing
audience.
Yet in the evening, when Mademoiselle Clairon
appeared in a picturesque dress, not extravagant and costly, but graceful beyond the reach
of art, Sophie soon changed her opinion; the conversation took a graver tone; the topic was one in
which they were all deeply interested-for at this
time, as the expenses of the Crown increased
every year, it had been suggested that the subsidy to the Comddie Frarnaise should be reduced
-then Mademoiselle Clairon's face, when she
spoke, was lit with enthusiasm, and Sophie gazed
with unfeigned admiration on the beauty of her
expression; she was very earnest on the subject, as if she felt all her own worth; she
possessed dignity without pride of manner.
Hers was truly
Un esprit juste et gracieux,
Solide dans le serieux,
Charmant dans les bagatelles."


F




66


The The'tre Franfais.


The colour rose in her cheek, and her eyes
gleamed with intelligence.  Monsieur Bonval
maintained that the company, once organized,
could maintain itself without any aid from the
State.  "Even if it could," said Mademoiselle
Clairon, "the stage is so admirable a school for
all ranks of men, for all professions, that the
State should make use of it for the sake of
the advantage it would derive from it in the
education of the people. In the highest parts,
wherein actions are put in their praiseworthy
point of view, the State has the opportunity of
seeing how they affect the masses, and can hence
judge how to reward them. Or, if it is wished
to censure the vices and follies of the day, how
can people see what is ridiculous and contemptible better than on the stage? I repeat
that the stage is the greatest school of morals;
theatrical art should be introduced into the
education of children.  Writers of the highest
character have written comedies for them, considering these excellent for the purpose of securing




The Stage a School of Morals.


a -
U'


a good pronunciation, proper self-confidence, and
the graces of deportment. How may an incipient George Dandin, or a Monsieur Jourdain,
or a Harpagon have been rendered keenly alive
to their follies, presumptions, and meannesses by
the creations of Moliere. Will not the name of
Tartuffe be transmitted to all posterity as the
type of consummate hypocrisy; but, however
marvellous  the  genius  of Moliere,  would
his plays have survived if they had only been
read at home? No, it is to the stage they will
owe their power and fame; perhaps," added
she, smiling, "to the Comedie Francaise. And
would the Com6die Francaise ever have been
in its present flourishing condition but for
the support of Richelieu, Louis XIV., and
Mazarin, and the generosity of the State?"
"A   poet has no stage," said M. Baron,
"and his works leave an indelible impression  on  the  mind,  and  guide the age;
the poet is as great a teacher as the dramatist,
and he requires no scenic effects. Poets have inF 2




68


The Theatre Francais.


fluenced the world, the gift of communicating lofty
emotions and glorious images to men is theirs;
the minstrels of former days were welcome in all
societies, and their songs became a rich inheritance
bequeathed to posterity; the greatest sovereigns
and conquerors have paid homage to poets, who
transmitted the memory of their great works and
victories to history. 1 am not now speaking
against the organization of our own admirable
Society, but I think that we have been recently
deviating from the grand simplicity of our early
representations, when one scene served for
many plays, and the success of the Com6die
Franqaise entirely depended on the knowledge
and the appreciation of our parts. The State has
recently been interfering, I think, injudiciously;
it demands that we should find more amusement for the money; by grandeur of decoration and finer costumes, we are expected on
the stage to represent the magnificence off it;
this is why I feel there will be little to
regret even if the State carries out the menace
of this reduction. You see, Mademoiselle, that




Importance of the Stage.


69


I take even a higher view of our art than
yourself."
"I rejoice to find," continued Mademoiselle
Clairon, "that there seems, except among the
clergy, to be but one opinion as to the importance of the stage, and it is only because the
old spirit of persecution still exists in the
church authorities that we have been exposed
to this shameful treatment. Our dramatists
have been remarkable for their elevation of
character and the excellence of their lives.
Corneille and Racine passed their days in doing
good,  as   well  as  in  composing   great
works; and   two   of Corneille's sons  are
enrolled among that clergy which anathematizes the stage. This hostility of the church
seems quite incomprehensible, when we know
what support they have derived from our
exertions. What is the petition of the Peres
Cordeliers? why, they pray that they may be
placed on the list of those amongst whom
we distribute our charity; there is no community
they say who suffer so much from poverty,




70


The Theatre Franfais.


and they frequently are in want of bread. And
then   the   Augustins   of   the  Faubourg    St.
Germain, they also humbly ask to share our
alms, and to be added to the list of religious
houses which partake of our bounty. Yet every
year we are regarded by the clergy with in.
creasing dislike and mistrust. During the last
century, at the H6tel de Bourgogne, at the
opening of the season the priests and vicars
were invited to be present and to offer us
their good wishes.   Loret says they then sang
Un nodet, Te Deum et Messe,
Le cure, pretres, et vicaires,
Chantres, com6diens, et moi,
Criames tous ' Vive le Roi!'"
"And now we are under a ban as if we were
the worst of crimiials."*
* At one time the Jesuits had a theatre in the College
of Clermont, since the College of Louis-le-Grand, where
they took money at the doors. Loret says, "Qu'il
assista au Collge de Saint Ignace en Aoit, 1658, a une
trag6die, pour quinze sous, le meme prix qu'il eut donna




Louis XIV. and the Stage.            71
"Never lnind," said Monsieur Hubert, "we
can do good without any assistance from the
clergy, when we have the support of IIis
Majesty; what does not the stage owe to Louis
XIV., who soothed the dying hours of the
great Corneille? whose last words were expressions of gratitude  to his sovereign. Were not
His Majesty and the Duchess of Orleans the
sponsors   for the child of Moliere?   As for the
incident of the ' L'en cas de nuit,' it has been
illustrated by the greatest artists, and populaa l'H6tel de Bourgogne pour voir une trag6die de Corneille; et outre la tragddie,
On y dansa quatre ballets,
Moitie graves, moitie follets,
Chacun ayant plusieurs entrees,
Tout plusieurs furent admirdes,
Et vrai comme rimeur je suis
La verite sortant de puits,
Par ses pas et ses pirouettes,
Ravit et prudes et coquettes.
Loret does not say who were the performers in the
ballet.




72


The Theatre Franrais.


rised by many an engraver. Whom but Molibre
did the King delight to honour so much, as to
order his 'en cas de nuit' to be brought to
his bed-side, where he commanded Molibre to be
seated, and himself carved for the great dramatist
a wing of a chicken? Surely this was as great a
distinction as that paid to Titian by Charles V.,
when the Empereur picked up the brush the
painter had dropped; saying, 'Titians should be
served by Emperors," and the more so as SaintSimon affirms that, except when with the army,
no one was ever known to eat at the same
table as His Majesty, not even the Princes of
the Blood; and even with the army, it was
thought the highest distinction for Vauban to
have been invited to dinner after the siege of
Namur.* It was on all occasions the wish of the
* Chappuzeau says:  Louis XIV. uue fois a admis
une simple bourgeoise a sa table; apres une visite qu'il
avait faite au Jardin des Plantes. Le Directeur Vallot, un
homme considerable, l'Esculape de la Cour, car il etait




Royal Treatment of the Comedie, Franpaise.


73


King that every consideration should be shown
to the members of the Comedie Frangaise; they
were permitted to have guards whenever they
required them, and were even admitted to the
Medecin du Roi, dit Loret, offrit au Roi une collation
qui lui cofita cent mille francs, que meme
Monsieur Vallot servit le Roi,
Et dans ce repas eut la gloire
De lui donner trois fois a boire.
Et que le Roi, touche des attentions de son h6te, daigna
inviter, hon pas Vallot, mais sa femme, a s'asseoir a sa
table, qu'apres qu'elle s'en fut excusee dix fois. Ce meilleur des Rois le voulant absolument, Madame Vallot
obAit; l'extraordinaire cette fois etait d'y recevoir une
bourgeoise.
De plus, cet absolu Seigneur
Voulut que sa femme eut l'honneur,
Honneur certes considdrable,
De repaitre a sa propre table,
Elle s'en excusa dix fois.
Mais enfin ce meilleur des Rois,




74


The Theatre Franaiis.


petit coucher. "Do you see, my friends," added
Monsieur Hubert, "we can dispense with the
protection of the Church, but the Church cannot
well dispense with our charities; yet it is still
very painful and   strange that so large   and
powerful a body should oppose that love of art
for art's sake which exists amongst us, and
attack us in this uncharitable and indiscriminating manner, for a large portion of our profession
have one great end in view, to elevate human
nature; and the Church, instead of repudiating
us, should aid us in the noble task of kindling
the noblest sympathies and evoking the highest
emotions.  Which of us can ever forget the
painful scene which occurred at our loved
and admired    friend  Adrienne   Lecouvreur's
Dit, ce qui lui plaise, favorise,
Ordonna qu'elle y fut amise.
Loret adds: "Aux fetes de Versailles, en 1668, il
admet a sa table une certaine nombre de femmes titries,
et avec elles encore une bourgeoise, la Presidente Tambonneau."




Burial of Adrienne Lecouvreur.


w
Ima


death? Where was there ever on the stage one
who spoke with a greater flow of poetry and
passion?  Never was witnessed more tender
pathos, combined with a grander dignity; and
yet when she died-it seems but the other day
-after so short an illness, she had to be buried
in the street in the vicinity of that theatre she
had adorned, in the darkness of the night by
the lurid light of torches."
"It is a shame, a disgrace," exclaimed Mademoiselle Clairon, " and the one object of my
life shall be to have this stigma removed from
us."
It was not without pain that Madame Denain
listened to this conversation. However admirable
the Theatre Franpais, it was still matter of
grave reflection to introduce Sophie to a life
which the Church so harshly condemned.
Sophie little knew  what was passing in the
mind of her protectress; she listened eagerly
to the impassioned language with which the
guests spoke of their profession.  She was
absorbed with the beauty of Mademoiselle




76


The Theatre Fran9ais.


Clairon, and her cheeks glowed with the same
earnestness when she heard of the cruelty
practised towards the dead, denounced in such
thrilling tones.
When Sophie retired that night, her mind
was full of deep and varied emotions; she
thought of all that she had heard; she recalled
the noble words to which she had listened, and
the sweet and gentle expression of Mademoiselle
Clairon.  What a charming existence they all
seemed to lead, and yet a great shadow fell
upon her heart as she thought that the Church
denied its offices to those who belonged to the
profession. It must, she thought, be a terrible
thing to be cut off from the Church and its
cherished associations; how great then was the
mission Mademoiselle Clairon had undertaken,
never to rest until these hateful enactments
were withdrawn.




77


CHAPTER V.
THE next day was devoted to finishing the
preparations in the hall for the perform
ance of the evening. Not that much was required: a few screens were intended to represent
the different scenes.  It was justly thought
that the play would depend on the high merit
of the performers, and not on the carpenter
and decorator; still, as the few families residing
near Mont-Fleury were to be invited, there were
arrangements to be made which fully occupied
the party.  A raised stage had to be erected,
for nothing gives more confidence to the actor
or assists the illusion more than for the
actor to stand on a different level from the




78          The Theatre Franfais.
audience.  Here  again  Mademoiselle Clairon
was the animating spirit of the party; she
settled the perspective, arranged the lights,
and hung up some old tapestries which had been
long neglected, and the old hall soon assumed
a festive appearance; her inventive genius supplied all deficiencies.  Madame Bonval's new
position had in no way diminished her interest
in her old friends and associates, and it may be
said that anyone who has achieved success on
the stage never left that pleasing anxious
labour without casting many a longing, lingering
look behind.  To command the heart to beat
and tears to flow at will, is a power so great
that it is not willingly relinquished. Of all the
parts she played, none was more admirably
enacted than that of hostess.
Although the days were long, the performance
was postponed until the dusk; it was one of
M. Baron's (who was the general manager) creeds
that plays in the daylight should be avoided,
because effects cannot be produced properly on
the stage, except by the aid of artificial light;




One of M. Baron's Creeds.


79


and also that it is not until the material work
of the day is over that full force can be given
to the imagination; when the mind is free of
petty cares, noble sayings and words that burn
are more vividly improssed on the mind. " We
are then," he said, "best prepared not only to
admire, but to sympathize." It was with such
feelings of sympathy that all the invited guests
arrived at the Chateau, in the various conveyances which had been hired for the occasion
in the neighbouring village.  It was not such
an assemblage as that before which the distinguished party acted at Versailles or at the
Louvre; there were no carriages preceded by
running footmen bearing torches; no royal
equipage, surrounded by a glittering escort,
bearing one of the Princes of the Blood, rolled
up to the door.    But had   such suddenly
appeared containing these grand personages,
they could not have received a warmer and
courtlier welcome.  There were among    the
visitors many who had never been at Court,
rarely even to Paris; they consisted principally




80           The Thiatre Franfais.
of that   simple, frugal,  warm-hearted  class
which may be found even now in the provinces
in France.   Great was the    delight  of the
whole party when the dear old cure entered;
one of those excellent men who had at that time,
and probably have now, a greater influence in
the country than rulers are generally aware of,
or are willing to recognize; one of
C" Those priests-the gentle priests and good, your fathers
loved to hear,
Sole type below 'midst work and woe, of the God whom
we revere,"
always welcome on the fete-day at the table of
the Seigneur; and any hour in the cottage, sharing
the frugal repast; ever l'enfant de la famille,
the play-mate of childhood, the guide of youth,
the consoler of age; his ambition and aspirations limited to the circle of his duties;
possessing a pittance of incomne, but the possessor of a rich harvest of love in all its
fulness.
But though a curate in a small district, Abb6




Abbe' Lebel.


81


Lebel had, by the power of his intelligence, no
little knowledge of human affairs. He had not
lived much in the world; but he was aware
that there was a great change going on in
all society: through the perpetual civil wars
the landmarks of the ancient faiths, Catholic,
Feudal, Social,  had  been shaken, and he
felt that the age of Louis XIV. had, in spite of
its grave errors and terrible persecutions, made
a great advance in earnestness and excellence. It
was in this reign that the ancient abbeys were reformed, religious communities and congregations
were founded, and these reforms extended even to
the Sorbonne and the University. Among other
things, he knew that the King had endeavoured to
elevate the stage, and that Corneille was favoured
and especially protected by the Sovereign. Abb6
Lebel regarded Corneille as the greatest improver of his age, as the author who only cared
to represent all that is noble, heroic, and great in
human nature, who, if he deviated sometimes
from the ordinary practice of the stage, always
drew a picture of men as they should be, as
G




82


The Theatre Franiais.


the good, as the best men would desire them to
be. What an eloquent tribute was paid to this
great master by Racine at the reception at the
Academy of the brother of the illustrious dramatist! How he invoked the inspiration of his
marvellous genius; of that genius that produced
on the stage the heroes of the past, surrounded
by all the pomp and ornament of which language was capable! And the good Abb6
respected Corneille for other works than his
tragedies: for his works of piety, for his many
good and generous deeds. Therefore it was that
on every occasion, when the Comedie Franqaise
visited Mont Fleury, the Abb6 was always
invited, and never missed an opportunity of
seeing heroes depicted in the most admirable
manner.
All the visitors had arrived and taken their
places, the Abbe seated in the front row, with
the great approval of the performers, for his
presence seemed to give that sanction to their
performance which in years gone by, as has




Mademoiselle Clairon.


83


been already observed, the Church always
afforded to the stage.  The play chosen was
that most sublime of Corneille's works, " Polyeucte." Mademoiselle Clairon enacted Pauline,
the noblest type of the grandeur of womanhood
which has ever been expressed in language, compelled in deference to her father's will to marry
Polyeucte, while she is attached to S6vere.
When Polyeucte, converted to Christianity,
throws down at the Pagan altar the sacred
offerings and is condemned to die, by the
judgment   of  her  father,  she  not   only
uses  her  own    influence,  but  persuades
Sdvere to induce Polyeucte to repent of
his deed, and return to his ancient belief.
But when her husband is finally condemned,
she, struck with the grandeur of the faith that
could endure to the last, is also converted to
Christianity.
Nothing could be more admirable than her
expression when she implores Severe to rescue
him who was so recently his rival, and it
G 2




84


The Thedtre Franqais.


was with breathless interest that the audience
listened.
Je scais que c'est beaucoup que ce que je demande,
Mais plus l'effort est grand plus la gloire en est grande,
Sauvez ce malheureux, employez-vous pour lui,
Faites-vous un effort pour le servir d'appui,
Conserver un rival dont vous etes jaloux,
C'est un trait de vertu qui n'appartienne que vous;
Et ci ce n'est assez de votre renommde
C'est beaucoup qu'une femme autrefois tant aimee,
Donne a votre grand coeur ce qu'elle a de plus cher.
Souvenez-vous enfin que vous etes Severe."
Nor was the    attention  less absorbed by M.
Baron, as Polyeucte, when he utters his beautiful soliloquy:Source delicieuse, en misere6 f6conde,
Que voulez-vous de moi, flatteuses voluptes,
Heureux attachemens de la chair et du monde,
Que ne me quittez-vous, quand je vous ai quittd?
Allez, bonheur plaisirs, qui me livrez la guerre.
"Toute votre felicite
Sujette a l'instabilite,




Baron as Polyeucte.


85


En moins de rien tombe a terre,
Et, comme elle a l'eclat du verre,
Elle en a la fragility.
Saintes douceurs du ciel, adorables idees,
Vous remplissez un coeur qui vous peut recevoir;
De vos attraits sacr6s les ames posseddes
Ne congoivent plus rien qui les puissent emouvoir,
Vous promettez beaucoup, et dounez d'avantage.
"Vos biens ne sont point inconstants,
Et l'heureux trdpas que j'attends,
Ne vous sert que d'un doux passage,
Pour nous introduire au partage,
Qui nous rend a jamais contents." *
* " Delicious source, in sorrow, why
Still throbs each pulse with rapture's strain.
Leave me I oh, leave me here to die.
No love I no hope I for me again,
Life and its joys are fleeting,
And the sweet familiar greeting,
The last fond word is spoken,
The crystal goblet broken.




86


The Theatre Franvais.


And the actor's voice rose to the height of the
greatness of the character, when Polyeucte is
led to die, in the profession of his faith:"Je n'adore qu'un Dieu, maitre de 1'univers,
Sous qui tremblent le ciel, la terre et les enfers,
Un Dieu qui, nous aimant d'une amour infinie,
Voulut mourir pour nous avec ignominie,
Et qui, par un effort de cet exces d'amour,
Veut pour nous en victime etre offert chaque jour."
Noble ideas, nobly expressed, and which
thrilled through the audience.  What a vocation
for the stage Monsieur Baron had inherited;
how he rose to the noblest emotions; there was
not one present who did not feel his heart elevated
L


" But holy joys and heavenly rest,
I now can welcome and adore,
These precious gifts when once possessed,
No future griefs can touch us more.
Heaven's love inconstant never,
Can compensate for her.
For all I leave below,
And this most cruel blow."




Stage-decorations.


87


by the grandeur of the theme and the nobility
of its expression.
And how simple were the stage decorations.
Monsieur Baron was right when he said the
first evening, that a high standard of acting was
independent of external arts; like the Theatre
at Athens, where, in the open air, the actors required no scenic effects, but could, when they
exclaimed  S  rij al, 8eo, point to the soil
of Attica and to the Acropolis of the City of the
Violet Crown, with its temples sacred to the
gods.
The last time the Comedie Fran9aise performed
Polyeucte was at a grand ceremonial at Versailles;
then in the scene of the Forum, there was one of
those grand stage-decorations such as Louis XV. so
greatly loved: triumphal arches were decorated
with flowers; on the peristyle of the temple of
Jupiter stood marble statues, and the painter and
sculptor exhausted their art in the magnificence
of the representation, while in the cortege of S6vere
a Roman triumph, in all its historic barbaric splendour, was put on the stage.




88


The Theatre Fraitcais.


Here there was nothing to aid the intense
interest of the play, and the ability of the actors.
All that can be said is that Pauline, Polyeucte
and Severe never appeared before a more appreciating audience than on this occasion, many of
whom were moved to tears.
The performance was followed by a few passages from  Mohlre's "Psyche," which were
recited by Mademoiselle Dangeville.  And a
more perfect Psyche it would have been difficult to have selected.  Her admirable grace and
movement would have charmed any audience.
Independent of her intrinsic merit as an actress,
she fitly represented the lovely maid over whom
it was said the Hours threw roses from the sky, and
whom the Graces sprinkled with the most fragrant
odours, Psyche with the wings of the butterflies,
to intimate the soul of which she is the exquisite
symbol. When in the fifth act, Psyche, in her
grief and loneliness, murmurs forth her sorrows, she never could have told them in a
sadder, sweeter strain than the Psyche on the
stage that night.




Moliere's " Psyche."


89


" Pauvres amants, leur amour dure encore,
Tout morts qu'ils sont, l'un et l'autre m'adore.
Moi I dont la duret/ rebut si mal leurs voeux,
Tu n'en fais pas ainsi, toi qui seul m'a ravie,
Amant, que j'aime encore, cent fois plus que ma vie.
Et qui brise de si beaux noends,
Ne me fuis plus, et souffle que j'esp~re,
Que tu pourras un jour rabaisser l'oeil sur moi,
M'a force de souffrir, j'aurai de quoi te plaire,
De quoi me rengager ta foi." *
As she listened to the cadence of these lines,
Sophie sat spell-bound, her heart responded to
every word, the tears filled her eyes, and when
* Psyche appeared in 1671; but it is remarkable it
was not entirely written by Moliere, and it was Minault
who composed most of the words, and set them to music.
Moliere arranged the plan of the play, and put it on the
stage; the prologue, the first scene of the second act,
the first of the third. Corneille also had a share in this
tragedy.  It had to be prepared in the greatest haste;
for the King ordered it to be performed during the Carnival of 1671, when it was produced with, the utmost
magnificence.




90


The Thiatre Francais.


the curtain fell she remained in her place as if
longing for the words to be spoken again, as
though a new inspiration had dawned upon
her.
The party retired, not only having passed a
most pleasant evening, but with a real store of
memories and fresh invigorating thoughts. Sophie went to her room, but tried, in vain, to
sleep.  She rose and opened her window; it
was a bright starlight night, so peaceful and
still, scarcely the murmur of a breeze rustled
the forest trees. As she gazed into the pale
distance, and recalled the words of Psyche, it
seemed as though there was a sympathy between
the infinity of the heavens and of the human
soul, Psyche. The soul! for her what a world
of new ideas had been crowded into a brief space
of time, into a few weeks, almost a few days, all
owing to one kind friend, and that kind friend
found by an accident-accident! are there any
accidents in life? Are we not guided, guarded
and shielded by loving influences unknown to
us? May not even the strong man be led




Sophie's Emotions.


91


by the hand of the little child? A kind
Providence had permitted her to enjoy this
happiness, and it cast a bright tint of colour
on the future.  She felt that for her also
might exist a world in which all things beautiful
should find a place. She, like the greatest and
humblest, had her portion in it. The glory of
the night-its waves of light —its dark mysterious
shadows —she was a sharer in all this beauty.
Why then might not she hope to possess the interest of others? Why should not she, like Mademoiselle Dangeville, be able to cause the tears to
flow, to elevate the hearts of others by the
melody of the voice? Was the future hopeless
for her? Could she not achieve what others
had done? Ah, she thought, alas, to obtain like
results we must possess like gifts, and are
these mine?




92


CHAPTER VI.
OPHIE never imagined that, at the same
moment, she was the subject of a long conversation between Madame Denain and Mademoiselle
Clairon, on which her whole destinies depended.
Madame Denain was right in her opinion that
no one was more capable than this great actress
of estimating the advantages and disadvantages
of a theatrical career. Most especially was she
able to form a just judgment in Sophie's case,
as their two lives, up to Sophie's present age,
had been very similar.
Mademoiselle Clairon was born in a small
town in the D6partement du Nord, Saint-Waron




Mademoiselle Clairon.


93


de Cond6, near Cond6, in Flanders. She seemed
so delicate a child that her grandmother insisted
that she should be baptised without a day's delay.
It was during the Carnival, when one evening the
cure and his vicaire were acting in a pantomime,
the former dressed up as harlequin, the vicaire
in a costume much resembling a clown.
There was no time to unlock the churchdoor, so the child was taken to the ball-room,
where some water was poured into a bowl,
the music was stopped, and the ceremony was
performed without priest or curate having the
opportunity of changing their eccentric garb.
Such was the first connection of the Stage and
the Church in Mademoiselle Clairon's career.
Her girlhood was in many respects as miserable
as Sophie's; substitute mother for step-mother,
and there was little to choose between them.
There were no caresses, no tendernesses lavished
upon her; she was not sent to sell flowers, but,
what she would have considered worse, was
locked up in a little room to get through a certain
quantity of work, when menaces and even blows




94


The Theatre Frangais.


were her portion, if it was not accomplished
within a given time. Her natural excellence is
expressed in her conviction that to this harshness
of treatment she owed her tenderness and compassionate interest in others. One day, as she was
standing on a chair to see the cause of some excitement in the narrow street (for the family had
moved to Paris), she noticed for the first time a
young girl in the room exactly opposite her own,
taking a dancing-lesson. The window was open,
so she could watch every graceful movement.
When the lesson was ended, the members of the
family who were present, applauded, and her
mother tenderly embraced her.  The child was
so overcome by the contrast between her life and
this scene of domestic happiness, thus suddenly
revealed to her, that she burst into tears. When
she looked up again, the scene had vanished.
At first she felt as if she had committed a
fault in enjoying such pleasurable emotions; then
she looked forward to the same gratification on the
following day, but resolved to keep her secret, lest
her mother should change her room. The next




Mademoiselle Clairon.


95


day, as she had anticipated, the same scene was
renewed, but after the dancing-lesson, instead
of crying, she endeavoured to imitate some
of these graceful  attitudes; and a pretty
picture it must have been: to have seen
the young girl before her glass, her fair face
animated with her exertions, and her long
hair falling on her shoulders as she endeavoured to render more supple the natural
graces of her figure; one day she received
unforeseen aid of a humble nature, namely,
from a barrel-organ. An Italian boy frequently
played opposite her window; she felt quite
grateful to the little vagrant who provided her
with music, and now and then threw him a few
sous, and then he was certian to return the next
day. Perhaps there was a kind of sympathy
between these lonely children, and that the
smile with which he was greeted, attracted him
as much as the 80sous.
After a time, she took advantage of the violin
in the opposite room, and after a hasty glance at
the attitude or step, would hurriedly withdraw




96


The Theatre Franfais.


to practise it. The result of all these efforts betrayed her. Her movements became remarkable
for their ease and grace, while the constant
study of beauty and refinement at last was depicted in her countenance.  Instead of an unhappy constrained look, a new light beamed
there. All the visitors to the house remarked
this change; she, who was always short, seemed
to gain in height. The mother's vanity was
gratified when she heard everyone remark:" What have you done with your little girl? what
grace! what a charm she possesses!" Still
the young girl kept her secret; until one day,
when her own window was open, and she was
in the middle of one of her imitations, the violin
suddenly stopped, and she saw the young lady
she had been imitating standing at the window,
watching her movements with intense interest, for
she was no less surprised than was Mademoiselle
Clairon herself, when, for the first time, she had
gazed on the charming vision. The two young
girls looked at each other with mutual pleasure,
but Mademoiselle Clairon, caught in the midst
of her practising, was overwhelmed with confusion




Mademoiselle Clairon.


97


as she approached the window; the one countenance wore the smile of encouragement, the other
of hope.    The new friend     was Mademoiselle
Dangeville, one of the most promising pupils of
the Theatre Franqais, and she was taking lessons
in dancing and pose, not with the object of dancing, but of learning grace of movement and
dignity of attitude.*
When the little Clairon next saw her mother,
it was with fear and trembling lest her secret was
known.   Indeed, it had become so, because Monsieur Baudry, Mademoiselle Dangeville's dancingmaster, passing the house, had congratu* Mademoiselle Clairon in her " Rflexions des talens
qu'on peut acquerir," says, " Pour bien marcher, pour
se presenter avec noblesse, gesticuler avec grace et facilit4, pour se donner de laplomb et de l'ensemble, pour
n'avoir jamais d'attitude qui contrarie la nature, il est
indispensable de s'instruire k fond de la danse, noble et
figurte; il faut bien se garder d'apprendre C former des
pas, et d'avoir l'air arrange d'un dauseur; mais le reste
de son art est de toute ndcessite."


H




98


9The Theatre  rancais.


lated Madame Clairon on having so accomplished a daughter.  When her mother heard
these praises, she had one of those sudden
revulsions of feelings so common to passionate
natures, and to Mademoiselle's great surprise,
instead of being scolded, she found herself
tenderly embraced, and she was told that
she might go to the play with her new
friends. The young girl's delight may be easily
imagined when she was taken to the ThAtre
Fran9ais, and saw the tragedy of the "Conte
d'Essex" and "Les Folies Amoureuses."  "No
language," she says, " can describe what passed
in me that evening and the whole of the next
day; I could neither eat nor talk; so concentrated
was I within myself, I saw nothing of what was
going on around me; my great happiness was to
recall each scene of the play; and, to my own
astonishment, I found that I was able to repeat
more than a hundred verses of the tragedy, and
two-thirds of the second piece. I endeavoured to
imitate each actor, to recite and to move
like Poisson, and always to maintain the charm



Mademoiselle Clairon.


99


ing manner of Mademoiselle Dangeville; in fact,
I was so absorbed with one idea, that of becoming an actress, that no argument, no ill-treatment could shake my resolution."
Her determination of character conquered all
obstacles, and after long studies under Deshayes,
she made her first appearance at the TheAtre
Italien, and won universal approbation; but
her great triumph was when, six months later,
she was accepted at the Frangais, where she
chose the part of Phbdre, and her success
was complete.   At twenty-three years of age
she took her place as the greatest classical
actress at the Frangais, and at that theatre, the
first in the world, she was an artist in the
highest sense of the word, full of the dignity
of the characters she enacted, and giving even
to the conceptions of Corneille an inspiration
all her own; her mind and intelligence added
greatly to the natural grace of her figure and
the tender beauty of her expression. There
was a poem in her heart, and it seemed to
H2




100


The Theatre Franfais.


pour forth its melody in every word.* Some
privileged natures are like instruments, that
the  master-hand can    touch and call forth any
symphony, the solemn, the passionate, the
tender, and loving. Mademoiselle Clairon's was
pre-eminently such a nature, and the miseries
of her own early life enabled her to sympathise
with the difficulties of others,
"Quanta la cosa e piu perfetta,
Piu sente il bene e cosi la dolienza."
Her natural kindness and indulgence of heart,
developed by her studies of the highest lives,
made her feel for others; she was well able
* Thomas, the author of " L'eloge de Descartes," and
"Marc Aurele," says, " Elle peignit, avec le visage seul,
toutes les passions, la haine, la colere, l'indignation,
l'indiffdrence, la tristesse, la douleur, l'amour, l'humanit6, la gait4, la joie. Elle peignit non-seulement les
passions en elles-memes, mais encore toutes les nuances
et toutes les differences qui les caractdrisent, par exemple,
dans la crainte elle exprime la frayeur, la peur, l'dmotion, le saisissement, l'inquietude."




Conversation with Madame Denain.


101


therefore to enter into Madame Denain's views,
when she talked to her that evening about
Sophie, and the more so when she heard that
their early lives had been very similar, and that
Sophie had but a few weeks been relieved from a
childhood as painful as her own.
The conversation with Madame Denain was
a protracted one. Mademoiselle Clairon, who,
while  she  was acting,  had   noticed  the
deep interest and concentration of Sophie's
attention, and the play of her features, felt
assured of her vocation for the stage. And if
it should appear, on trial, that her countenance
was a fair indication of her powers, she
strongly advised that she should adopt the
profession.
" There is no situation," she remarked," in which
we are rendered more sensible of the generous
feelings of those around us. Mark how a noble
passage of a great author is applauded, what
sympathy there is with his sentiments. There
is no career in which, whoever succeeds, is
more exempted from the small annoyances of




102


The Th'itre Francais.


life. I feel this, for I say with Bernardin de
St. Pierre, 'Une seule 6pine me fait plus de mal
que l'odeur de cent roses me fait du bien; la
meilleure compagnie me semble mauvasie si je
rencontre un importun, un curieux, un mndisant,
un perfide.' I was subjected to annoyance
when first I appeared at Rouen. One unkind
individual had the power to inflict more pain
on me than the almost universal approbation of
the public gave me pleasure; but once enrolled
in this illustrious company, it is like passing
life in grand galleries of statues and pictures,
surrounded by friends who are themselves the
objects of admiration; the highest in the land
seek our society, not only in the theatre, but
in the salons.  The State, by its support,
dignifies our calling and elevates the drama to
a great national institution."
"And alas! the Church," interrupted Madame
Denain. "There is great difficulty in recommending a profession which lies under the ban
of the Church; it seems terrible to be as it
were excommunicated from her bosom, driven




Mademoiselle Clairon's Opinion.


103


from her portals; it truly seems a cruel injustice."
"You heard my opinion last evening," said
Mademoiselle Clairon; "it is, indeed, cruel injustice; can anything be more opposed to
all real feeling? Is a profession that demands
the highest education, profound studies, elevation of mind, and the development of all the
most noble qualities of our nature to be
continually humiliated? it is inconceivable, but
the shame that it is intended should attach to
us, falls entirely on the nation that tolerates
such treatment."
" That the Sovereign should honour us, invite
us into his presence, pension us; that the high
officers of State who are present at the performance; that the author who submits his
work to us; that the public who crowd the scene
listen and applaud, are all innocent, except ourselves is inconceivable. I implicitly obey authority.
I add fresh beauties to the great works confided
to me. I afford the public hours of enjoyment,
and I am punished and persecuted; this is
illogical and shameful.




104


The Thedtre Francai8.


"If theatres are pernicious, let them be
abolished.  If, on the   contrary,  they  are
capable of being made the means of social improvement, then in all reason grant to those
who promote these objects the reward of their
merit.
" And what is there disgraceful in the profession, when the highest intelligences have
devoted themselves to it? It was Lous XIII.
who published the famous declaration which was
registered by the Parliament: ' We desire that
the exercise of the profession of the stage, which
confers innocent enjoyment on our people, which
is calculated to deter them from evil and lead
them to virtuous acts, shal not be imputed to
them as a crime, or that it should in any way
prejudice those who follow the profession.' And
in  virtue of this declaration, Louis XIV.
permitted Floridor, Sieur de Soulas, when he
became an actor, to retain all the rights and
privileges of the noblesse, and had this act of
grace duly registered by the Parliament."
"All this is true," said Madame Denain;




The Church and Public Opinion.   105
"but there remains the fact that if this young
child goes on the stage, she, in the event of
illness, precludes herself from all the consolations of religion, and if that illness should prove
fatal, from the sacraments of the Church. Can
anything be more terrible than the fate of that
gifted artist which was mentioned by Monsieur
Hubert —Adrienne Lecouvreur, who was buried
in the street at the corner of the Rue de
Bourgogne: and there is no power to change
the decrees of the Church, even the royal
will has to yield to the violence of their prejudices."
"Yes, there is a power, my dear friend,"
replied Mademoiselle Clairon, "which is fast
growing up in France, and which even the
Church will not be able wholly to ignore-the
power of public opinion. I am not an admirer
of Monsieur Voltaire, but the manner in which
he condemned this shameful persecution has produced great, and will be followed by greater
results. I intend when I leave the stage, it will
not be a very long time, to devote all my energies




106


The Theatre Franfais.


to get rid of these pains and penalties, and long
before your pretty protegee has arrived even
at the maturity of her powers, she will be considered as good a member of the Church as
any sister of the Convent of La Prie-Dieu. So
we may fairly consider the matter apart from
the views expressed by the Church-I don't
say apart from religious considerations-for I
repeat that the stage should be the school of
morals as well as of human nature, and that
the study for the stage in its most elevated parts
is the study of all that is most refined, tender
and true; and the difficulty is to find those
who have a vocation for it; and I think your
Sophie possesses this gift, and she is just the
age to commence her studies-she is seventeen,
and no one should appear before the public
earlier than that age."
"But she is so mignonne and slight," said
Madame Denain.    "No one would guess her
more than fifteen; and then she is short, and
height must be of great advantage on the
stage."




Decision of Sophie's Fate.


107


"Look at my height.     I am   shorter than
Sophie, and it never interfered with my success.
Parts which are stamped with dignity seem to
add to height. What is much more important
than a majestic presence is elegance of figure,
self-confidence and self-respect, graceful action;
all these even add dignity and importance to
the appearance.  But there is plenty of time
to enter on these questions if you and Sophie
decide favourably. I will undertake her stage
education. I may say without vanity
Quoique dans l'4t6 de mes ans,
J'ai su conserver la couronne
Des fleurs qni paraient mon printemps,
Et j'atteuds les puits d'automne.
Ecoutez la voix,
Et suivez les lois
Que l'experience vous donne.'
So she shall have all the advantage of my experience, and will profit by my failures."
Madame Denain was deeply grateful, and felt
persuaded that no better career was open to
the young girl whom she had rescued from a life




108


The Thedtre Franqais


of wretchedness.  There were dangers to be
encountered on the stage, but what mode of life
was exempt from these? it would be her duty
and her great anxiety to protect her in the
career she now hoped she would adopt.
It was decided that on some informal occasion
Sophie should be asked to read a passage from a
classic author, so that Mademoiselle Clairon and
her friends might judge of her intonation and
expression. Sophie, as she watched the stars
one by one going out when the grey morning
dawned, little thought that this was the eventful
night which decided her fate.




109


CHAPTER VII.
A   FAVOURABLE      opportunity for Mademoiselle Clairon to form an opinion of
Sophie's powers presented itself the next day.
It was arranged that the whole party should
visit the Palace, drive about the forest, and
end the day with an al fresco entertainment.
Monsieur and Madame Bonval made admirable
arrangements for their guests; they acted on
the great, generous maxim, "Convier quelqu'un, c'est se charger de son bonheur tout le
temps qu'il est sous votre toit." The fact is,
they were both entirely unselfish, which is the
one condition for being loved in life-"Re



1.10        The Theatre Francais.
cevoir est le bonheur des hommes, donner
c'est le bonheur des dieux," and in this respect all men have it in their power to become god-like, if it so pleases them.
Monsieur Bonval delighted in making preparations; he went off early to the spot where they
were to assemble later, while the rest of the party
were ciceroned over the palace by Madame
Bonval.   The day was warm      and pleasant,
and the chateau looked bright and gay, as in
its days of chivalry and romance.    At this
time there were   no   tourists to  interfere
with the associations of ideas. One old porter,
with his keys, attended to open the doors
of the saloons and galleries. It was strange that
many of the party had never before visited
the palace, and for such classic students every
room and corner afforded subjects of interest,
for the history of France from the days of
Louis VII. is represented in the architecture
and decoration of this glorious pile. No other
palace is so rich   in traditions.  To Fontainebleau, St. Louis and his mother, Blanche




Visit to the Palace.


111


of Castille, loved to retire, to what he termed
"ces chers d6serts," and    it  was in the
pavilion which still bears his name that, when
he thought that he was dying, he addressed
these touching words to his son: "Bon fils,
fit-il, je te prie que tu te faces aimer au
peuple de ton royaume, car, vraelment j'aimeraie mieur qu'un Ecort venist d'Ecosse,
gouvernant le peuple du royaume bien et
loyalement; que tu le gouvernasse    mal a
point, et a reproche."   But the admirable
carvings and grand old memorials of the period
which preceded the reign of Francis I. did not
interest Sophie so much as the more recent
and certainly lighter records of the Renaissance
itself, as she lingered in those galleries which
Primaticcio  adorned  and  Marot had   celebrated  in his verse.   Madame Bonval, to
whom the chateau was a perfect school of art,
pointed out how the rude Gothic had been
supplanted by the Italian  school.  The exquisite frescoes of Rosso, the ceilings of Nicolo
dell' Abbate, and the paintings of Leonard da




112         The Tuhedtre Fransais.
Vinci, of Raffaelle, and Andrea del Sarto
showed how much the love of art in monarchs
aids in its development, for Francis I.
created what was known as the School of
Fontainebleau, which, owing its origin to the
Italian Renaissance, became a purely French
school of art, whose sculptures now adorn
the gallery.
The party would have passed the whole day
in the palace and gardens-that "jardin d6 -lectable," as it is called by Bernard Palissy
-had not Madame Bonval hurried them away
for the drive through the forest. They found
iu the great court carriages and ponies ready,
and it afforded Sophie some amusement when
she saw the great actors, whom she had regarded with so much awe, making desperate
efforts to stop the impetuosity of their wild
steeds. They were to drive to the wildest
and most picturesque parts of the forest,
and  to   dine   at  a  chalet,  called  La
Roche, and seldom has a happier and more
joyous company set out on an expedition.  A




Drive through the Forest.


113


holiday, which is frequently a toil to the man of
pleasure, is real enjoyment for men of action. The
guide they had engaged pointed out each spot of
interest, and told mauy a legend associated
with it, which now no traveller has time to
listen to. At the "Roche qui pleurt" and the
" Fontaine Desirde," Sophie listened to touching
stories of lost travellers. They drove through
large pine woods, over ground covered with
thick mosses, where, Sully says, Henri IV.
himself saw the phantom of the Grand Veneur,
Robin des Bois, a black horseman, who gallops
wildly through the forest in the darkness of night,
followed by a pack of hounds in full cry, the rocks
and woods echoing with his cry "M'attendezvous."  Mademoiselle Clairon was in the same
carriage as Sophie and Madame Denain, and
they were both charmed with the eager delight
of the young girl, as every turn of the road
showed a new point of view, and each stoppage
led to a new story. Mademoiselle Clairon won
Sophie's heart entirely, and the admiration was
reciprocal.


I




114


Tite Theatre Francais.


After passing through the Gorge de Franchard,
the wildest part of the forest, a desolate expanse of
sand with ridges of rocks and solitary pines, where,
Dangeau says, Monsieur and Madame hunted the
stag in 1687, and thought the prospect more
melancholy than any they had ever seen, the
party arrived at the Rocher, the abode of " Le
Sylvain," the fabled geniis of the forest. Here
it was found Monsieur Bonval had made every
preparation for the pleasant repast; there was
nothing of the lassitude and secret disappointment which is so frequently the result of
parties of pleasure, for in the journey of life
pleasure falls into no plan; it is a shy companion-as soon as you look into her eyes,
she is gone. On the present occasion, every
one was happy.   One of the company suggested  that  happy  days   were  so   rare.
"Then, enjoy them the more," said Monsieur
Baron, "remember what the Greek poet said,
'Always and ever endeavour so to live as to
enjoy the light of each blue day, knowing it
never shall return.'  It is idle to waste the




Happy Compoany.


115


present in vague anticipations of future evil; de
pleurer le mal avant qu'il arrive." And then he
added, "Let us, my dear friends, be happy; let
us ever forget slight evils, and banish idle
fears.  How   small do our petty annoyances
appear when we see Mademoiselle Clairon enacting Pauline  or Mademoiselle Dumesnil in
the r6le of Phedre.  Non, mes amis, je crois
que l'illusion en toutes choses est charmante,
et tout ce que je crains dans ce monde, c'est
la verite, elle est presque toujours triste, et
ne laisse aucune consolation apres elle. Amis,
cheres amies! Vive la bagatelle! vive la gaietd
du ccour!" and he commenced a charming
chanson,
"Oh I le soir dans la bise."
There was'a refrain in which all the party joined,
and Le Vieux Sylvain had never echoed more joyous
voices, even in those days which Brant6me describes, when Francois I. rode in the forest, " avec
une armee de courtisans vetus de soie et brodds
d'or, et sa troupe des chatelaines qui ont quittdes
X 2




116


ThIe Thedtre Francais.


leurs provinces pour cette cour enchantee," and
the king exclaimed " Qu'une cour sans dames est
une ann6e sans printemps, et un printemps sans
roses." Many a merry assemblage of the noble,
the young, the beautiful, the gay must have
flashed in all their pride and brightness through
those woodlands and moss-grown glades, but our
friends required no such wild excitement.   It
was pleasant enough on this summer evening
listlessly to recline and to listen to Monsieur
Br6court, when with a low but perfect intonation,
he recited some of those graceful sonnets which
are the valued posession of France:" Mignonne, allons voir si la rose
Qui ce matin avait declose
Sa robe de pourpre au soleil,
A point perdu cette vlprie,
Les plis de sa robe pourprde
Et son teint au votre pareil."
It was during one of the pauses after a recital
that Mademoiselle Clairon turned to Sophie and
asked her to read a few stanzas. Intuitively it




Baron on the Drama.


117


seemed to her that on the success of her effort
depended her destiny; she took the volume, pale,
troubled and confused, but her heart was so full
of poetry that presently the nervousness left her
and she was able to do full justice to the power
and merit of the poet. After that, she repeated
a passage from Racine, and her triumph was
complete.
Monsieur Baron, who, like his great relative
in the former reign, was the sovereign of the
realm of the Drama for his powers were
" By no range bounded, by no part repelled,
He all attempted, and in all excelled,"
at once lavished his compliments on Sophie and, ignorant of Madame Denain's wishes, he suggested
that she would be the greatest acquisition to the
company of the Comedie Frangaise. He then drew
a glorious picture of the triumph of histrionic art;
how it appeals to all that is brave, noble, manly
and womanly; how the Drama was too powerful
an instrument for good or evil to be neglected
or ignored, and how greatly its influence de



118


The TVidtre Franaiu.


pended on the representations of the Stage. As
he spoke, his voice rose and his eye sparkled.
" We, the Comedie Frangaise, Mademoiselle,
invite you to associate yourself to those who are
striving morally and intellectually to elevate the
Drama, to make it not merely an amusement,
but a great moral teacher, to join our company.
We shall, in return for the assistance of your
grace and youth and earnestness, afford you the
means of becoming a member of what 1 consider
to be a noble profession."
The powerful actor, or, as he now appeared,
almost an apostle of a faith, had touched all
these chords
Which vibrate in each human breast
Alike; but not alike contest."
It was the triumph of conviction.
Madame Denain then admitted that this had
been her own view, that it would be a career
well suited to her, and the whole of the company
vied in their encomiums of the young girl.
On their return to Mont Fleury Sophie re



Sophie's Emotions.


119


mained silent, for her heart was too full for expression. There are moments when there is a great
charm in stillness and silence, and rude and harsh
seems the voice that intrudes upon our solitude.
Who has not felt this in the golden hours of
boyhood? when no sympathy can equal the
charm of lonely thought.  What associations,
what possibilities, what triumphs, what fulness
of affection crowd on the brain; the unknown
world, like the America of Columbus, possesses
the heart. In after-years, solitude and loneliness
too often only recall vain regrets, withered hopes,
and faded memories, and happy are they who have
not to add the recollection of unkind words that
can never be unsaid, and unkind deeds that can
never be undone.
Sophie was silent, but her thoughts were
bright with prismatic colouring. What a change
had passed over her in a brief period! The desolate outcast had found a home, harshness was
exchanged for sweetness and gentleness, and all
ungenial intercourse for the society of dear
friends. And that day she had been admitted




120         The The'dtre Franfaia.
into  a  society  that enrolled  among  its
names the highest intellects in France; it was
enough to fill any heart with gratitude and
hope.




121


CHAPTER VIII.
TWHEN Madame Denain and Sophie left
Mont Fleury, they did not returD to the
Rue de la Grille, but to Saint-Germain, and it
was arranged that she was to be educated for her
new profession by Mademoiselle Clairon and Monsieur Baron,* and there could not have been two
* The nephew of Baron, who was the most remarkable
of all the actors who flourished at the latter part of the
reign of Louis XIV., was possessed of all the qualities
which insure success on the stage.
" His first triumph was in Moliere's ' Amour et Psyche,'
His youth, his beauty, and his tender tones fitted him
for the part of L'Amour, and made Psyches sentiments




122


The TIhedtre Francais.


more distinguished artists.   Mademoiselle Clairon was in the zenith of her fame, and Monsieur
Baron had inherited all the talent of his family;
quite intelligible to the feminine portion of his audience.
He played during twenty years with equal power in
Tragedy and Comedy, in Corneille and Moliere, and
Louis XIV. bestowed upon him every possible mark of
esteem. He was the favourite of the day, but just as
he reached the summit of his popularity he solicited the
Royal permission to retire. Louis XIV. formally granted
him his freedom at Fontainebleau, where the great actor
appeared before him on the 22nd of October, 1691. He
was at the time of his retreat the chief actor of the
Comddie Frangaise; he received the pension of one thousand livres due to him as a retiring member of his company, and the King's bounty added a second pension
of three thousand livres-about one hundred and sixty
pounds, according to the present value of French money.
Baron was a proud man, and the obloquy attached to
his profession was irritating to his sense of personal
dignity. He persevered in his resolution during a period
of thirty years, and then, as if it were his function to
startle the public, he re-appeared upon the stage in Cor



Sophie Proposed as a Pensionnaire.


12.3


he was young, full of energy and promise. Some
little time had however to elapse before Sophie
could be enrolled as a pensionnaire. The other
neille's Cinna' on the 16th of March, 1720. This Rip
Van Winkle of the drama came back to find most of his
former comrades departed, but there remained his Sovereign, and many of his friends at Court, to rejoice in the
return of the tragedian who had first sounded the depth
of unknown sympathies within them, and taught them
the existence of untried passion.  The theatre was
crowded to excess, and the longing of many hearts was
fulfilled. Baron had not lost his power: he had doubled
it. His figure was imposing; his voice was completely
under his conmand. He had meditated on his art, and
he came back to improve it. The artificial declamation,
which was in vogue when he left the stage, had, during
his absence, passed all reasonable limits; it had become
absurd by exaggeration, and Baron resolved to put an
end to its existence. He became the founder of a school
of which the principles are at this time held to be the
most excellent in dramatic art. He obliged academical
rules to give way to Nature, and said, ' Les rbgles defendent d'elever les bras au-dessus de la tete, mais si la




124           Ti&e ThMdtre Franpais.
members of the company had to be consulted,
and the name to be submitted to the gentlemen
of the Chamber, and to the Controller-General
passion les y porte ils feront bien. La passion en sait
plus que les regles.'  A courageous innovator, he not
only flung his arms fearlessly above his head when
passion urged him, but he broke through the cadences
of Racine when the pause of emotion did not fall in
naturally with the caesura of the line, ' II rompait la
mesure des vers de telle sorte que l'on ne sentait point
l'insupportable monotonie des vers Alexandrins,' says
Coll6, in his description of him. This extraordinary
tragedian left the stage for the second and last time on
the 3rd of September, 1729. He was playing the part
of Venceslas, and as he uttered the line' Si proche du cercueil ou je me vois descendre,'
he suddenly swooned, and was carried off the scene by
his comrades. He did not long survive this accident,
but he found time before his death to make a solemn
renunciation of his profession, which he did, no doubt,
in order to conciliate the Church and to obtain a decent
burial; accordingly he was interred with all proper




Forms to be Observed.


125


of the Ordinary Royal Expenditure.*        These,
however, were certain in her case to be mere forms.
funeral ceremonies. His portrait hangs in the 'Foyer
des Artistes,' not far from that of Le Kain."-From an
admirable article on the Thdatre Franais, ' Quarterly
Review,' July, 1875.
* " A l'6gard des pieces pour la cour on leur prescrira
les r6les qu'ils doivent jouer.  Fait a Versailles le
18 Juin, 1684."-Previous to the incorporation of the
the theatres of the H6tel de Bourgogne, and the H6tel
Guenegaud into the Comedies du Roi, the stage had been,
what was styled, ' dans l'etat republicain,' and entirely
independent.  Now what they gained in dignity and
importance, they certainly lost in independence. It was
a centralised system; and even the small provincial
theatres, as well as those of Paris, although they did
not receive any assistance from the State, were greatly
under its control. There were not more than twelve
or fifteen theatrical companies in the whole of France,
and these constantly complained of the trouble given
them by the local authorities, every mayor in imitation
of the Gentlemen of the Chamber, constituting himself
a censor and critic.-Sauval.




126           The 77Teatre Franfais.
Monsieur Baron had great influence with the
Court, and anyone supported by him and Mademoiselle Clairon was sure to be accepted.*
Mademoiselle Clairon arranged to visit Saint.
Germain once or twice a week to pass the day in
the country, which was a great pleasure to her,
and she would then have full opportunity of giving
Sophie those instructions which no genius ever
can do without. Sophie was to attend the theatre
twice a week, when a dancing-master and a
singing-master were to aid her natural powers;
Monsieur Baron would teach her the range of
her voice; thus Sophie, was immediately to
* The Government interfered in the minutest detail
connected with this theatre; here was one of the orders
issued by the State authorities which claimed a voice
even in the distribution of the parts. " Et pour ce qui
concerne la troupe en gtniral, et lee r6les des pibces a
jouer en particulier, aucun des comrdiens ne pourra
distribuer les dits r6les, ni faire autre chose concernant
le thtAtre que de leur consentement, et en cas de difficultis ils s'adresseront A leurs superieurs."




Behind the Scenes.


127


find herself thrown into the busy life of the world
behind the scenes.
The time soon passed; but it was a period
of almost feverish impatience for Sophie, who
looked forward with awe, mingled with curiosity,
to all the mysteries to be revealed behind the
drop scene, which represented the Bien Aim6
entering Sa bonne Ville de Paris. Once behind
the curtain, how strange it all seemed! There
was a confusion she never expected to find: the
dancing-master in one  corner;  the chorus
practising in another; the stage-manager busy
in seeing the stage apparatus furbished up, and
putting all the decorations in order; some were
arranging the perspective of the scene, others
sketching the outlines of the scenery. The
majority of the Mont Fleury party were there;
but they all seemed so practical and occupied,
that Sophie could not realize they were the happy
and careless people with whom she had passed
such pleasant days in delightful excursions. Mademoiselle Clairon remarked her surprise, and
thought, not unreasonably, that some of the




128


The Theatre Francais.


charm  Fhe had anticipated had vanished; but
if such was for a brief moment the case, it
passed when Monsieur Baron, taking her into
one of the rooms, recited to her a grand passage
from Racine; then again she felt what a grand
life it would be if she could, by the expression
of noble sayings, arouse deep emotions such as
his voice awakened in her heart; if she were
ever able to disseminate generous, exalted
feelings with electric force amid the multitude,
kindle their souls with sentiments noble and
great. The illusion behind the scenes might not
be as dazzling as when the curtain rose and
revealed the result of all these preparations;
but this is the very prerogative of the drama,
that it bursts upon the senses of those who come
prepared to receive deep impressions; but the
actors of the Com6die Francaise were 80 deeply
impressed with their parts, that their inspiration
and imagination were in no degree diminished
because they were fully acquainted with the slow
process by which success is attained.
But although everything was finally decided,




Sophie's Vocation.


129


and Sophie felt that the theatre was now her
vocation, and the high goal was before her.
Madame Denain had moments of distrust; she
knew that after all this life, as well as every life,
could not be without its anxieties and regrets;
the very delicacy and refinement of the young
girl's nature made her uneasy; she had been
taught by   her favourite Petrarch how   many
dangers are in ambush near the beautiful and true
"Oime il bel viso; oim~ il soave sguards!
Oimb il leggia dro portamento altro
E oime il dolce riso."
Yes, such is life. The warmest, most generous
hearts are those that the storms of fate treat
most rudely; the very tenderness of certain
natures renders them the most susceptible to
struggles from without and to sorrow from
within. "Les plus grandes tendresses sont celles
qui s'infiltrent, qui aigrissent le plus"
" The tender flower
Prized above all the vernal bower,"


K




130


The Theatre Franais.


is the first to fall from its stem. Madame
Denain was now surprised that all this did not
occur to her when she first entertained the idea of
introducing Sophie to the Society that assembled at Mont Fleury; but in this she was only
following the general action of all minds. There
are few who, having made a decision, do not
afterwards see those possible disadvantages
which before it was arrived at seemed to
keep themselves in the background. However,
it was too late to convey a different impression
to Sophie. All she could do was to leave the
issue in the hands of a higher Power; of that
destiny "qui se leve devant nous, et qui se leve
plus grande que nous."
Meanwhile Sophie was bright with happiness
and pleasurable excitement; she had no misgivings as to the wisdom of her choice, her only
anxiety was to do justice to her kind teachers.
The days passed very rapidly.  When Madeinoiselle Clairon came, they sometimes sat in an
arbour at the end of the terrace, which overlooked
the river and the great city, very beautiful in the




Love of Flowers.


131


light, unclouded atmosphere. Now, even when
left alone, she never felt the sadness which
formerly quenched all the light of her spirits.
There was a small garden abounding with those
flowers she knew and loved so well-for flowers
had been the companions of her young hours,
and at the same time their solace. She possessed
a little volume called " La Famille des Fleurs,"
written at a time when flowers were known
by their old and graceful names; Les Pens6es,
Tr6sor d'Amour, Belle de Nuit, Mignonette,
La Reine des Pres, and another sister sovereign in the realm of fragrance, La Reine
Marguerite.  Sophie knew  every flower; she
had studied them daily at one of those flowermarkets which are found in all parts of Paris,
and are one of its exceptional charms.  She
used to lay in her stock of bouquets for the
day there. When the owner of her favourite
stall learnt to take an interest in the fair
young girl, he gratified her by telling her
stories of the spots where they grew.  " Les
fleurs out des amities et jalousies les unes
K 2




132


The Theatre Fran     iais.


pour les autres; aussi bien que les creatures
aimables et aimantes," he said.  The old gardener and his little customer really began to
think that there was a language of flowers,
and that some were sensitive not only in name
but in their nature. Such associations in early
youth tended to fill her mind with graceful
impressions.  Thus she found in this garden a
constant source of interest; everything for
her was fresh  and full of charm;     objects
frequently owe their interest to the mind of the
observer, for we are told that even beauty is
the lover's gift, and
" In our life alone doth nature live;"
but to her life was enjoyment-the pleasant
twilight, the starry heavens, the roar of the
distant city and its leagues of light, the stillness of the night, or its gentle murmurs and
voices. She had a song in her mind, and all
nature seemed to harmonise with it.
But Sophie was not permitted to pass her
time in dream-life and   wonderland.  Made.
moiselle Clairon taught her that to succeed on




Study Requisite to Success.


133


the stage required something more than enthusiasm and sentiment; that much study and
thought were necessary, and, above all, an intimate acquaintance with the great masters of
the Drama; and the principles she laid down
were those which have proved invaluable guides
to the profession.  She told Sophie that to
represent the great characters either in Tragedy
or Comedy without an experienced guide is
impossible.  ""How  frequently have I wasted
all my time in useless, aimless efforts, when
every moment was of the utmost importance
to me, for whoever hopes to attain eminence
in any, but especially in dramatic, art, has no
time to lose; for instance, what study does it
not require to distinguish between irony and
disdain, and between disdain and contempt,
warmth and undue excitement, impatience and
anaer, anger and fear, fear and terror-all these
distinctions have to be carefully studied. What
almost imperceptible gradations must there be in
the tone of the voice to express all the subtilties
of affection, of nature, of humanity I What efforts




134         The Theatre FranCais.
and exertions to attain the height of the represeutation of terror, of misery, of ruin! What precision
there must be in the ideas and in their expression to reason on the stage in a calm and
accurate manner, without being too cold or
too  familiar!  This, I think, is the most
difficult of all, and to be quiet, simple, true, and
natural is the greatest proof of talent. My studies
guided me to the paths which have led others to
the highest perfection of dramatic power, but
I found difficulties which beset me on all sides,
and, after all, I feel I have only been able to
gather a few flowers, while the palm still remains for some one to seize; my happiness is
that I am able to give the results of my experience to others," and then she added:
"One thing must never be forgotten-that for
the actor all the world must be a stage; he
should carry into his ordinary life the mannrer
required for the particular part on which his
abilities are for the time fixed; for nothing is
so important as to make a character a habit.
For instance, if people only see in me a bowr



All the World a Stage for the Actor.  135
geoise during twenty hours of the day, it is
certain I shall only be a bourgeoiso when I
appear as Agrippina.    My   expression, my
manner will, in spite of any momentary effort,
become common-place.   I shall not possess,
except at rare intervals, the grandeur and majesty
demanded for the part; I do not hesitate to say
that never aiming at a higher place in society
than my lot has been cast in, I have made it a
duty never to do any act or utter a word
inconsistent with the noble natures I have
been called on to represent. I am well aware
that this has been ridiculed by those who
failed themselves to rise to the greatness of
the occasion; they pretended that I had always
the regal manner of the Queen of Carthage.
They thought to distress me; on the contrary,
they did me a great service. It proved to me
that I had succeeded in my object, and that
the task I had imposed on myself in the
world, and even in my own room, had been
attended with success.  And I felt this good
result in a freedom from the effort and tension




136


The Theatre Franfais.


of mind which others have to bring to their
parts while they are before the public.*
"Next in importance, is to listen       to  every
criticism.    No matter     from  what quarter it
* Mademoiselle Clairon, in her " Notes on the Stage,"
urges this point strongly; but, at the same time, indicates the pain of such intensity of thus concentrating the
faculties. She says: "    Ce n'est pas assez pour un acteur
d'etudier son r61e. II faut qu'il etudie l'ouvrage entier, afin
d'en masquer le faible, d'en faire sortir les beautes, et de
subordonner son personnage a l'ensemble de la piece;
mais dans tout ce que je viens de dire, le plus terrible
n'est pas encore prononce, c'est l'indispensable necessite
d'etre continuellement penetre des vernemens les plus
tristes et les plus tragiques. L'acteur qui ne se les
rend pas personnels, n'est qu'un ecolier qui repete sa
legon; mais celui qui se les approprie, et dont les larmes
constatent les recherches profondes, dechirantes de ses
etudes, et l'oubli de sa propre existence, est certainement un etre miserable, et j'ose avouer qu'il faut une
force plus qu'humainc pour bien jouer la tragedie plus
de dix ans."-Mademoiselle Clairon ' Sur la Diclamation
Theatrale.'




Conditions of Success on the Stage.  137
comes, it is always valuable, for it tends to
make you study your own powers.    Happy is
the actor whom the public take sufficient interest
in to criticise him, if he has not the ridiculous
pretension to think himself infallible.
"All this, you say, is difficult.  I admit it.
The profession is a great and a difficult one.
Can you imagine it otherwise?   A profession
that demands a liberal education, knowledge of
human nature, profound studies, elevation of
mind, which is supposed to add new charms
and varied beauties to the grand thoughts of
the master-spirits of age. Yes, whoever would
enter upon this career must bring to it study,
great appreciation of the beauties in every form,
and, above all, habits of unremitting industry.
These are some of the conditions of success.
"Never forget the importance of every movement. The Athenian orator insisted on action as
absolutely essential; for when eloquence is deficient in suitable action, words lose their power
and their charm. If this is true as regards the
orator, it is still more so for the actor. The orator




138


The Theatre Francais.


speaks for himself, but the actor has to represent another person and portray every
emotion. He must, therefore, have his imagination always under his control; he is not permitted to invent; he has to remember that he
is performing, as it were, a part for another,
and yet to do it so earnestly as to almost lose
sight of his own identity."
Bv the kind efforts of Mademoiselle Clairon
and Monsieur Baron, Sophie made rapid progress.  The days and weeks passed quickly,
and her studies were so advanced that the
moment when she was to appear on the stage
became a subject for discussion.  Sophie herself was all for prolonging the period of
noviciate, not to appear as
"< The hasty product of a day,
But the well ripened fruit of wise delay."
But Monsieur Baron thought that she was so
much advanced that she could not only appear
with the Comedie Frangaise, but could even
take a leading part; how frequeutly a seeming




Called to Act before the Court..q9
accident decides the most important issues.
It had come to the knowledge of the King
that a remarkable debutante was soon to appear,
and His Majesty directed Monsieur Falloux,
the Superintendent of the Studies of the
Pensionnaires, to express his wish that she
should take a part in the performance at
Versailles, which the Court was about to inhabit.  Although the anticipation of such a
possibility had never been absent day or night
from her thoughts, the summons of Monsieur
Falloux, suggested as it was by the opinion
of all who had seen her rehearse, filled her
with apprehension. Madame Denain wished for
her to have more time, and pleaded her youth
as an excuse; but Mademoiselle Clairon had
appeared a year earlier, and every suggestion
for delay which she made was evaded.   The
die was cast; and it was very difficult to disobey the royal wishes.
"But," said poor Sophie, " surely I need not
appear for the first time before the Court.
Can nothing be done?"




140


The Thlcitre Franqais.


"I should be very grieved, Mademoiselle, if
any should appear before His Majesty unless I was well assured they were worthy of
the honour; and it is because I am well assured,
not only by my own observation, but by that
of others, that you will reflect lustre on the
Comedie Francaise, that I must urge you to
accept His Majesty's command. The Court returns to Versailles next week for His Majesty's
fete, which falls on the Wednesday in the subsequent week, and a gala performance is ordered.
It will be a great epoch in your future life,
Mademoiselle, to have appeared for the first
time in the presence of His Majesty."
And thus it was decided, and, strange to say,
the decision once made, Sophie's mind was
relieved. She worked with more assiduity than
ever, and the constant occupation made her
forget her anxiety.  Then she   accompanied
Madame Denain to Versailles when she made
an excursion there to engage an apartment, for
it was understood that the Ccurt would remain
for three months.




Versailles.


141


Versailles, that marvellous creation of Louis
XIV., sprang into life out of an ungrateful,
damp and melancholy plain.  For what reasons
could such a site have been selected for
a palace that was to rival all others in Europe,
and to become its centre of attraction? It was
said that Saint-Germain, with its magnificent but
melancholy apartments, was associated in the
King's mind with the early troubles of his youth;
from the terrace he could see the capital
which contained the fickle population it was his
destiny to govern, and it gave him a desire to
find a more cheerful residence, out of view of the
citizens he had learned to mistrust; or it may have
been the very difficulty and extravagance of the
undertaking that stimulated its accomplishment;
perhaps a superstitious feeling drew his attention
to the spot on which Louis XIII. had erected a
pavilion where he used to pass days in solitude
and meditation. Whatever the cause, not in
vain 7was it that the grand    ideas of Le
N6tre, Mansard and Lebrun appealed successfully to the love of the splendours and dazzling




142


The Theatre Franfais.


magnificence which was an instinct in the
young prince, and it was resolved to change
the marshy plain into a fairy-land of beauty, to
turn the course of rivers, to level hills and conquer nature, and the original small windmill
where Louis XIII. rested when benighted; was
to be converted into a palace, exquisite in its
details, as it was marvellous in its conception.
When Le a6tre produced his vast plan for the
improvements round the Chateau, which Leveau
designed, and Lebrun was impatient to decorate,
the King's determination not to embarrass the
finances forsook him. One thing, however, the
King insisted on, that the modest residence
where Louis XIII. sought for some repose
from the then terrible exigencies of his public
life, should be preserved; And therefore the
new erection had to be planned so as to form a
part of the old.
Once commenced, the rapidity of execution
could scarcely keep pace with the royal impatience, and, as by magic, the palace sprang into
existence, and not only the Sovereign, but the




Sophie's Visit to the Theatre.


143


Princes of the Blood, the Grand Officers of the
Household, the Secretaries of State, the Ministers
of the  Crown, the    Gentlemen of the Royal
Guard, all found themselves lodged in this city
of palaces. And here Louis XIV. delighted to
reside, to live in those vast galleries, which
seemed to reflect his own greatness, and where
he imagined that the Monarchy was more secure
from the agitations of the people than in Paris.*
As so many days were to elapse before the
arrival of the Court, Madame Denain and Sophie
had time to visit all the wonders of the place.
They traversed the apartments, rich in their
associations, and in which so many sad and tearful
scenes were hereafter to be enacted; but the chief
interest was, as may be supposed, in the theatre,
where her destiny was to be decided. It was
* "Le palais de Versailles est un grand poeme national. Chaque salle reprtsente un chant, ou une strophe
de cette glorieuse epopee, enfin cette union qu'on
admire partout de la richesse et de l'elegance suivant
1'expression d'un poete national."




144


The Theatre Franfais.


only the second year that this beautiful part of
the Palace had been completed by Gabriel and
decorated by Durameau and Briard; until then
one of the large galleries had been used as a
theatre, but here was a stage worthy of the distinguished performers, and of the presence of
Majesty.  Sophie might well think that if it
looked so imposing even in the light of day,
what must it be with all the brilliancy of the
illumination at night, and the imposing grandeur
of the Court. As she trod the stage, she trembled
at the idea that in three days she was to stand
there the observed of all. She had confidence in
herself, in the judgment of others, and concealed
her emotion as well as she could from Madame
Denain, but not the less was she alarmed at the
ordeal she was to pass through.




145


CHAPTER IX.
THE interest which Louis XV. took in          the
Comddie Fran(aise was greater than that
which had been manifested by Louis XIV. during
his declining years; for, after his marriage with
Madame de Maintenon, whether it was that all
plays became associated in the King's mind with
the name of Scarron,* or that the influence of
* The anecdote is told by Louis Racine, and confirmed
by Mathieu Marais, that on one occasion Boileau so far
forgot the King's feelings, Madame de Maintenon's presence, and all courtly etiquette, as to speak of " les
mechantes comedies de Scarron." The King with great
L




146


The T7edtre Franfais.


Madame de Maintenon was opposed to the Stage,
but the " Troupe du Roi" were seldom summoned
to play before the Court after the death of the
Queen. In private, however, Louis XIV. took
every opportunity of showing his consideration
presence of mind, said, " It would appear that Boileau
only esteems Moliere." Boileau, instead of excusing himself, replied, " Sire, I think he is the only one who
can write a good comedy."
A similar anecdote is told of Racine, but it is not so
well authenticated. The great poet was accustomed to
read any new productions before Louis XIV. and Madame
de Maintenon. One day the King asked him what he
thought of the literature of the period. Racine replied:
" It was a great improvement on the time when such
works as Scarron's sold." No sooner were the words
spoken than he was conscious of his terrible blunder.
Any excuse, or apology, was impossible; the King and
Madame de Maintenon looked at each other, and remained silent. After a long pause, Racine rose and left
the Royal presence; but he was never again invited
to read at Court, although his pension was continued.




Dancourt at Court.


147


for the performers, and they enjoyed access to
the royal presence when even important Officers
of State were waiting for an audience. Danconrt
was one of those whom the Sovereign delighted
to honour, and yet he was by no means possessed
of the highest merit; he was a combination,
only too common at that time, of devotion and
licence. The King, however, showed him great
favour; on one occasion, when he was reading
before His Majesty a play it was proposed to act,
he was seized by a sudden faintness, when
Louis XIV., without calling for any assistance,
opened the window and gave him restorativesOn another occasion, the King accompanied him
as he left the presence-chamber, conversing in a
familiar manner as they passed down the line of
courtiers, when suddenly Dancourt slipped on
the polished floor; the King seized his arm, exclaiming, "Prenez garde, Dancourt, vous allez
tomberl" then, turning to the astonished courtiers, he added, "En verit6, Messieurs, cet homme
parle bien!"
The state performances then were very few,
L 2




348


The Theatre Franfais.


Louis XIV. patronising and protecting the actors
rather than the Stage; so much so that the
Theatre Frangais was placed under the direction
of the Grande Dauphine, and at no period since
the foundation of the Society was its existence
in greater danger-the interference on the
part of the Princess and of the First Gentlemen
of the Chamber became so incessant and harassing.  On   one occasion she insisted on an
unknown actor taking a principal part in
"Phedre;"  he   proved  a  failure, and the
public disapprobation was loudly expressed.
Yet the next season the same actor was permitted  to perform  Gros-Ren6 in the "Depit
Amoureux," and this performance proved no
improvement on "Phedre."
The beauty and grace of an actor were ot
greater importance to the royal censor and critic
than his ability; thus, Dauvilliers, who was of
pre-eminent merit in all pathetic and tender parts,
who had, more than any other actor, " les larmes
dans la voix," was painfully disconcerted, the
first night he appeared before the Court, by the




Interference of the Dauphine.


149


Dauphine, in a voice loud enough to be heard
on the stage and by the audience, exclaiming
that he was too plain for sentiment. The same
remark being repeated on another occasion, his
sensitive nature gave way, he lost his reason, and
was subsequently confined at Charenton, where
he was carefully tended by the "Freres de la
Charite," one of those institutions which was on
the list of the charities supported by the Theatre
Frangais.
The interference grew quite intolerable when
the most eminent performers were subjected to
Her Royal Highness's caprices; even Baron and
Raisin, the one unrivalled in tragedy, the other
in comedy, were, for some slight or imaginary
cause of offence, ordered to withdraw from the
Society, and the authority of the King was even
invoked to enforce this order.  It was represented to His Majesty that the dismissal of
these distinguished actors might end in the withdrawal of the whole Company, so this order was
not enforced. It was, however, soon replaced by
another, equally objectionable to the Company:




150


0The Theatre Franfais.


an author named Vise had won the good graces
of the Dauphine, and she insisted that all his
plays should be brought out at the Theatre Frangais, and they were compelled to perform one or
two of his earliest pieces; but when he brought
them a very inferior production, "l'Aventurier,"
and urged it on their acceptance, it was unhesitatingly and unanimously refused. Vis6 then
wrote to La Grange: "Yesterday some personages of great importance came and inquired
if the Company positively declined to act my
play? My reply was 'that such was the case,
and I could only suppose that they did not think
it a good one, when I was told that admirable
judges were of opinion that I could not write an
inferior play.' The same evening this circumstance was narrated in a salon where all the
most distinguished courtiers were assembled, and
it was decided to speak to the Chief of the Direction, the Grande Dauphine; my friend begged
that the subject might not be mentioned until
he had communicated wiLh me, and I have urged
him to say nothing for the present." And then,




Caprices of the Dauphine.


151


after this hint, he ended by demanding " that the
play should be produced at once."
The Company replied very courteously, but
firmly, " that it was impossible for them to comply with his request."  So certain was he of
their giving way, even after this distinct refusal,
that he publicly announced its appearance in a
very original notice, expressing his conviction
"that the success of his play would entirely depend on the amount of attention the audience
gave to it," and he protested, in anticipation,
against the decision of the public, which, he was
sure, would be influenced by the ignorant and
envious.  Vise had the merit of foresight on
both points, for the Comedie Francaise were
compelled to accept his piece, and it was hopelessly condemned the very first night.
The Dauphine's interest in the theatre was
marked by the greatest inconsistencies and extravagances, and it required all the energy of
Baron, La Grange, and the other great leaders
of the company, to prevent its ruin. They were
ordered to Versailles or Fontainebleau at her




152


The Theatre Francais.


pleasure, no matter to how great inconvenience
the performers were subjected, and then on
their arrival the performances were postponed
on the most frivolous excuses. In 1682 they received instructions to proceed to Versailles to act
" Cinna" and " Crispin Medecin," and then were
told that the play was countermanded because the
" Court was cavalcading round the Grand Canal."
Again in the Winter, when the cold was so
intense in Paris that all the theatres were closed,
they had again to start for Versailles to give the
"Cid" and "Le Ballet Extravagant," and on
their arrival found the Court had put on mourning for that day, having suddenly remembered
it was the anniversary of the queen-mother's
death; nor were they more fortunate when they
were to act "Agamemnon," a tragedy by M.
l'Ass6yeu; they were again dismissed, because
Monseigneur was boating on the canal, and the
Grande Dauphine was reposing. On the other
hand, there were occasions when it might have
been more decorous for this remarkable stage
directress to have postponed the play. Dangeau




Liberal Treatment of the (omedie.


153


says that while the Dauphine was at confession
one evening, on a sudden her confessor was
seized with trembling, and fell dead at her feet.
"Monseigneur," to use Dangeau's own words,
" pria Madame la Dauphine, pour effacer le triste
image de son confesseur mourant A ses pieds,
d'aller a la com6die, oh elle avalt r6solu de ne
point aller, voulant faire demain ses devotions,
et elle y alla par complaisance pour Monseigneur."
But as some compensation for all the inconveniences arising from the members of the
Comedie Fran9aise being in the strictest interpretation of the term " His Majesty's Servants,"
for their names were all inscribed on the State
establishment, and, as has been seen, their engagements were subject to the approval of the
Gentlemen of the Chamber, the company were
treated in the most liberal manner. Whenever
they were summoned to Saint-Germain or Versailles, or even to Chambord, numerous carriages
and relays of horses were provided for them,
and in addition to their usual salaries they were




154


The The'dre Franfais.


paid at the rate of a thousand 6cus a month,
besides all their expenses being defrayed by the
Sovereign-even at every performance given in
Paris, when none of the Court were present,
they were allowed a certain quantity of wood,
wine, and wax-lights, and at Saint-Germain a
torch weighing two pounds, which was all
brought to them with great regularity by the
officers of the "fruiterie," whose registers contain all the receipts, with the addition of twentyfive crowns a day for table-money.
The correspondence of this period shows that,
while the King retired from all personal interference with the theatre, he never changed his
views as to the importance of the Stage as the
means of the education of the people; and the
interest which His Majesty took in the success
of the Theatre Frangais was never more
earnestly manifested than on the death of Monseigneur, in 1711, who was known as the Grand
Dauphin. The Duc de Bourgogne, the pupil of
Fenelon, then became Dauphin. It was wellknown that this Prince disliked the theatre, not




Anecdote of the Grand Dauphin.


that he had been brought up with this prejudice
by his eminent tutor, who entirely differed in
his views as to the stage with the Bishop of
Meaux, for he himself had proposed two prizes
for the two best essays, the one on the tragedies,
and the other on the comedies of the period;
but the retiring sensitive nature of the Prince
led him to avoid all public appearances, and he
therefore was never present at any of the
Court representations. Monsieur Sainte-Beuve,
among other anecdotes, to show the character
of the Dauphin, says,
"It is well known that, on the death of the
Grand Dauphin, the Comedie Francaise memorialized the Prince to honour them with his protection, and that his reply was decided: he said that
they must never calculate on his support, and
although it was not in his power to prevent
them acting at Court, he would on no account,
by his presence, add to their influence."
This was expressed in the spirit of Bossuet, and it is evident that, "but for the
determination of the King, the Theatre Frangais




156


The Th1eatre Franfais.


would have ceased to exist as a State Institution.
But the creation of Richelieu and of the Grand
Monarque, in his earlier days, was not to be
overthrown; and thus the subsidies, gratifications, and favours, shown the illustrious company, remained unchanged, and the general
public manifested, by the interest which they
took in this theatre in preference to any other,
that the Sovereign and his great ministers were
right when they paid no heed to the denunciations of Bossuet, or to the ecclesiastical censures
which were fulminated against the Stage and
its supporters.
In reviewing the position of the Theatre
Frangais at this date, it is not only the State
support and the influence of the Crown that
have to be considered. No amount of subsidy or
courtly patronage could have sustained such a
company, unless by its own merit it had won
the public approval; not even the Grand
Monarque, in his most glorious days, when the
rays of his device, the sun, beamed on Richelieu's
various academies and institutions, would have




Influence of the Stage.


l57


sufficed to maintain them but for their intrinsic
worth, nor even was it sufficient to command
the suffrages of the aristocratic classes; for no
theatre is independent of the public opinion and
favour. The incomparable dramatic literature
of the seventeenth century is a clear indication
that the general public appreciated the conceptions of the great dramatists. Corneille, Racine,
Moliere were the creation of the spirit of the
age, the former representing its chivalrous
sentiment, the latter holding up to ridicule
the  prevalent follies  of  the  time.  The
"Cid" would have found no admirers amid
a practical commercial nation, and there must
have been many a well-known Tartuffe, George
Dandin and Monsieur Jourdain, before Moliere
could have drawn his inimitable characters; but
if the public sentiment originally inspired these
productions it is certain that the public in return
received a higher education by attending these
admirable performances. It is remarkable that
this public opinion was principally formed by
the upper and the humble classes of society.




]58


The Theatre Franais.


Sauval says that habit, prejudice, and the influence of the clergy kept the middle classes
from the theatre. It was generally understood
that not only the clergy, but the magistracy,
lawyers, even doctors, should not, from the
importance and gravity of their professions, be
seen at the play; while at the same time it was
with great satisfaction that they admitted into
their intimate society the members of the Comedie
Frangaise, whom the King treated with such great
consideration. The mere circumstance of their
being pensioned by the Crown, at once gave them
an exceptional position, " For," says Chappuzeau,
"the pension of so great a monarch would render
even an insignificant man illustrious."
If something of the influence of the Thbatre
Frangais was diminished at the close of the
reign of Louis XIV., it revived, as we have seen,
in that of Louis XV., who, wherever he resided,
was in general accompanied by the Comedie, as
a part of the Royal suite. The King's interest
in the Stage was not unfortunately of the same
nature as that of Louis XIV, who possessed a




Louis XV. and the Stage.


159


great and just appreciation of the dramatists that
illustrated the age. Louis XV. regarded the
stage as an amusement, and was comparatively indifferent what plays were performed before him, so long as they relieved the tedium of
the hour; thus comedy and farce too frequently
took the place of the classic drama, as better
adapted to the atmosphere of a gay Court, and
even Moliere was superseded by the lighter
pieces of Dancourt, such as the " Diable Boiteux,"
or the "Vert-Galant."  This change, not indeed in the public, but in the Court, was much
regretted by the chief artists, for no national
drama was ever founded or sustained by comedy.
Aristotle's definition of tragedy and comedy has
been frequently quoted, that "if tragedy raises
men above nature, comedy sinks them below it."
The object of the Stage should be to represent
the noble and generous attributes of men, and
not their mean or inferior qualities. A great
many plays presented at this epoch to the
Comedie Frangaise, were at once rejected, even
in opposition to influential courtiers; and it




160


The The'dtre Francais.


was resolved by Mademoiselle Clairon, Mademoiselle Dumesnil, Lekain, Baron, and the other
important members of the company, to resist as
far as possible the innovations which the Gentlemen of the Chamber were endeavouring to
introduce into the management of the theatre.
At the same time Mademoiselle Clairon and
her friends were sensible that there were some
changes necessary to meet the spirit of the age;
there was a growing taste for show and magnificence, which, as has already been observed, had
formerly only been required on great State
occasions, for it was considered the peculiar
privilege of the Theatre Francais to depend on
the merit of the performers, and not on their
accessories; but time and events are stronger
than traditions, and even the Comadie Francaise
had in certain respects to defer to the taste of
the day.
Mademoiselle Clairon had always held a different opinion from that of her associates, and
thought that the actors ought to appear in the
costume of the period which the play repre



Costumes of the French Stage.


161


sents, not only, as she expressed it in her
' Mdmoires,' to add to the illusion, but because
accuracy of costume assists the actor in the
performance of his part." It must certainly
have appeared very unnatural to see the plays
of Corneille and Racine represented by performers in the gala Court-dresses of Louis XIV.,
Sertorius and Pompey appearing in coats with
gold-embroidered seams and covered with lace,
with a wide richly-embroidered scarf, from
which a sword was suspended, and wearing a
hat with drooping plumes! It could not have
added to the desired effect when Augustus
placed a laurel wreath on the top of his
enormous, full, curled wig, whose lappets fell
down to his waist; and yet the great dramatists
of France never had the satisfaction of seeing
their noble creations represented except in this
unreal manner. Orestes, the Cid, Caesar, Horace,
Cinna might have been courtiers attending the
levee or the petit-coucher of the King. At that
time no one seemed to see how much this
M




162


The Theatre Franias.


weakened the effect of the grand sentiments
the heroes had to express.
It was very fortunate for the TheAtre Francais that Mademoiselle Clairon, Lekain, and
others felt that the time had arrived when the
theatre could scarcely maintain its high reputation by a too strict adherence to all the old traditions and what was considered the classic rules
of the Stage.    At the time when the whole
relations of the Com6die Frangaise with the
government were brought before the Council of
State, it was    decided  that this question   of
costume should also be fully considered.* It
* Mademoiselle Clairon, in her " Reflexions Morales,"
gives a charming personal aneedote as to the importance
of dress, "I had   attained forty without, I fondly
imagined, showing any indications of age; but one day
when I particularly wished to make a favourable impression in a new piece, I desired my maid to bring me a
bonnet of the latest fashion, I tried it on; but on looking in the glass, I was disappointed with my appearance.
I sent for other bonnets which were adapted to the freshness of youth, but the result was the same. I dismissed




Loret's Invitation.


163


was felt that, great as were the actors of the early
age of Louis XIV., comprising the illustrious
names of La Grange, Hubert, Dupin, De Croisy,
Verneuil, all of them worthy of the parts they
were called upon to perform, still they laboured
under a great disadvantage by this absence of
appropriate costume.    The long dialogues became wearisome, at times almost unmeaning,
when neither scenes nor dresses were considered
necessary to assist the    illusion.  There was
something ridiculous in Cleopatra wearing a
grand panier covered with the richest brocade,
and Polyeucte in a juste-au-corps.  Even in the
my maid, locked the door, put my face close to the glass;
alas it was as I feared, there were the lines on my
brow, on my cheeks, and my neck, my teeth had lost
their brilliant whiteness, my lips their freshness, my
eyes their sparkling light. No, my maid and my bonnets
were not to blame, it was Time I I burst into tears, and
was in grief for many days. Then I turned my attention
to the adaptation of my dress to this change, and I found
I lost nothing of the public favour, for criticism and envy
are always disarmed before the absence of pretension.
2




164


The Theatre Franfais.




time of Louis XIV.,
criticised, and the
theatres vaunted to
Com6die Francaise.
invited the Court to


this inconsistency bad been
attractions of the smaller
the disparagement of the
Loret, so early as 1658,
a gayer theatre, and


Ceux qui font grand cas des spectacles,
Qui pourraient passer pour miracles,
II faut qu'ils aillent tout de bon
En l'Hotel du Petit Bourbon.
On ne peut rien voir maintenant
Si pompeux ni si 8urprenant,
Des hydres, dragons et dimons,
Des mners, des f6rets, et des monts,
Des decorations brillantes,
Des musiques plus que charmantes,
De superbes habillements,
La grace et les traits enchanteurs
Des actrices et des acteurs,
Flattant les yeux et les oreilles,
Ne sont que le quart des merveilles,
Et j'en jure foi de mortel
Que l'on voit au susdit Hotel."


Loret adds that the King, with the whole Court,




Stage Rivalry.


165


did accept the invitation, and were greatly
gratified with the performance.
Mademoiselle Clairon overcame the opposition
she met with in her own circle, and about the
middle of last century this great innovation
commenced at the Comrdie Fran9aise; but it
could not be accomplished all at once, and
for some time a greater absurdity than a classic
piece enacted in modern Court dresses existed,
which was that some of the characters appeared
in the dress of the period represented in the
play, conversing with others in the dress of the
period as represented at the Court.  Corn6lie,
in the robes of a Roman matron, exclaiming
" Csar, prends garde a toi,
Ta mort est rdsolue,"
and Caesar, magnificently attired, with the
powder falling from his wig on his shoulder,
replying
"  coeur vraiment Romain,
Et digne du heros qui vous donna la main."
However, this incongruity could not last long,




166


TI e, Thgdtre Francais.


and Mademoiselle Clairon had the satisfaction
of seeing before she retired from the stage that
the view which she, more especially than any
other of the company, with the exception of
Lekain, took of this change from the old custom
of the ThbAtre Fran9ais was at last universally
approved.
Another danger menaced the Theatre Fran9ais at this period-that from which few societies
are entirely exempt, least so those societies of
which ladies renowned for their charms form
a part.   Not only Mademoiselle Clairon, but
also Dumesnil, Doligny, and others, were remarkable for their beauty and grace,* and
* In the " Musie de la Comedie Franiaise," amongst
other most interesting and admirable portraits is a print
of Mademoiselle Clairon, in the costume of ' Medea;' the
frame is of exquisite workmanship, of carved wood and
gold, and has the inscription: "Donne par le Roi B
Mademoiselle Clairon."
Bachaumont mentions this picture in his ' Memoires;'
he says in 1764, " Every one is going to see this new
print of Mademoiselle Clairon; it is engraved from the




Jealousy of Artists.


167


jealousies, not in the vulgar mode of rivalry in
the affections, which is the usual expression of
jealousy in ordinary societies, but in stage
portrait of M. Van-Loo, by MM. Cars and Beauvarlet,
the King's engravers. She is represented as 'Medea,'
as she appears in the fifth act of this tragedy, the moment that Medea kills her children, and flees in her car
after having shown them to Jason. The engraving was
paid for by the King, as well as the magnificent frame.
Monsieur Nougaret has written the following verses to
be fixed at the foot of the portrait.
"  Cette actrice immortelle enchalne tous les coeurs,
Ses graces, ses talents lui gagnent les suffrages
Du critique severe et des vraies connaisscurs;
Et de nos jours bien des auteurs
Lui doivent le succes qui suivit leurs ouvrages.'
"Bachaumont adds that in 1750, Garrick, 'the greatest
actor in England,' as he styles him, passed some days
in Paris, and witnessed, with admiration, Mademoiselie
Clairon's performance. So struck was he with this remarkable actress, that he employed Monsieur Gravelot
to make a drawing of her, in which she is represented
with all the attributes of her art; while Corneille, Racine,
Crebillon and Voltaire are offering her a crown, and
underneath are the lines,




168


The The'dtre Francais.


rivalry, would arise from   time to time.    Even
Mademoiselle Clairon was not exempt from these.
When it was intended to bring out a remarkable
'J'ai predit que Clairon illustrait en scone,
Et mon espoir n'a point 6te d4qu,
Elle a couronne MelpomBne,
MelpomEne lui rend ce qu'elle en a requ.'
"The verses are by Garrick, who had originally predicted her great success."
This 'Musee de la Comddie Frangaise' is one of
the most interesting collections to be found in Paris.
It contains portraits of the most illustrious performers
painted by their compeers. There may be found the
admirable works of that remarkable School of Art which
dipped the pencil in the light of each expression, and
could pourtray the inspiration of the minute such as a Miguard, Largilliere, Van-Loo, Mathieu, David, Gerard,
Ingres and Isabey, in painting; Caffieri, Lemarque, Houdon, David d'Angers, in sculpture, who may be studied in
the perfection of their Art in this collection. The Theatre
Fran9ais possesses not only works of infinite value to
the History of the Drama, but the most perfect productions of Art in France.




Mlles. Clairon and Hus.      169
piece, called " Le Comte d'Essex," Mademoiselle
Clairon asked who was to take the part of
Elizabeth. Madame Dumesnil said it was intended for her. "I, then, will act the Duchess."
"That is my part," exclaimed Mademoiselle
Hus, " and I intend to keep it."    " Then,"
said Mademoiselle Clairon, " there is nothing but
the confidante left for me; and I am perfectly satisfied with it." At the first, no one believed it
possible that the great actress of the day would
accept the humblest part in a play, but Mademoiselle Clairon anticipated the success of her
scheme, and that her vengeance would be complete. Mademoiselle Hus was very feeble in the
grand character she had undertaken, but in the
part of the humble confidante, as performed by
Mademoiselle Clairon, every word produced its
effect. The magnificent Duchess was received
with ridicule, while each time the simple confidante crossed the stage she was enthusiastically
applauded. Well might a spectator, who was
present and unacquainted with stage disputes,
express his astonishment that the only actress




170


Tlhe Theatre Francais.


who was received with approbation was the one
who had nothing to say. Mademoiselle Hus never
forgave the triumph which her own vanity had
given to Mademoiselle Clairon, and she became
the centre of a party formed to oppose the great
influence which the eminent actress exercised
over the company. There were few nobler natures
than Mademoiselle Clairon's, but the stage is not
the best school for unselfishness. There is the
natural desire to select the character to which
performers think themselves entitled. Another
misunderstanding occurred between Mademoiselle Clairon and Mademoiselle Doligny, When
a friend of the former's, Monsieur Saint-Foix,
the author of several light and agreeable plays,
wrote a letter reflecting on Mademoiselle Clairon
in a paper of Freron's, he learnt that in those days
it was not wise to attack anyone who possessed
influence at the Court. A lettre de cachet and a
few weeks at Fort l'Eveque afforded Fr6ron
time to reconsider and correct his dramatic
criticisms.
Such was the position of the Comedie Fran



Royal Interest in Sophie.


171


9aise at the time that Sophie was to make her
appearance, and Mademoiselle Clairon looked
forward to that day with as much anxiety and
interest as her pupil. Here was no occasion for
jealousy or rivalry; rather Sophie's merit, if recognised, would be tbe result of her own instructions.
Mademoiselle Clairon felt that, while teaching so
much, she had herself gained by her intercourse
with so guileless and simple a nature as
Sophie's, for the healthiest condition of all art
is when the acquired and artificial can be shaken
off, and the taste is renewed in its simplicity.
The cottage at Saint-Germain was well adapted
for those studies which demand contemplation;
none require it more than those which attempt to
delineate, whether on canvas or on the stage, the
conceptions of great minds.  And now    the
moment had arrived when the result of these
varied studies was to be brought before the
public.  The selection of the part in which
Sophie was to appear was a proof of the interest which the King took in the rising genius
of the company, and his desire to maintain it
in all its consideration and old privileges.




172


CHAPTER X.
THE eventful day dawned, and if sunshine
was a good omen, it was a bright and
cheerful morning, and Sophie felt more courage
than she had anticipated; for, as is always the
case, dangers and difficulties, like hills, diminish
as we approach them, the imagination adding
the force of its own terrors to the real causes of
fear. There was one subject which had occupied
a certain amount of her attention, her dress;
she had heard how much importance the King
attached to the appropriateness of costume,




The Eventful Day.


173


and on a first appearance any defect was not
likely to pass unnoticed. Sophie, was to act
the part of Chimene, in the "Cid."  A great
effort for a first appearance, and requiring the
change of costume and appearance from the
happy, gay pledged bride to the daughter
mourning for her father. Mademoiselle Clairon
undertook that the dresses selected should be well
adapted to Sophie and to the part. So her
anxiety on this point was at rest. The King
and the Court were to arrive that morning, and
already the soldiers were beginning to line the
Rue de Paris, in which Madame Denain had
taken a small house. When Sophie went to a
little church in the Rue de l'Eveque, and, apart
from the rising tumult of the town, prayed
for a blessing on her new undertaking, the
orphan placed herself under the guardianship
of the Father of the fatherless, within the pale
of the Church, which was, alas I too soon to cast
her forth. As she was leaving the Church, the
roll of drums and the clash of arms announced
the arrival of the King, and she had just time




174


The Tuhedtre Francais.


to reach the house before the cortege passed.
Sophie had never before seen a royal procession of
such grandeur, and gazed with wonder on its pomp
and splendour. For, up to 1789, the magnificence
of the French Court was maintained as if no rude
hands were so soon to be raised to stain its ermine.
This was the first time that the King had visited
Versailles since his life was in danger, and the
whole neighbourhood poured into the town to
bid him welcome; guards lined the streets, the
Cent Suisses, the favoured corps nearest the
person of the Sovereign, headed the procession
in their halberds, ruffs, and white-plumed hats;
then the gentlemen of the Body-Guard-brilliant
with  their  gold embroidery and  glittering
cuirasses, preceded the long line of carriages
filled with the ladies and gentlemen of the
Court; last came the King, of whom it might
truly be said that he had the pleasantest
manner in the world, and always had a smile.
He had inherited the pre-eminent courtesey of
Louis XIV. It may be well imagined with
what sensations Sophie watched the presence




Arrival of the King.


175


of him before whom she was that evening to
appear. All the reality of the greatness of the
occasion rushed on her mind, and it was with a
sinking heart she saw the pageant enter the great
courts of the palace, and the gates close upon it.
It was early in the evening when Madame
Denain and Sophie arrived at the theatre. The
audience had already commenced taking their
seats, and, shortly after, a blaze of light illuminated the decorations on which the first masters
of art in France had been employed; but
Sophie had little time for observation, the
moment was drawing near. Arms were presented, the band played Vive Henri IV., and
a loud, ringing cheer annonnced the King's
arrival; when he entered the magnificent statebox, the audience, the elite of the Court, burst
forth into repeated acclamations of welcome and
greeting-it was a shout of real affection for
the Monarch restored to the love of the people
after his dangerous malady; the King seemed
deeply affected. For a moment Sophie was so
absorbed in the interest of the scene that she




176


The Th7dtre Franqais.


forgot how soon she was to appear upon it;
but a tinkling bell was heard, there was the
promptor's  call,  "En   place,  Messires  et
Mesdames," the curtain rose, and Sophie stood
in the presence of Royalty, the nobility, and
the highest intellect of France.
The " Cid," this model piece of Corneille, had
for a century maintained its place on the French
stage as the grandest expression of all that is
noble and tender; the characters are full of
dignity and elevation, and it was accepted at
once as the first of classical plays; it became
a proverb to say, " C'est beau comme le ' Cid.' "*
It detracts nothing from the merit of the great
dramatist that he took his plot and conception
of the piece from a Spanish writer, De Castro,
who wrote   "Las Mocedades del Cid," (La
Jeunesse du Cid); the play had to be adapted to
the French stage, for it was essentially Spanish
in its nature. The exploits of the Cid, his
* The Spaniards also said, to describe some magnificent object, " Es de Lope."




Corneille's " Vid."


177


grand generosity, his indomitable valour, his incorruptible loyalty, his enthusiastic faith; all these
were characteristic of the hero; he was the noblest
expression of Castilian honour. Corneille discovered in the play this secret of his own genius,
and that tragic power which he henceforth made
his own: admiration for noble sentiments was
the feeling he strove to waken, and in doing
so he elevated sentiment to the dignity of a
passion.  By   one great effort he   attained
the summit of his art; the Spanish characteristics of the original are not entirely omitted,
but they   are  rendered  subordinate to the
others. Corneille put into practice the principle
laid down by Pope, that the object of the stage
was,
To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold,
Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold;"
and in doing this he carried out those principles
which were in France considered essential for dramatic success, the unities of action, of time, and
place. "The Cid" was based on these rules and
N




178


1The Theatre Francais.


confirmed them.  He gained one thing from
his Spanish studies; the warm colouring, the
passionate expression of the South; the language of Chimene and Don Rodrigue sounds in
the ear like majestic and noble music. The
stage may from time to time be degraded, and
low, vulgar natures find their interest in
worthless representations, but the great masters
of the drama will live in all time.
When Sophie, trembling and nervous, appeared
with Elvire in the first scene, a low murmur
of approval greeted her.  Quick and rapid the
French are in all their perceptions, and no
nation is more influenced by personal appearance. Since the debut of Mademoiselle Clairon,
no actress had appeared who thus immediately
won the approval of the audience. She had so
entirely mastered the part that she was able
to convey the full force of the genius of the
writer, and  embody  his conception.  After
the first few  words,  she   ceased  to  be
Sophie Guerin and became Chimene.    There
was no great applause until the quarrel be



Sophie as Chimkne.


179


tween De Gombs and Don Diegue, when the
former strikes the latter, the father of Don
Rodrigue, to whom Chimbne is betrothed; and
in the second act, when she foretells the
sorrows of the future, she spoke with a passionate energy which found an echo in every
heart,
"Mon cceur outre d'ennuis n'ose rien espdrer,
Un orage si prompt qui trouble une bonace
D'un naufrage certain nous porte la menace,
Je n'en saurais douter, je peris dans le port.
"' Maudite ambition, detestable manie,
Dont les plus ge'nreux souffrent la tyrannie!
Honneur impitoyable 'a mes plus chers desirs
Que tu me vas cotter des pleurs et des soupirs."
As she uttered the words, there was a burst
of applause, in violation of the rigid etiquette
of the French Court, which permitted no
expression of approval or otherwise in the
presence  of  the   Sovereign.    Chimene   was
well supported, for Monsieur Baron acted Don
Rodrigue, and rarely had the part been better
N 2




180


The Theatre Franfais.


sustained. There are few finer passages in the
French language than when Don Rodrigue describes to Don Fernand, the King of Castille,
the night attack on the Moors, to which our
own literature is indebted for the finest lines
in the   "Corsair."    Don   Rodrigue    tells  how
the few followers whom he led, repulsed the
thousands of the enemy, and then, when the
Moors saw how few were opposed to them, how
they rallied and renewed the combat.
Mais bientot, malgre nous, leurs princes les rallient,
Leur courage renait et leurs terreurs s'oublient,
La honte de mourir. sans avoir combattu
Arrete leur desordre, et leur rend leur vertu
Contre nous de pied ferme, ils tirent leurs alfanges,
De notre sang au leur font d'horribles mdlanges;
Et la terre, et le fleuve, et leur flotte, et le port
Sont des champs de carnage oi triomphe la mort.
Oh! combien d'actions, combien d'exploits cdl/bres
Sont demeures sans gloire au milieu des tenebres I
J'allais de tous c6tes encourager les n6tres,
Faire avancer les uns et soutenir les autres,
Ranger ceux qui venaient, les pousser ' leur tour."




The Debutante's Triumph.


181


Throughout the description the trumpet gives
no uncertain sound. It is a magnificent rollcall of battle, and when King Fernand confers
on the conqueror the title of " The Cid," as the
Genereux heritier d'une illustre famille
Qui fut toujours la gloire et l'appui de Castille."
the enthusiasm was very great, but it culminated
when Chimene exclaimed
"Pour conserver ma gloire et finir mon ennui,
Le poursuivre, le perdre, et mourir apres lui."
The whole audience rose. In this instance the
King gave the signal for the applause, which
was renewed again and again. The play was
a triumphant success, and after the curtain fell
at the last act the audience remained as if spellbound, awaiting something to complete the
effect, and they were not disappointed.  The
King did not immediately leave the box, but
turned to the officer of the guard, who was no
other than the Count d'Andore, and gave him
some instructions.  Little did the performers
grouped on the stage imagine what this pause




182


The Theadtre Franqais.


meant, but suddenly the door leading behind the
scenes was opened, and the officer invited
Sophie to the royal presence.  The excitement
of the play had almost exhausted her, and she
felt that to appear before the Sovereign was more
than she could bear. For this was the greatest
honour that had been conferred on the company
since Louis XIV.'s first reception of Moliere.
Sophie summoned all her courage and took
the arm which the young officer offered her,
for he saw that she was trembling with nervousness, and, followed by Madame Denain; they
passed along the wide corridors, which were
lined by the Gardes du Roi in their grand tenue.
When Sophie entered the box, she would have
thrown herself at the King's feet, but he
raised her up, and with his irresistible grace of
expression, said, " Mademoiselle, when I see a
play so performed, I understand why Corneille
is called Le Grand;" he then took a bouquet
of flowers, which had been presented him
on his entering the theatre, and selecting
a rose, gave it to her, and said, "That




Afark of Royal Favour.


183


which I received from grace and beauty I
present to  you."   The words were unheard
by the audience, but they witnessed and
appreciated the action. It was one of those
graceful scenes which appeal to the heart, and
a crowd is always appreciative and sympathetic.
A charming picture such as artists love to paint
and poets to describe. All the sympathies of the
audience were aroused, and one cry of "Vive
le Roi!" burst forth. Yes, " Vive le Roi!" in
the grand theatre of Versailles!   Who could
that night have foreseen, what prophet's voice
could have foretold, how the same cry, as warm
and earnest, would be raised in the reign of
his successor and under what different circumstances,*   when   that   beautiful  air  of
* It was on the memorable 6th October that the banquet was given in the Theatre of Versailles by the Garde
du Corps to the Regiment Royal Flandre, which had
arrived recently at Versailles. Excited by the repast
and enthusiasm, the white rosettes were worn; and when
the King and Queen entered one of the boxes with the




184


The Theatre Franfais.


of Gretry's " Oh, Richard! oh, mon Roi, l'univers
t'abandonne," would be sung with such pathos
as to bring tears to every eye, and that, amid
frantic shouts of "Vive le Roi," every sword
would be unsheathed in defence of lives so dear
to France to protect them from the madness
of the people? On this day the prospect of the
future seemed unclouded, and none saw the
shadows, clouds, and darkness which rested on
it. Now all was light, brightness, and happiness, and none happier than Sophie in the
triumph she had won and the sentiment she
had evoked.
children, the expressions of affection and devotion were
unbounded.  It was then the music played, "Oh,
Richard I oh, mon Roi!" and the officers, wild with sympathy, even climbed to the box to touch the King's hand.
It was a touching scene of tumultuous loyalty, but
attended with most unfortunate results to the Royal
family.




185


CHAPTER XT.
Graceful and young, she struck the heart
WTith every gentle, every winning part."
T was truly a great triumph for one so young,
and it would not have been surprising if it
had created some jealousy among those who,
like Mesdemoiselles Clairon and Dumesnil, were
at the head of the theatrical profession; but
Sophie was so humble and retiring that no such
feeling was awakened in any of their minds. On the
contrary, the next day the small apartment in the
Rue de Paris was thronged with those who came to
offer their congratulations, and none were warmer
and more sincere than Mademoiselle Clairon's.




186


The The'tre Francais.


But if on this first occasion, at the desire of the
Sovereign, Sophie had been permitted to play so
important a part, it was not to be so in the future;
she was to take the second characters, which were
much easier to learn and to enact, for it would
have been impossible for her to have sufficient
knowledge  of   the  stage  to  attempt the
master-pieces  of the great dramatists, and,
while her success was undeniable, it was
still evident that there was much for her to
learn.  Youth, beauty, innocence and plaintive
sweetness of manner had combined to win the
audience, but, as Mademoiselle Clairon urged, to
sustain such a success was now the difficulty, and
that this could alone be achieved by a severe
study of the drama itself.
Among those who now gave her the advantage
of their instructions, was Lekain, at this time
in the zenith of his fame, a fame which he had
conquered against bitter prejudices, for he started
with great disadvantages, having a disagreeable
enough voice, and an ungainly appearance on a
stage where nobility of manner and personal




Lekain.               187
advantages were supposed to be essential to
success.  Voltaire had advised him to give up
the Stage as a profession. "Jouez la comddie
pour votre plaisir, mais n'en faites janais votre
6tat; c'est ]e plus beau, le plus rare et le plus
difficile des talents, mais il est avili par des barbares et proscrit par des hypocrites."  But, in
spite of this, he had succeeded, and had a short
time previously  obtained  before the King a
personal triumph like Sophie's. He was acting
the part of Orismane in "Zaire," and was so
much penetrated with it that he forgot the
presence in which he was acting, and carried the
audience away with himself by his splendid
declamation and impetuous passion.  " 1 m'a
fait pleurer, moi qui ne pleure guere," exclaimed
the King. The
" Power of thought and magic of the mind"
had transformed the commonplace man into a
noble presence.
He who had learned so much and so well was
admirably fitted to instruct others, and it was a




188


The Thdetre Francais.


great pleasure to Sophie to attend all the rehearsals, to listen to the criticisms, to watch how
every action had to be studied, every word distinctly, emphatically expressed.  Lekain, like
Mademoiselle Clairon, was determined, if it was
possible, to have the Stage relieved from the
odium cast upon it by the action of the Clergy,
and his ideas were expressed in very powerful
arguments, carefully drawn up and submitted to
the King.
"Is  it possible to  suppose,"  he  asked,
" when day after day, not only the Court, but
the Bishops, the Cardinals, the Papal Nuncios,
are present at the plays, that they would sanction profane and improper proceedings? When
placards are posted at all the corners of the
streets, inviting the public to the theatre to see
plays performed by the Company supported by
the King and styled "Les Comudiens du Roi,"
are people thus publicly invited to infamous
places, or to eat meat on a fast-day?*  Why do
* Most severe penalties were incurred by those who
violated the rules of fast days.




Lekain's Defence of the Stage.      189
not the magistrates punish those who urge
others to abuse the authority of our most
Christian and Religious Sovereign? I must then
conclude that the Theatre is not to be condemned, that the Church, in its high places and
in the person of its great dignitaries, is not
opposed to the Stage, which is supported by a
Prince who rules us with so much wisdom and
piety, and who, therefore, if he sanctioned a
crime, would be, of all others, the most
culpable."
But it was not only on these earnest questions that Madame Denain and        Sophie found
' Un arret porte que les boucheries de l'H6tel Dieu
vendront seules pendant tout ce carine la viande. 1~.
Aux malades qui apporteront certificats de leurs curds
ou medecins. 2~. A ceux qui font profession de la religion pretendue rtformde en apportant attestation de cette
profession; les contrevenants parmi ces vendeurs seront
mis trois heures au careau et emprisonnes jusqu'a Paques
au moins. Peines plus severes, s'il y a recidive."
Fiblibien, v. iii. p. 153.




190


The    7tuedtre Franai8s.


such a charm in this new society, it was in the fund
of anecdote, of animation and life, which gave so
much geniality and pleasantness to it. Preville,
La Noue, Bellecour were second only to Lekain, while Mesdames Pr6ville, Dubois and
Vestris were equal to sustaining any parts, and
they, most of them, possessed the gift of being
good raconteurs, so that many a good story and
pleasant reminiscence enlivened Madame Denain's select little circle. There was one person
who was rarely absent: Count d'Andore. It was
not surprising that, when he conducted Sophie
to the Royal Box, he did not recognize in
Chimene the little flower-girl in whom he bad
interested himself; but after the play Monsieur
Baron told him   the accident which had led
her to adopt the Stage as a profession, and
next day Monsieur Baron    informed Madame
Denain of the interest which the young officer
had shown in her charge, on the occasion of the
accident. It was natural for her to wish to thank
him, and equally natural for Sophie to feel gratitude towards one to whom, to some extent, she




Count d'Andore.


191


was indebted for her safety. It would have been
wiser and better if the interviews had stopped
here; the presence of a brilliant young officer,
who, himself, had performed in the plays which
Louis XV. frequently had in his private apartment, and who was intimately associated with
those who were now the honoured visitors at
Madame Denain's, was certainly undesirable.
This never occurred to Madame Denain; she
only saw in the young Count an agreeable, accomplished member of society.  She was told
by her friends that, at a time when the royal
circle was not conspicuous for its strictness, the
Count d'Andore maintained a character respected
by all, and that he won the esteem even of those
who were inclined to ridicule some of his
scruples, and this was sufficient for her; all her
attention concentrated on fictitious emotions,
she overlooked the fact that there are hearts
in which real emotions exist, and moreover
that none are so subject to sudden impressions
as those whose days are passed in the study
of the imagination, of affections and sympathies




192         The Theatre FranCais.
as delineated by the great students of the human
heart; nor was the attention of Sophie ever called
to the state of her feelings towards the
young officer.  The days passed  swiftly, as
happy days always do, for it is only in pain and
sorrow that they seem interminable. Now and
then pleasant excursions were made, iu that
simple unexpensive manner which renders the
French, in spite of their periodical convulsions,
the happiest of nations, as they live for themselves, and not for the opinions of others, and
every evening, when there was no performance,
they formed a happy circle, from which Count
d'Andore was rarely absent.
It may be said that he ought to have remembered
that this intimacy was dangerous for a young girl
of Sophie's nature; that he should, in conformity
with his high character, have avoided the society
of one whose affections he might win, but whom
there was little chance, under the exclusive
system of the French Noblesse, of his being
able to raise to his own class. It is so easy
to utter the phrase " ought to have remembered,"




Etiquette of Court Life.


193


if we all remembered that the consequences of
our actions never die, how many more flowers
would be strewn not only on our own path,
in life, but on the paths of those around us;
most unfortunate is it that the warmesthearted, the most nobly-gifted frequently suffer
the most, and make others suffer the most.
"Car quand    le  coeur glisse  ou  n'arrete
pas sur la pento;" in this instance the Count
had nothing to guide him, or to warn him
of the sorrow he might be creating for the
graceful little girl in whom he took so much interest. He was very happy to be relieved from
the formal circle of the Court life, which even
under the genial and insouciant Louis XV. was
still based on rigid etiquette, the rules of which
the King had inherited with the Crown, and
they were strictly insisted upon by the aristocracy as one of the barriers against the
popular feeling which was growing stronger in its
expression every day; and they were right, as
hereafter "le jour des dupes" was destined to
prove.


0




194


The Thedtre Frangais.


The gulph that, at this period, separated the
aristocracy from the people was a wide one,
and the importance attached to these traditions
rendered any intermarriage between them rare,
and always very difficult; the Nobles associated
with actors, more especially after the great
favour shown to the Stage by Louis XIV.;
but this intimacy, while it existed, did not break
down the spirit of caste; the classes mixed
together, but were never united; the Members of the Comedie Franqaise were placed,
it is true, in an exceptional position, for they
were considered as attached to the person
of the Sovereign, at a time when any situation
near the King was most highly esteemed;
but the barrier subsisted nevertheless. Count
d'Andore never reflected on this, neither indeed did Madame Denain; as for Sophie, she
only knew that she was happy; her heart was
in that state in which nothing in life is permitted
long to remain, out of the bud and scarcely
in the flower; she had never learnt to analyze
her impressions; indeed in this consisted to




Madame Denain's Want of Foresight.  195
some degree the fascination she exercised, for
self-consciousness  is  not  an  ingratiating
quality. She saw Count d'Andore arrive with
pleasure, and she regretted him when he left,
nor did she care to ask herself why, if the
evening was fine, they preferred to stand together on the terrace apart from others, and why
in his absence she sat alone and thought of him.
It may well be imagined that the Court of
Versailles was not exempt from that love of
gossip which is the habit of all societies. Sophie
had achieved too great a success, and was
herself too remarkable for the parties in the
Rue de Paris to pass unnoticed, and Monsieur
Baron felt it right to tell Madame Denain that
the constant presence of the agreeable young
officer might be prejudicial to her adopted child;
strange it is how one word even carelessly
uttered will sometimes throw a new light on all
our views, and we fail to comprehend how we could
have beeu so blind to events passing before our
eyes. The moment Baron pointed out the
danger, and told her that this intercourse was be02




196


The Thedtre Franfais.


coming a matter of Court gossip, Madame Denain
saw the error she had made, and regretted her
own want of foresight. For many slight incidents
occurred to her which made her fear that
Sophie's feelings were at any rate in some
degree interested in the Count; and she could
not deny that Monsieur Baron was right,
when he said that such a marriage would be
impossible, that even if the Marquis de Brionne,
one of the proudest and most aristocratic of the
French Noblesse, living in the greatest splendour in his feudal castle in the Touraine, if he
could have been won by the grace and charm of
Sophie and permitted such a marriage for his
son, the Court would prevent it, and the King,
through the influence of those around him,
would refuse his sanction to it. It was one
thing to amuse themselves with the society of
actors, to attend their receptions, and even to
show them the deepest interest and kindness,
as in the case of young Mol., who when ill
was nursed by the highest ladies of the Court,
and attended by the royal physicians; but when




Anxiety for Sophie.


197


it came to the question of marriage, the Church
itself could not be more intolerant towards the
stage. Madame Denain admitted the justice of
Monsieur Baron's remarks, and it was determined
that on the first opportunity she should tell
Sophie that it was undesirable for them to
see so much of him whom she regarded as her
protector and friend, while perhaps "a dearer
name remained behind." Madame Denain was
the more anxious that Sophie's mind should
remain undisturbed, for it was evident that her
health was affected by the life of excitement she
had been leading and her hard studies, she had
at intervals a sharp cough and complained of
pain in her side. The theatrical season was
however nearly at an end, and Madame Denain
looked forward to the quiet of the cottage at St.
Germain as a perfect restorative.




198


CHAPTER XII.
" When life is full and free,
Some sudden gloom shall be,
When haughty power mounts high,
The watcher's axe is nigh."
AMASIS, the Egyptian monarch, showed his
wisdom in withdrawing from his alliance with
the tyrant of Samos, because he considered him too
fortunate when the beautiful seal which he threw
into the sea to propitiate the fates, was restored to
him again. There was a deep and painful significanoe in the skeleton which the Egyptians seated
at the table at their most joyous banquets, to
teach the guests the instability of human enjoy



Instability of Human Joy.


199


ment; it is well to pray to be protected "in
all time of our wealth," even more so than
"in all time of our tribulation."  When the
sails are full and the ship rides gaily over
the wave, the sudden blast is most to be
dreaded; as Hafiz says,   "Every   hour of
pleasure that you enjoy, count it gain; who can
say what will be the issue of an event?" And
it is this uncertainty that impresses us with
the truth of the remark that "there is no sadder
feeling than that which arises from watching
the dawn of human joy." Sophie had been
supremely and calmly happy; but she had not
realized that her happiness was in any way
associated with the Count d'Andore.
It had been long before arranged that on the day
after Monsieur Baron's conversation with Madame
Denain a small party were, by the King's permission, to visit the private rooms of the
palace, and he also granted them the grand
gallery at the Trianon for a Com&die du Salon
and a dance. Madame Denain concealed from
Sophie that she had a communication to make




200


The Th'dtre Franfais.


to her which might pain her; little did she
think that the events of that day would render
any such communication unnecessary. Thus
does it so frequently happen that we plan,
scheme, and contrive, make the most admirable
arrangements to secure our object, and then,
"Deus flavit et dissipatur," and all our intentions are frustrated by some unforeseen circumstance.
The party, which were received at the entrance
of the private apartments by the attendants with
all the consideration which the King was pleased
to order should be shown to them, were there
joined by the Count d'Andore; he being frequently on duty was enabled to point out those
master-pieces of art which Louis XV. had
collected, and of the merit of which that monarch
was pre-eminently a good judge. It may be remarked that this admirable taste of their
sovereigns was much appreciated by the nation,
and it was very unfortunate that it was not inherited by Louis XVI. The people liked their
kings to be regarded as the first gentlemen




Gardens of Versailles.


201


iu Europe. After the palace they visited the
gardens described by Delille as the"Chef-d'oeuvre d'un grand Roi, de Le Notre,
Que Louis, la nature et l'art ont embelli."
Formal enough are these marvellous creations,.where swamps and morasses have been transformed into flowery carpets, and the parterres
are turned into nature's drawing-rooms, while
the groves represent walls and tapestries, and
green alcoves grow so dense that they can
shelter against those  storms which   fail to
respect the abode of royalty.   The beautiful
sculpture of Girardon and Puget, the marble
basins, the cascades, the sparkling and rippling
of fountains in the sunshine, gave an air of fete
to the scene; the hearts of all present responded
to it; so Sophie and the young officer felt, as they
walked side by side, although not a word which
could betray the secret of either was spoken.
They arrived at the Grand Trianon, after a
charming morning passed in these pleasant
wanderings; at this time there were few spots




202


The The'dtre Fran;ais.


more interesting than this small palace, but
it has since been eclipsed by the Petit
Trianon, now the sanctuary for the souvenirs
of Marie Antoinette, which at this date had
been just completed. It was of the Grand
Trianon that the Duc de Bourgogne exclaimed,
" Je vous salue, beau Trianon, plus agraable que
tous les jardins fabuleux."
This Chateau, St. Simon tells us, was scarcely
raised to the first floor when Louvois, who had
succeeded Colbert as Superintendent of Public
Works, was blamed by the King for a defect in
one of the windows. Louvois, who was of a
rude nature, and whom the King had spoiled, contradicted His Majesty, who the next morning
sent for Le Notre, and in the presence of Louvois
had the window measured, and Le Notre gave
his decision that the King was in the right. When
His Majesty had left the spot, Louvois told the bystanders that, if the King treated an old servant
in such a manner on account of a window, it
was better to have a war which would prevent
his attention being fixed on such trifles. For so




Fete given by the King.


20:3


slight a cause France was plunged into the war of
1688. Subsequently Mansard exhausted all the perfection of his art upon the palace, while Le Notre
planned these admirable paths, woodlands, and
flowery glades, amid which generations have
wandered with   delight.  The dance on the
present accasion was to take place in the long gallery, which was full of the most prized pictures
of that graceful school of French art, of the period
when Boucher, Watteau and Le Brun, were privileged to represent the " Cynthias of the Minute,"
of the Court of France. As this little fete was
given to the artistes of the theatre by the King,
it may readily be supposed that nothing was
wanting in the arrangements to render it enjoyable, and yet there was an absence of
animation in the party assembled, although to the
casual observer all looked bright and gay.
In daylight entertainments there seems always
something wanting. It has been well said, "Les
hommes d'esprit allument leur esprit quand le
ciel allume les  ktoiles."  Sophie  felt  depressed, without being able to assign any cause.




204


The Theatre Franca is.


The Count d'Andore also seemed anxious. It
may have been that the secret which was known
to Madame Denain affected her own and
Monsieur Baron's manner, for there is nothing
more magnetic than a society met for amusement;
the nervousness of the one will be felt by all.
When they sat down to the festive fete, Monsieur
Baron, in general the life of every party, could
not avoid thinking of the pain he feared was
about to be given to the youngest of the society
assembled there; his voice lost its usual charm,
and his conversation its brilliancy; yet he little
imagined how sudden and sharp the blow was
to be.
The first dance was over and the lights were
being lit, for, although  not late, the  sky
was overclouded, when two letters were placed
in Count d'Andore's hand.   As he looked at
the writing he changed countenance, for one
was from his father, the other from the Minister
of State. He opened the Marquis de Brionne's
first. It was expressed in language which represented the exclusive dignity of the ancien regime.




The Marquis de Brionne's Letter.


205


He said he had been informed that his son, the
heir to one of the most ancient peerages in
France, was making himself remarkable by his
attentions to a young actress of the Comedie
Frangaise; and from the high character the
young lady bore, he could only suppose that,
with the sense of truth and honour he believed
the Count to possess, this intimate intercourse
was intended to end in marriage; that such
an alliance for a house that claimed descent
from Royalty and quartered the Fleurs-de-Lys,
was impossible; but for the perfect confidence
he reposed in the Count's high sense of duty,
he would at once have applied to the Minister
for a lettre-de-cachet, which would have been a
just punishment for the folly which had caused
the propagation of such reports; as it was,
he had made arrangements which would compel
the Count to leave Versailles immediately, without creating any further scandal, or causing
any reproach to be cast on the illustrious name
which he bore.   Such was the purport of the
letter, which almost fell from his hand; nor was




206


The Thedtre Franfais.


the other more reassuring. It was from the
Minister of State, " De la Maison du Roi."  It
informed him that for the present His Majesty
would dispense with his services about his person, and that he was appointed to escort the
Dauphin to the Chateau de Blois, and to
remain there during the Prince's residence.
His troop of the Gardes du Corps was to parade
the next morning at eleven, the hour fixed for
the royal departure.  It was a mere formal
order, but, received at the same time as the
letter from the Marquis, it was evident that
the Marquis had been privy to it.
Monsieur Baron was not surprised to re mark the
Count's agitation, for he had just been informed
by some one about the Court of the step which
would be taken. After a few moments' reflection, the Count realised the fact that this was
the last time he should meet Sophie, and a cold
hand seemed to touch his heart. If he desired
to say one parting word, there was little time
to lose, for already some of the company
were leaving.  Sophie was standing near the




The Count's Last Interview with Sophie.  207
end of the Orangerie, from which a long terrace
extended-to the gardens. She was watching the
dark clouds which were driven across the sky,
when the Count approached. He was unable
to speak to her, for others were present; but
proposed they should stroll to the end of the
terrace.  There are moments in life when
the heart is full of emotion, and every thought
is eloquent; yet the lips seem spell-bound; we
cannot give expression to the earnestness within
us, we feel the force of the poet's words,
" Oh would I could bring to thine ear
The countless sounds that entrance me,
Which only my soul can hear;"
but, no I language will not obey the impulse
within. Thus so many seem cold when they
are the most deeply moved, and indifferent,
when the heart is struggling for expression.
They strolled on, and not a word was spoken,
until, by a violent effort, suddenly, almost
abruptly, he told her that he was to leave on
the morrow.




208         The Thgdtre Franis.
A sudden faintness seized her.  She looked
up to his face piteously, almost imploringly, and
trembled violently.
"You are ill, Mademoiselle."
"I feel cold," said the poor child. Yes, she
was thinly dressed, and the evening was chill,
and, unnoticed by them, drops of rain were
falling, but the sudden chill of the heart was the
most painful.
There was a seat near; he led her to it.
Many impassioned farewell words were about to
rush to his lips, when his higher nature prevailed, and he remembered how ungenerous and
unworthy it would be to add to the sorrow, if
such she felt at parting from him; and even as
the words, never to be recalled or unsaid, were
struggling for utterance, footsteps were heard
approaching, and Madame Denain's voice calling
for Sophie.
She started, as if waking from a trance;
Madame Denain was by her side.
"Dear child, why, you are quite wet!"   It
was true they had not felt that a fine rain had




Illness of Sophie.


209


been falling.  "You shiver, Sophie.  Run to
the house, Count, for a cloak. She trembles
all over."
The Count left, and Madame Denain took
her own shawl to throw it over Sophie, for it
now rained very fast.
Presently not only the Count, but Monsieur
Baron and others arrived with cloaks. Sophie
was well wrapped up, but trembled so that she
had to be supported to the house; and it was
Monsieur Baron, and not the Count, who assisted
her.
On her arrival there she looked very pale, and
had shivering fits. No one could have imagined
that this was the bright and sunny face which
won on the stage all hearts, even before a word
was spoken.  The light had deserted the eye,
the colour the cheek, for sorrow had cast its
shadow across her path, and " her life from out
that shadow shall be lifted nevermore."


P




210


CHAPTER XIII.
THE carriages were not ready, and although
clothes were borrowed from some one of
the establishment, and a fire was made in one
of the rooms, which Sophie sat by, she still
trembled, and her frame seemed to be struck
with cold. There is intense sympathy between
the inner and outer life; the power of resistance, even to the elements, depends much on the
inward energies. Sophie felt that her heart had
received a blow which rendered her weak and
feeble, and the master-touch of real sorrow had
succeeded to the fictitious woes she had been re



Forsaken by the Count.


211


cently enacting. All this she did not explain to
herself she only felt a sense of loneliness creep
over her; and could scarcely summon energy to
say good night to the friends who were leaving,
all anxious about her. She looked timidly round
for the one familiar face, but it was not to
be seen; she waited at the carriage-door,
almost dreading, while expecting, that he would
be there to bid her farewell; but no, he had left.
He had that courage which enables a man
to fly, when he cannot overcome his feelings" and where we fail to conquer, learn to fly."
He felt that his father, although expressing
himself in a haughty and despotic manner, was
in the right, and that such a marriage was
impossible. Truly too late! but happy he who
has not learnt in his own person that evil is done
by want of thought as well as want of heart!
"( What ills have been wrought
By the transient desire and the trivial thought."
There  are  habits of life  so  difficult to
break through, and when we at last summon
P 2




212


The Theatre Francais.


strength to assert our freedom, we hear the
fatal words, "It is too latel   The tide is
rising."
In the carriage, during what seemed a long
drive, Sophie nestled to Madame Denain's side,
and not a word was spoken. Madame Denain
well knew that her sense of discomfort was not
purely physical, although she did not realise
what an intensity of feeling the young girl
possessed; she determined not to claim her
confidence unless she originated the subject.
Monsieur Baron had told her that the Count was
to leave the next morning.   Painful as she
felt the struggle to be, she was satisfied it
was for the best that she should realise the
truth at once.
But Sophie was very feverish and still complained of cold; Madame Denain and her trusty
maid, Justine, had to carry her to her room,
and everything that kindness could suggest
was done for her comfort. At last they left, and
then, for the first time when alone, Sophie began
to recall the happy past.  But at least she




Past Happiness.


213


had enjoyed the past, that happiness had been
hers, great and unalloyed, for how many of us
learn when it is too late that we have neglected to
appreciate the things that belonged to our peace.
What superstitious dreads, idle fears, and an absence of confidence in the future, have destroyed the charm of life, which we might have
so gloriously enjoyed, had we only possessed
Faith —had we only remembered that on one
point all beliefs, Pagan, Christian, have agreed,
that to be happy we must live in each day,
the  highest authority  directs us  to  " be
careful for nothing."  "Carpe  diern, carpe
florem," exclaim the Latin poets.  "Let me
really live," says Anacreon, " give me the power
of enjoyment. Truly this is the common sense
of life, yet the heart, in the sunniest present,
will think of the past or future, and few are
heard to say, " Now I am happy." Sophie had
been so, and now came the pang of blighted
affections; at last she slept that kind of heavy
unrefreshing sleep from which we rise wearied
and tired. When she awoke the next morning,




214


The Theatre Fran9ais.


she found Madame Denain by her bed-side; whose
countenance wore an anxious expression, for
Sophie's cheek was burning and her shivering fits
continued. Nothing seemed to give her warmth;
she herself complained of cold, that word which
implies all that is most deathlike and painful.
Very early Madame Denain sent for the
doctor, and when he arrived she watched
his  expression  with  the  utmost  anxiety.
There was a painful effort in Sophie's breathing during the night that had alarmed her, and
which in some degree prepared her for the
terrible communication the doctor made to her
privately, after a careful examination, that the
lungs were dangerously affected. It seemed that
the disease was of long standing; the privations
and exposure of her early years had sown the
seeds of this terrible malady, which strikes
down the most beautiful, which so frequently
"The opening bud to Heaven conveys,
And bids it blossom there."
A close observer might long since have noticed




Madame Denain's Uneasiness.


215


in Sophie's cheek too vivid a colour-the bright
flag which consumption waves over the counteance of the doomed.   It was a melancholy
satisfaction —if such a word can be used in
association  with  great sorrow —for Madame
Denain to known that the shock which Sophie's
nature seemed to have received was not caused
by exposure and her recent exertions; these had
only developed the latent evil, which had
been insidiously undermining her constitution;
but she did blame herself for having paid so
little attention to a cough and a hectic glow,
which she now recalled, and which certainly
should have prevented her undergoing so much
fatigue since her first appearance: when Monsieur
Baron and Mademoiselle Clairon came the
next morning, she frankly expressed her great
uneasiness. It was with difficulty that Monsieur
Baron could give her any comfort for having
advised Sophie to select the stage as a profession,
but he very reasonably urged that no one
can guarantee the issue of any enterprise;
we can only act for the best, and leave the




216


The Thlitre Franfais.


result to a Higher Power, with whom rest
the issues of life and death; that, if we calculated all the possible risks in life, not a
heart would dare to beat, not a hand to be
clasped in another, not a voice to be raised in
joy, for who can say what ills may not be hidden
in ambush around us? It is the business of man
on earth to be humble in the present as he is
ignorant of the future, and to bow before
the unknown.
At Sophie's request, she had been left quite
alone. It was the first deceit in her life when
she said she wanted to sleep again; far otherwise, she wished to listen and to hear the
clock of St. Sauveur striking; she did not
like to ask Madame Denain what time it was,
so sensitive was she lest her slightest emotion
should be noticed; so jealous of her inner
life  and  sensations.  She had recalled, at
first vaguely, and then more distinctly, the
events of the past day. She remembered hearing that the Court carriages were ordered at
eleven, and soon after Madame Denain had




Cortege of the Dauphin.       217
left the clock struck.  She hurriedly threw
a shawl over her, and went to the window,
concealing herself behind the light curtain. It
was a bleak, cold, grey day; heavy rain was
falling; there was little movement in the
street-a painful contrast to the sunniness and
joyousness of the day before, fitly representing
the contrast between her past and present
frame of mind.    Presently she saw the few
loiterers turn and look in the direction of the
palace, while others were running from the
side streets, and stood at the edge of the pavement to see the royal carriage as it passed.
Two or three travelling-coaches and fourgons
preceded that of the Dauphin, the postillions
making the streets echo with the cracking of
their whips. A detachment of the Cent Suisses
headed the cortege; these were to return from
the Barrier, but the Gardes de Corps, who
were to form the escort as far as Blois, with
orders to remain there on duty during the
residence of the Dauphin, immediately followed
the royal carriage, the officers were riding on each




218


The Tleadtre Francais.


side. They wore their long white cloaks, and
the plumes of the helmets drooped in the rain,
which now poured down in torrents; their high
boots and heavy accoutrements gave indications
of a long journey. On the right of the carriage
rode the Count d'Andore. So soon as Sophie
recognised him, she withdrew her head, but
not quickly enough to prevent his seeing her,
for his eyes were fixed on the window.  It
was a momentary glance, an inclination of the
head, and the cortege had swept by, and the
clatter of the troops, the whips of the postillions,
and the rattle of the carriage-wheels died away
in the far distance.
Madame Denain feared that the noise might
have awakened Sophie, and when she went to
her room, she found her, with her shawl wrapped
round her, lying on the bed, almost inanimate,
as if a sudden blow had struck her. It needed
no explanation.  The sad truth was only too
apparent, and with real kindness Mladame Denain carefully refrained from any allusion to
the Count d'Andore.  Sophie remained all the




Opinion of the King's Physician.


219


day in a nervous and sometimes excited state,
and when the doctor returned in the evening,
his report was very unfavourable. Although the
state of her feelings was scarcely suspected
among her associates in the theatre, the interest which she awakened was very great.
The King, on hearing of her illness, sent his
own physician to see her, who confirmed the
worst apprehensions of Dr. Voisin.  The only
wish Sophie expressed was to return to SaintGermain. The noise of the Rue de Paris, and
the constant tramp of the passing troops, recalled the past too vividly to her.  The next
day she was a little stronger and less agitated,
and the doctors, when they saw her, were of
opinion that, if she continued to improve, she
might be moved in a day or two.    This was
a great relief to Sophie.  When we have felt
unhappy in any place, we seek for comfort in
change, and too frequently seek in vain. Still
Saint-Germain  was   sunnier, fresher, more
cheerful than the Rue de Paris, and the associations with Versailles had lost their charm; the




220


2The Thlatre Franai8.


rose tints of the past had changed to the hues
of fallen leaves, and so one evening the small
party of old friends met in the little salon for
the last time-the last time; for although all
spoke of the future, sometimes with confidence,
some who were present were fully aware that
they could scarcely hope to meet again the
young girl they had so much loved and
cherished.  It is always a solemn event when
any act is performed for the last time-the
simplest last words of those we are parting
with, the last drive or walk amid the scenes
we have loved, and, as in the present instance,
the last of meetings with dear friends when
her young life seemed only a few days before
to herself, and to all around her, so full of hope
and promise.




221


CHAPTER XIV.
M ADEMOISELLE CLAIRON'S devotion to
her pupil was untiring; as the theatrical season had closed she accepted Madame Denain's
offer to pass the summer at St. Germain. This
was a great satisfaction to Sophie, for this great
actress possessed the warmest heart and kindliest
sympathies. She was much attached to Sophie,
and she blamed herself for having so strongly
urged her to make choice of the stage; although
it became every day more evident that no mode
of life would have arrested the progress of the
disease, and this seemed to be felt by the poor
child; for when words of encouragement were




222


The Thedtre Franeais.


spoken in her presence, and plans for the future
were entertained, her face would be lit by a pale
incredulous smile, and a tear would course down
her cheek. She was very young to die, with
her life unfulfilled; and this distress was the
more deeply felt by the kind hearts near her,
for it was now the month of July, and nature
was so joyous with the charm of sunshine, so warm
that on an evening Sophie was frequently carried
to the terrace, and listened to the murmur of
the city, watching the shadows as the declining
day shed its purple hues on tower and palace,
on the forest, and the ripples of the Seine. She
never, even to Mademoiselle Clairon, mentioned
the affection which had grown upon her so imperceptibly; only one day she expressed the
hope that the dead in a future existence,
may watch over and protect those they have
loved on earth.
C" I am sure they do so," said Mademoiselle
Clairon, " that when those we love die, we are
never separated from them; although they are
not present to our sight. There is only one




Imrmortality of Love.


223


separation which endures, the separation of the
heart."
"' When voices lose the charm which shed
A tenderness o'er all they said,
Till slowly passing, one by one,
The sweetnesses of love are gone.'
When we have parted in true and loyal affection with another, that affection will for ever
exist even although we should be separated by
death. The husband, the friend, the companion
of childhood never die to us. We never lose
those we love; they are the spirits that watch
over us; as Monsieur de Rance said, when
dying, ' Mes freres, je ne fais que vous pr6c6der.'
If you have loved anyone, and he has been, or
should be parted from you, you will meet him
again. Whoever dies in the Faith of a great
affection assures its immortality."
On another occasion, Sophie asked Mademoiselle Clairon if she believed in Spirits.
" As I have already said," she replied, "I
feel convinced that those with whom we have been




224


The Theatre Frcanais.


0 -associated by ties of deep sympathy, by the communion of heart, are with us in the spirit after
death, if not in person. I have, in my own
life, seen strange events occur. One to whom
I was deeply attached died, and whom, for certain reasons, I had refused to see shortly before
his death; and some time after, while I was at
a party, in the midst of the festivities, there was
a sudden cry, which everyone who was present
heard, and which I recognised as the voice of him
who was once very dear to me; for many months
the same cry was repeated at certain intervals."*
No doubt, in our profession, the imagination is
greatly exercised, and it is calculated to render
us what people call superstitious and credulous;
but I regard the imagination as a link between
the visible and invisible world. God never
bestowed on us the deep sense of beauty, the
warmth of affection, the longing for sympathies, the love and appreciation of so many
objects, animate and inanimate, if, when we pass


* See Appendix.




Sophie's Dream.


225


away, they are all to cease to exist for us. This
connection, which I believe subsists between the
Present and the Future, strengthens all my
deepest convictions and confirms my Faith.
Faith is the highest of blessings.  Doubt the
depth of misery."
One morning, when Madame Denain entered
Sophie's room earlier than usual, she was surprised to see her with a higher colour, and her
eyes sparkling with animation.
" I have had such a delightful dream," she
said; " it seemed to me that I was travelling far
away in a most beautiful country, and the sky was
radiant in its glory, and I felt so happy that I
was almost sorry to awake. I wonder if it was a
dream, maman, or a vision of the future? If so, it
would be a blessing, for I am sometimes so weak
that I think I must be dying. Is it not so,
maman?"
There was a pause.
"I have thought, maman, that it would be
terrible to die without the sacraments of the
Church, and yet I know that the priest is for

Q




226


The Thedtre Fran     iais.


bidden to administer the sacraments to any
actor or actress; I hoped to have lived until
this cruel law was abolished; I feel it is not
to be so, but I will not abjure the profession I adopted so recently, and stigmatize those
who have been most kind and good to me, I
am sure that would be evil in the sight of God,
that God who loves us all."
But happily this harsh law was not always
obeyed, Madame Denain saw the cure of St.
Germain; he was a man of great distinction, and
superior to these prejudices, and it was a blessing
for which Sophie was truly grateful to learn that,
at the risk of incurring the displeasure of his
superiors, he would administer to her the sacraments of the Church.
And after this sad ceremony, when Mademoiselle Clairon and Madame Denain also partook of the rite, Sophie was calm and even
happy; but visibly sinking, her repose was
that of perfect peace, she was gently sliding
away. One evening, so genial and balmy
was the air that carefully wrapped up she was




The Cross of Flower8.


227


carried to the terrace.  A basket of flowers
was placed by her, and her thin hands entwined them into the form of a cross; it was
just completed when it fell on her bosom, emblem of her faith, and beauty, that with the
sunset passed away.


Q 2




228


CHAPTER XV.
"The moon breaks forth-one silver stream of light
Glides from its font in heaven along the night,
Flows in still splendour through the funeral gloom
Of years-and wonders as it clasps the tomb
Through the calm glory, hosts as calm above,
Look on the grave-and by the grave is Love."
yES, there was much love, the love of tender
kind hearts around that grave, consecrated
by affection, and not by the Church; every
effort of all those illustrious by their merits and
talents was unable to induce the Archbishop of
Paris, even in the case of this young, innocent,
well-loved child, to reverse the decree of excom



Memorial of Sophie.


229


munication. She was buried in the small flowergarden at the end of the terrace, where she had
passed so many happy hours; the members of
the Company were present; Monsieur Baron
read the prayers, and all wept as they knelt by
the grave where now a marble cross records the
name of the little flower-girl.*
* In a letter of Talma's to Charles Young upon my
Uncle John's death, he begs to be numbered among the
subscribers to the monument about to be erected to Mr
Kemble in Westminster Abbey; adding the touching
remark: "Pour moi je serai heureux si les pretres me
laissent enterrer dans un coin de mon jardin."-" Record
ofa Girlhood," Vol. I. p. 106. By Frances Anne Kemble.








APPENDIX








233


THE FRENCH STAGE
AND
THE CHURCH.
M ADEMOISELLE CLAIRON had said with
truth that it would be the great object
of her life to relieve the profession of the Stage
from the odium cast upon it by the decrees of
the Church, which, however, as we have seen,
never affected public opinion, for all the eminent
performers of that time, whenever they appeared
on the scene, were crowned with the public
welcome as with flowers. Their pictures, busts,
and engravings were bought with avidity; it was
even proposed to have a medal struck with the




234


The Theatre Franfais.


portrait of Mademoiselle Clairon, which was to
be worn as a decoration. She received magnificent offers from the Emperor of Russia,
through the Princess Galitzin, if she would
make St. Petersburg her residence; the same
Princess had her portrait painted by the
celebrated painter, Carle Van Loo, in which
she is represented as Medea borne through the
air in a car with flying dragons. When Louis
XV. saw the picture, he declared that no one
should possess it but himself; he had it magnificently framed, and hung in his own room with
those portraits which he prized the most; at the
same time he had it engraved, and made the
plate a present to Mademoiselle Clairon, when
the sale of the proofs produced a large income.
On another occasion, when, in a fit of discouragement, she expressed her intention of retiring
from the stage, the Duc de Choiseul and M. de
Labord, the banker of the Court, sent, by order
of the King, sixty thousand francs to her notary,
desiring to know how she would like them
placed, only expressing the King's earnest hope




Appendiz.


23-5


that she would reconsider her determination.
Well might this high appreciation on the part
of the King, the Court, the Magistracy, and
all the great masters of literature and art, render
more intolerable the censures of the Church,
while painful scenes at the graves of dear friends
where, if anywhere, animosity should be buried,
added personal bitterness to the public scandal.
Mademoiselle Clairon said herself, "She felt
she had a right to be honoured by the Church
as well as by the State, that there was nothing
grander or nobler in the arts than to be a great
tragedian, and yet they were subjected to excommunication, in opposition to all public
feeling, and to the sentiments of humanity."
The digests and canons of the Church were
invoked against them, though at the period when
they had been originally fulminated against the
theatre, the Stage was very differently managed
from what it was in the time of Louis XV. But
a great crisis arose.
In 1761, a lawyer named Hulsuc de la Motte,
who warmly sympathised with these views, un



236


The Theatre Franpais.


dertook to promote them by a very rash attack
on the Church; he published a work entitled
"The Liberty of France against the Arbitrary
Power of Excommunication," in which the
advocate endeavoured to prove that there was
no legal power of excommunication; he cited
authorities in his favour, quoted opinions of
eminent lawyers, and concluded with a severe
attack on the clergy, and a great deal about
independence and the liberties of Frenchmen.
It was premature by thirty years, when it
would have been crowned in the Assemblde
Nationale, and the author invited to the honours
of the s6ance; but even the good-tempered insouciant King was not prepared to have the
paeans of freedom sung near the palace. As
for the clergy, they would, if they could, have
condemned the author to the fate of Damiens;
the public feeling, which until now had sympathized with the Stage, was roused against it;
men were startled at this wild shriek for freedom, which seemed to exceed the necessities of
the case —the result was that the work was




Appendix.


237


denounced by M. le Daim, the batonnier of the
Bar, and that by the order of the Court. Monsieur Joly de Fleury, on the 29th April, 1761,
in the presence of a crowded court demanded
that the book should be burned by the public
executioner in the court of the Palais de Justice,
which sentence was carried out; and M. Hulsuc
de la Motte's name was struck off the list of the
Order of Advocates.
Unfortunately for Mademoiselle Clairon, the
author had printed a note to his objectionable
work, expressing his gratitude to her, " for
her generous and noble support in this great
cause," and thus even her great popularity was
overclouded for a short time; but in a few
months the work was forgotten, only no advance
had been made in the desired object of the profession. It was then that an event occurred
which, as it crowned the capital of this injustice,
decided this distinguished performer to retire
from the Com6die Fran9aise.
A very inferior actor, named Dubois, had been
guilty of perjury to evade the payment of a




238


The 7The tre Franfais.


just debt. He affirmed that the money had been
paid, and induced a companion, named Blainville,
to declare that he was present when the money
was paid. The plaintiffs advocate, instead of
bringing forward counter-evidence, urged that
the testimony of either of them was inadmissible,
as their profession had been declared infamous
by law. The other members of the Company
were so indignant at this plea that they prevented the case from coming into Court, by
themselves paying the whole amount due, and
at the same time expelled from the Society
the two members who they were persuaded had
told a falsehood. The dismissal of Blainville
was of no moment, but Dubois was in a more
important position, and he had a daughter
remarkable for her beauty, who had been indebted to Mademoiselle Clairon for her instructions in declamation, and who played frequently
before the Court in graceful, although subordinate,
parts; she was sent by Dubois to the Duc de
Richelieu, and made use of her dramatic powers
to some purpose, when, subdued by her en



Appendix.


239


treaties and tears, the great Minister ordered
the Com6die Franqaise to reinstate her father.
These occurrences took place during the Holy
Week in April, 1765, when a piece called "The
Siege of Calais," a tragedy, by Dubelloy, had
just appeared, in which Dubois had played
the part of Maury; but when he was expelled
an actor, Bellecour, replaced him.
Dubois' daughter had maliciously kept secret
the Minister's order, and she only showed it
at the last moment, when a great disturbance
was the consequence.   The celebrated actor,
Monsieur Lekain, declared that he would not
appear on the stage with Dubois.   Brizard,
Mole, Dauberval, who all had parts, left the
theatre. Mademoiselle Clairon pleaded illness.
All this time the theatre was filling, until at
last every part of the house was crowded to
see the famous piece.   The hour for commencing had long passed, and there was no
sign of the curtain rising.  The audience became impatient.  At last it rose, to show a
few of the inferior actors, who explained the




240


The T'Udtre Frwanais.


state of affairs as well as they could, and
offered to perform some other piece which did
not require such an array of talent; but this
did not satisfy the audience, who were frantic.
"They are the comedians of the King," they
exclaimed, " and refuse to obey the Royal commands; send them   all to prison I"  "Where
is the guard?"  "They are too insolent, this
royal company; prison will do them good 1" In
fact, it became a great demonstration of loyalty,
and the Company were accused of treason.
After two hours of this tumult, the guards
lined all the passages and exits of the theatre,
and the curtain fell, but the delinquents had
left. In the middle of the night, four of the
actors were seized and carried to the prison
of the Fort l'Eveque. Mademoiselle Clairon was
not arrested until the next morning, and she
was kept there four days, when she was released
from her prison, but was sentenced to seclusion
for three weeks; but, strange contradiction
during her short term of imprisonment, she
received every attention from the Court, and all




Appendix.


241


the most illustrious and distinguished persons
of the realm.  And yet she had to submit to
this gross indignity.  It was on this occasion
that Voltaire wrote to her:
"L'homme qui s'interesse le plus a la gloire
de Mademoiselle Clairon et a l'honneur des
beaux-arts, la supplie trbs-instamment de saisir
ce moment pour declarer que c'est une contradiction trop absurde d'etre au Fort l'Eveque si on
ne joue pas, et d'etre excommunie si on joue;
qu'il est impossible de soutenir ce double affront.
Les acteurs, qui ont marque tant de sentiment,
d'honneur dans cette affaire, se joindront sans
doute a elle. Que Mademoiselle Clairon reusisse
ou ne reusisse pas, elle sera reveree du public."
Her indignation determined her, in opposition
to all the entreaties, even of those who had
recently treated her so ill, to retire from the
Stage, but she waited until the Comrdie Fran9aise recommenced its representations, and then
she publicly announced her intention, denouncing
at the same time the cruelty with which the
Company was treated by the Ecclesiastical
B




242


The Thedtre Franfais.


authorities; and she carried out her intention,
in spite of all the efforts of her friends to induce her to reconsider it.  Even the King
condescended again to urge her to remain, and His
Majesty doubled the subvention, and paid the
debts of the Company, which amounted in 1758
to  270,000  francs; she was only forty-two
years of age and in the fulness of her powers;
but the ignominy with which she had been
treated, she said, " mavait fait trop sentir
la pesanteur, le danger et l'avilissement de
mes chaines, pour que je consentisse a les
porter plus longtemps; je me devais de plus
une vengeance; ma retraite me parut la seule
honnete pour moi, elle satisfait C tout d'autant
mieux que, n'ayant que quarante-deux ans,
il m'etait permis de compter sur quelques
regrets."
Mademoiselle Clairon now set herself to work
to achieve the entire enfranchisement of the
French Stage from the ban of the Church.
Pamphlets were written on the subject, and
even High-Churchmen desired that an ecclesi



Appendix.


243


astical council should be called to reverse these
acts  of excommunication.   The   arguments
adduced by the supporters of the Stage were
unanswerable, and from time to time the enforcement of the law was set aside, but it was
never abolished; and, strange to say, that even
during the French Revolution the same laws
prevailed, although this may have arisen from
the entire indifference to any Church; but these
decrees were never distinctly rescinded until so
recently as the year 1849, when the Provincial
Council, held at Rheims, suppressed by a special
act the censure passed by the Gallican Church
on the theatrical profession, this decision being
formally ratified at Rome the following year.
From this time the Church in France has seen
that the Stage is only second to itself in influence, and during the many changes of
dynasties and parties the State has endeavoured
by a generous support to direct that influence
into a beneficent direction.




244


MADEMOISELLE CLAIRON AND THE SPIRIT.
THE account which Mademoiselle Clairon gives
of the spirit by which she was haunted is so
remarkable that it is worth narrating in her
own words:
" Two years and a half had elapsed since
my last parting with Monsieur de S, and
the death of my beloved friend.  He sent, on
his death-bed, to beg I would come and see
him, but I had not the courage for such an
interview, so he died, having with him at the
time only his servant and an old woman who
nursed him.   He then resided in the Rue
Basse du Rempart, near the Chaussee d'Antin.




Appendix.


245


I lived in the Rue de Bussy, near the Rue
de Seine and the Abbey Saint-Germain.  My
mother and a few friends were supping with
me. My usual circle consisted of a superintendent of the Menus Plaisirs, whose services
1 constantly required in my arrangements
with the Gentlemen of the Chamber; an
actor in one of the minor theatres, named
Roseby, and a limited circle of friends. Our
little suppers at this date were infinitely gayer
than the most brilliant fetes have been for the
last twenty years. I had just finished singing
some pretty little  airs, which  were much
applauded, when, as the clock struck eleven,
a cry of anguish was heard. Its painful expression and prolongation alarmed everyone.
I was seized with such an emotion that I
fainted away.
"Some present at first thought that it was
a trick in which I was playing a part, and
that even my fainting was mere acting; but
my paleness and trembling, the tears which I
shed, the earnestness with which I entreated




246


The Thedtre Francais.


some of the party to pass the night with me,
proved my sincerity.  We discussed what it
could possibly be, and it was resolved to place
a watch in the street, in case it was repeated
the next night.
"It was so; all my people, my friends, my
neighbours heard the same cry, and always at
the same hour, under my windows; nor was it
possible for me to imagine that it was intended for any other than myself.  I rarely
supped out, but whenever I did so the cry
was never heard, yet frequently on my return it would burst forth in the midst of us.
Once when the President B, with whom I
had been supping, conducted me home, to protect me from any danger, as he was bidding
me good night at my door, the cry sounded
between us.   He was aware of this painful
shriek haunting me, and yet was so overcome
he was put into his carriage more dead than
alive.
"On another occasion, I requested Roseby
to accompany me to the Rue Saint Honor/,




Appendix.


247


to choose some stuffs, and afterwards to
Mademoiselle de Saint P —, who lived near
the Porte Saint Denis. The one topic of our
conversation was my ghost (as it was now
called). A young man who was there, an entire disbeliever in supernatural causes, begged
me to call up the spirit; either from weakness
or from bravado, I did as he requested, and
immediately the cry was repeated three times.
It sounded more terrible than   ever.   We
managed to return to the carriage, but on
our arrival at my house both of us had fainted.
" Once all the company of the Com6die Fran9aise had been ordered to Versailles. We were
to pass three days there.  Sufficient accommodation had not been provided, and Madame
Grandval could not find an apartment. I offered
to have another bed put in my bed-room for her.
She accepted, and we went to bed.   As my
maid was undressing, for she had to sleep in
the same room, I said, ' Here in the country, we
are out of the way of my ghost, and it is such
a stormy night, the voice will never find me.'




248


The Thedtre FranCais.


At that moment the shriek was heard, Madame
Grandval thought the house was possessed by
demons. She started up in her night-dress,
and endeavoured to rush out of the place,
but returned to the room still more alarmed
by the stillness and darkness without.  But
none closed their eyes in the house that
night.
"Seven or eight days afterwards, as the
usual society was in my salon, when the
clock struck eleven, a gun was fired at my
window. We saw the flash, but the window
was not broken. Everyone thought it was
an attempt on my life, and that it was necessary to take precautions.  The Superintendent
went at once to Monsieur de Marville, the
Lieutenant of the Police. All the houses near
my own were searched. The next night, police
were placed in the houses near, and others
were stationed in the street, but again the
same explosion was heard, although no one was
able to trace where the shot was fired from.
" I at last grew accustomed to these annoy



Appendix.


249


ances, and it evidently was not intended to do
me any harm. I ceased to occupy myself with
them. One night, it being unusually warm,
I opened my window, and with the Superintendent was leaning over the balcony, when
suddenly a shot was fired, and both of us fell
into the room  and lay   motionless.  When
we recovered from our swoon, it was found
that each of us had received a severe blow on
the face; the day following Mademoiselle Dumesnil invited me to a little fete that she gave
in her house at the Barriere Blanche. I started
with my maid at eleven o'clock; the moon shone
brightly as we drove along the Boulevards; as
we passed by the house, my maid asked me:
Is it not here that M. de S- died?'
"' Yes!' I replied, ' according to the information I have received, it must have been one of
these two houses.'
" As soon as I had uttered the words, from
one of them a shot was fired; it passed through
our carriage. The coachman, thinking that we
were attacked by robbers, drove furiously. We




250         The Theatre Fra neai8.
arrived at Mademoiselle Dumesnil's trembling
with alarm. But after this I was left at peace
for some time.
" Some time elapsed, and I took a small house
in the Rue des Marais. I was told that Racine
had resided there forty years, that it was there
he composed his immortal works, that Adrienne
Lecouvreur had also lived and died there. The
very walls of the house seemed to my imagination to be imbued with poetry and talent. One
day an aged lady called on me, and said she had
some very important communication to make.
She commenced by telling me she never went to
plays, and therefore never had the opportunity
of seeing me.
"' You see, Mademoiselle,' she added, ' that
I am very agitated. I was the intimate friend
of M. de S —, and the only person he would see
the last year of his life; we passed hours in
speaking of you;' and she then asked, with her
eyes full of tears, why I refused to see him when
he was dying? I told her, because I was sure
it would have given him too much pain, but I




Appendir.


251


hoped, as she had been a friend of Monsieur
de S —, that she did not condemn me for
this.  ' Condemn you, no I' she replied, 'for
we only owe such an obligation to our relations, or our benefactors, and I am aware that
you owed him no gratitude, and he well appreciated this fact, but his excitement of character
overmastered his judgment, and I am pained to tell
you that your declining to see him accelerated his
end. He counted every minute, always expecting
you, in spite of your message. When, at half-past
ten at night, his servants entered and told him
that you persisted in your refusal, he took
my hand, and with a cry of agony exclaimed,
'She is cruel! too cruel!  But she will gain
nothing by this.  I will pursue her after my
death, as I have pursued her through life.'
"I need not tell you, my dear friend, what
an effect these words had on me; the coincidence
of all these extraordinary manifestations with
this terrible expression filled me with distress
and alarm. I felt as if all my life I was doomed
to this torture; but not so, from this moment




252         The Thedtre Franfis.
I heard nothing more.   Here is a true history
as it occurred; people may call this a coincidence, or chance, all I feel is that what men
call chance may be the secret influence that
directs this world."




253


REFLECTIONS
OF
MADEMOISELLE           CLAIRON.
I.
jMON etat habituel est la souffrance. Je vois
que c'est celui de la plus grande partie de
l'humanite, mais toujours, je crois, plus a plaindre
que moi. 11 faut donc m'armer de patience et de
raison, 6tre sobre, mesurer mes forces, borner mes
d6sirs, esperer tout du temps, de mon courage,
de ma vanitd meme, et pour me consoler de ce
que je souffre, songer k tout ce que je ne souffre
pas.




254


254The The'atre Firanvais.


IL.
Autant qu'il me sera possible, Jo dois de'rober
'a toutes les personnes quo je vois, la connaissance
do mos infirmit6s, et isurtout 'do mes chagrins.
Tout est 6gal aux indiff~rons; los sots font dos
commentaires, los m6chans, triomphent; l'amnitid
s'afflige; et cbez ces derniers memes, I'eunui, 1.
d6gof~t suivont do pr~s la compassion. Jo ii'ai
presque jamais retire do mes plaintes quo des airs
inutiles ou. des convictions d6cbirantes.
II faut done tacher d'acqu6rir assez do grandour, do courage pour suffiro seulo ~ mos peines,
et pour no montrer chez los autros et choz mnoi
quo les agr6mens qui peuvont me faire de'sirer.
Jo no dois jamais oublier quo je suis nee dans
l'obscurit6' la plus profondo; on murmurer serait
un crime; en rougir, uno sottise. Tout ce que
jo puis est do r~parer cetto volonhS du sort par
la douceur, l'honne~tetd, l' galit4 d'humeur, les




Appendiz.


255


connaissances de  1'esprit et les vertus de
l'ame.
IV.
On fait toujours un crime a celui qui n'a ni
naissance ni fortune.
V.
Ne pas faire tout le bien qu'on peut dans ce
monde c'est etre   ingrat envers l'humanit6.
Qu'importe la reconnaissance?  C'est assez de
pouvoir se dire: il est un malheureux de moins!
et peut-htre mon coeur trop tendre n'aurait pu
suffire si j'en avais trouve que des reconnaissans.
Mais je crois qu'il est necessaire de ne jamais
aller plus loin qu'on n'en  est requis; comme
on ne peut pas tout, il ne faut pas s'6ter les
moyens de venir au secours d'un autre. La
nature ne donne pas la m  eme 6l6vation a toutes
les ames; il en est peu d'assez nobles pour
sentir tout le charme de la reconnaissance, et




256


The Th&tre Francais.


toutes celles qui ne le sentent pas sont nulles
ou poss6d6es par l'envie. Plus on fait pour elles,
plus on les imite, et c'est manquer 6galement de
prudence et d'humanitd que de mettre les hommes
en 6tat de devenir des mechans.
VI.
II faut donner sans rien pr6tendre; ne rien
recevoir au-dessus de ce qu'on donne. Recevoir
en pur don est sfrement la plus grande preuve
de respect et d'attachement qu'on puisse donner,
puisque c'est engager son opinion, sa delicatesse
et sa liberte. Si celui qui donne est estimable,
si c'est de consideration ou d'amiti6 qu'il vous
oblige; s'il vous plait de croire qu'en recevant
vous lui prouvez d'attachement, de regret ou
estime, il faut accepter sans doute, et regarder
comme un grand bien de pouvoir s'abandonner
aux doux sentimens de la reconnaissance.




App endix,25


257


VII.
C'ost presqao sans rdfie'chir sur elles quo nous
accumulous nos anne'os; la douce pr6vention ou
la pauvrot6 do cour qui chorchent 'a nous plaire,
la d~1icatesso do nos arnis, I'aveugplement do notre
vauitC, nous empe'chent d'apercevoir chaque jour
le ravage que chaque jour ame"rne. D'illusion en
illusion, nous arrivons auL terme do la vie, nie
laissant souvent apr~s nous qu'9un triste souvenir
de nos 6garemens et do nos ridicules pr~tentions.
II doit echro uno facon d'exister convenablo h.
chaque Acgo; la naturoe prevoyanto ot bonno, a
du~ songor a nous procuror los plaisirs et los de6 -dommag~emens do tous los temps, et la raison
doit nous de'fendre d'en prdtendro d'autros.
Jo jouirai d'uno fagon douco do tout ce quo je
pourrai mo trouver do m6ritant; jo f'erai l'impossible pour r6parer co quo j'aurai fait do r~pr6 -hensive.
D6truiro mes d6fauts, former muon &mo I. la
vertu, la rendre sup~rieuro 'a tous los e'6vernens,
zn6riter toujours quo je me pardonno et m'estiwe,
S




258


The Thlitre Francais.


moi-mnme, voill, je crois, les moyens les plus
strs de me faire supporter et, peut-tre, cherir
ma solitude. Le repos du corps et la paix de
l'ame, des livres, des rdflexions, l'attention suivie
de rendre heureux tout ce qui m'entoure, me
feront achever ma vie sans impatience sur sa
dur6e, et, j'ose 1'espdrer, sans faiblesse sur sa
perte.  A mon age et dans ma position, voilk
sirement ce que je peux devenir de mieux; je
m'y tiendrai.
VIII.
Pour remplir le devoir que la raison m'impose,
pour etre en dtat de me juger moi-meme, je dois
done remonter aux principes de tout.
Que suis-je? Qu'a-t-on fait? Qu'ai-je?




259


STUDIES FOR THE STAGE.
*MADEMOISELLE CLAIRON has left a formidable list of the studies required for the
stage.
After Dancing she places Drawing.
"All actors," she says, "should be able to
draw, they would then find it easier to understand how characters should be grouped
on the stage; the picturesque, which is essential
to every scene, would then be studied in the
attitudes and in the costumes; in great scenic
effects, the groups and masses would be properly disposed; but if an actor has not studied
drawing then he should consult the best painters
and sculptors."




260


The Theatre Francais.


Music.
"If not deeply studied, the first principles
of it should be understood, so as to know the
compass of the voice, to render its expression
easier, to be able to moderate, to sustain, and
vary the tone, and to give to plaintive expressions the modulation which they require.
"Without this knowledge it is impossible to
act Corneille, it would be incurring the evil of
appearing exaggerated or undignified."
Language, Geography, and Literature.
"A study of our language is most important,
for the theatre should be the school for strangers. It is inconceivable that anyone should
attempt to represent the great masters of the
nation and not have studied the force of every
expression; he who does not know the value
of words cannot know the value of the ideas
they represent, and I do not comprehend how
it is that MM. les Gentilshommes de la Chambre




Appendix.


261


accept, and how the public tolerate those who
it is evident are ignorant of the first principles
of our language."
" You cannot pretend to give an opinion on
a great historic drama without a knowledge of
history and geography. An acquaintance with
stage rules, a keen sense of hearing, good
sense, and a mind attentive, clear, and intelligent are not sufficient. History, geography,
and dramatic composition, ancient arid modern,
all kinds of poetry, must be well known before
it is possible to judge whether an author has
mastered all the circumstances and incidents
connected with the characters which he represents.  After all Corneille, Racine, Voltaire
must submit their works to the judgment of
actors, and, indeed, where could they find any
more impartial tribunal?"




262


THE STAGE AND THE PEOPLE.
HE influence of the stage on the character and
morals of the people has latterly attracted
much public attention, and at the last meeting
of the Church Congress the Rev. the Earl of Mulgrave in a most powerful address urged the claims
of the Stage on the sympathies of the Church.
"The theatres, offering satisfaction to a taste
which is in its own nature perfectly pure, may
surely be declared a most important agent in
the education of a people. What other form of
popular recreation is possessed of such wonderfully teaching powers as the stage? I speak of
it now in its purity, as it ought to be, not as




Appendix.


263


it is. It has two voices by which it appeals to
the human heart and life-tragedy and comedy.
Through tragedy it excites towards the attainment of the highest virtues, whilst it warns
against the spurious attractions of evil. The
tenderest emotions are provoked, sympathy
stimulated and taught, the inner man braced
up to play a noble part in the great drama of
every-day life. Through comedy the follies and
vices of a present age are held up to ridicule
and scorn, the absurdities of a pampered
society exposed to contempt, and so warned
against imitation.
"It is no argument against what is in its
own essence virtuous, the fact of its having
become vicious.  It may be surely admitted
that these two great literary and dramatic
powers of tragedy and comedy have been perverted in a degree by the theatre, and yet
not on that account should the theatre be
declaimed against as a moral, and therefore
social evil. An organ or other musical instrument, quite perfect in its construction, can



264


The Theatre Francais.


not logically be charged with that awful discord which the fingers of an utterly unmusical person may have caused. Blame the
ignorance and unscientific touch of the player.
but  exonerate the   instrument.   Vice and
buffoonery, the children of a depraved public
taste, may disgrace dramatic art, but not
on that account is the drama to be decried
against.
" There have been those amongst our English
actors and actresses who have elevated the
science of the drama; who have exercised its
beneficial powers, and made its moral impression
felt on the heart.  There are those in the
present day, I believe, who honestly strive to
obtain for the stage what the stage has,
through its own insincerities, been denied-the
Church's sympathy. It is an easy matter, but
I doubt its fairness, to blame the actor for
the abuses of his profession. What has the
Church done? Condemned, abused, denounced
the theatres in councils, sermons, tracts, and
platform  addresses.  But what has she done




Appendix.


265


towards its moral reform? And will history
allow it to be said that she has done nothing
because she has diligently and carefully inquired into the matter, and that the drama
is in its essence an evil?  Even if history
would allow this, I dare to say that on its
pages there is no record —no, and there never
will be such a record-of its being the Church's
duty, when brought face to face with evil, to
leave that evil to become evil even to itself.
"I would advocate, on the part of the
Church towards the stage, a sympathy which,
whilst it is tender, shall be true. There must
be no lowering by the Church of her standard
to that of the world. Where she recognises
a recreation as beneficial, let her, through her
laymen, adopt it for her childien's advantage.
This work of theatrical reform is a special
work for the godly layman; one that will be
found to require the greatest prudence, the
nicest tact, the quickest discrimination-the
employment of all the talents of a true gentle



266


The Theatre Francais.


man, the courage of a Christian man-one
that must be given up bravely if found impracticable. But this work of the reformation
of the stage must not be given up until a
fair and honest endeavour has been made
' that all that is beautiful shall live and all
that is base shall die.' "
THE END.


London: Printed by A. Schulhe, IS. Poland Street.




MESSR. HUST &BLACETT'








13, GRATr MsRLBOROUOH STRrET.


MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S
LIST OF NEW WORKS.
ROYAL WINDSOR. By W. HEPWORTH DIXON.
SECOND EDITION. Volumes I. and II. Demy 8vo. 30s. To be
completed in 2 more volumes.
CONTENTS OF VOLS. I. AND II.-Castle Hill, Norman Keep, First King's House,
Lion Heart, Kingless Windsor, Windsor Won, Geoffrey Plantagenet, Windsor
Lost, The Fallen Deputy, The Queen Mother, Maud de Braose, The Barons'
War, Second King's House, Edward of Carnarvon, Perot de Gaveston, Isabel
de France, Edward of Windsor, Crecy, Patron Saints. St George, Society of
St. George, Lady Salisbury, David King of Scots, Third King's House, Ballad
Windsor, The Fair Countess, Richard of Bordeaux, Court Parties, Royal Favourites, Rehearsing for Windsor, In the Great Hall, Simon de Burley, Radcote
Bridge, A Feast of Death, Geoffrey Chaucer, At Winchester Tower, St. George's
Chapel, The Little Queen, At Windsor, Duchess Philippote, The Windsor Plot,
Bolingbroke, Court of Chivalry, Wager of Battle, Deserted Little Queen, Captive
Little Queen, A New Year's Plot, Night of the Kings, Exit Little Queen, Dona
Juana, Constance of York, The Norman Tower, The Legal Heir, Prince Hal,
The Devil's Tower, In Captivity Captive, Attempt at Rescue, Agincourt, Kaiser
Sigismund, The Witch Queen, Sweet Kate, The Maid of Honour, Lady Jane,
Henry of Windsor, Richard of York, Two Duchesses, York and Lancaster,
Union of the Roses.
" ' Royal Windsor' follows in the same lines as ' Her Majesty's Tower,' and aims
at weaving a series of popular sketches of striking events which centre round
Windsor Castle. Mr Dixon makes everything vivid and picturesque. Those who
liked ' Her Majesty's Tower' will find these volumes equally pleasant reading."Athenunm.
"A truly fine and interesting book. It is a valuable contribution to English
history; worthy of Mr. Dixon's fame, worthy of its grand subject."-Morning Post.
"Mr. Dixon has supplied us with a highly entertaining book. 'Royal Windsor'
is eminently a popular work, bristling with anecdotes and amusing sketches of
historical characters. It is carefully written, and is exceedingly pleasant reading.
The story is brightly told; not a dull page can be found. Mr. Dixon is to be congratulated on having put so much information into so agreeable a shape."-Examiner.
" These volumes will quickly find favour with the widest and most inclusive circle
of readers. From the first days of Norman Windsor to the Plantagenet period Mr.
Dixon tells the story of this famous castle in his own picturesque, bright, and vigorous way."-Daily Telegraph,
"*Mr. Hepworth Dixon has found a congenial subject in 'Royal Windsor.' His
exploration of the Tower of London for a similar purpose, and the curious and careful researches which his study of that fatal fortress occasioned, had furnished him
with an abundance and variety of materials for his present monograph on an
ancient keep and palace of the English Monarchy. Under the sanction of the Queen,
he has enjoyed exceptional opportunities of most searching and complete investigation of the Royal House and every other part of Windsor Castle, in and out, above
ground and below ground."-Daily News.
"' Royal Windsor' is a worthy companion to ' Her Majesty's Tower.' It brings
before the reader with no less fidelity the splendid pageants of history, and it gives
an animated series of tableaux, the characters in which are so life-like that they
seem again to pass in very flesh and blood before our eyes."-Sunday Times.
"' In ' Royal Windsor' Mr. Dixon has found a subject most rich in opportunities
for the gorgeous word-painting and the dramatic power of which he has unquestionable command. The Royal dwelling in its various phases-Saxon huntinglodge, Norman keep, and Palace-Castle, altered, enriched, and added to by king
after king-supplies in vulgar phrase the peg on which to hang the storied chronicle
of the kings and captives who all these years have tenanted its walls. The work
Is pre-eminently one for the general public."- Graphic.


1




18, GB AT MiaLBOROUO   Snorzw.


MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S
NEW        WORKS —Continued.
A LEGACY: Being the Life and Remains of JOHN
MATLN, Schoolmaster and Poet. Written and Edited by the
Author of " JomN HAF     x." 2 vols. crown 8vo. With Portrait. 21s.
"This is, in many respects, a remarkable book. It records the life, work, aspirations, and death of a schoolmaster and poet, of lowly birth but high-strung and
ambitious soul. His writings brim with vivid thought, keen analysis of feeling, touches of poetic sentiment, and trenchant criticism of men and books, expressed in scholarly language."-Guardian.
"Mrs. Craik has related a beautiful and pathetic story-a story of faith and
courage and untiring energy on the part of a young and gifted man, who might
under other circumstances have won a place in literature. The story Is one worth
reading."-Pall Mall Gazette.
" In these volumes a well-known novelist presents us with a history so touching,
so marvellous, and so simple, as no invention could produce. Few more pathetic
or more instructive volumes have fallen in our way."-Morning Post.
"' We strongly recommend our readers to procure this charming book, not only
because it is a gern of beautiful writing, showing the finished style and graceful
heart of the talented authoress, but because the subject matter in itself is of
absorbing interest"-Church Review.
A YOUNG SQUIRE OF THE SEVENTEENTH
CENTURY, from the Papers of CHRISTOPHER JEAFFRESON, of Dullingham House, Cambridgeshire. Edited by JOHN COBDa JEAFFRisoN, Author of "A Book about Doctors," &c. 2 vols. crown 8vo. 21B.
"Two volumes of very attractive matter:-letters which illustrate agriculture,
commerce, war, love, and social manners, accounts of passing public events, and
details which are not to be found in the Gazettes, and which come with singular
freshness from private letters."-Athenmum.
"Two agreeable and important volumes. They deserve to be placed on library
shelves with Pepys, Evelyn, and Reresby." —Nots and Queries.
" In the interests of history a publication such as the present is of almost incalculable value.  Every historical student ought to make himself acquainted
with these two very delightful volumes" —Morning Post.
HISTORY OF ENGLISH HUMOUR. By the
Rev- A. G. L'ESTRANGE, Author of "The Life of the Rev W.
Harness," &c. 2 vols. crown 8vo.    21s.
"This work contains a large and varied amount of information. It is impossible
to give any idea of the wealth of anecdote and epigram in its page, and for anything like a proper appreciation of its value we must refer our readers to the book
itself."-John Bull.
"This work gives evidence of a vast deal of industry and study of the subject,
and is distinguished by considerable analytical power, and contains many pleasant
anecdotes."-Morning Post.
"A book of the highest mark and character. The literary man, the antiquarian,
and the historian will combine in pronouncing it worthy of admission into every
well-selected library."'-Meenger.
MY LIFE, FROM 1815 TO 1849. By CHARLES LOFTUS,
formerly of the Royal Navy, late of the Coldstream        Guards.
Author of "t My Youth by Sea and Land." 2 vols. crown 8vo. 21s.
' The praise which the A thenasum gave to the first portion of Major Loftus's work,
may be fairly awarded to the second. These reminiscences are pleasantly told.
There is a cheeriness about them which communicates itself to the reader."Atheneum.
"A thoroughly interesting and readable book, which we heartily recommend as
one of the most characteristic autobiographies we ever read" —Stunda-d.


3




18, GaEAT MARLBOROUG1 STAXrT.
MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S
PUBLICATIONS — Continued.
THE THEATRE FRANCAIS IN THE REIGN
OF LOUIS XV. By ALEXANDER BALLIE COOHRANE, M.P.              1 vol.
demy 8vo. 15s.
CONVERSATIONS WITH M. THIERS, M. GUIZOT,
and other Distinguished Persons, during the Second Empire. By
the Late NRssAU W SENIOR. Edited by his Daughter, M3. C. M.
SIMPSON. 2 vols. demy 8vo. 30s.
Among other persons whose conversations are recorded in these volumes are
King Leopold; the Due de Broglie; Lord Cowley; Counts Arrivabene, Corcelle, Daru, Flahault, Kergolay, Montalembert; Generals Lamoricibre and
Chrzanowski; Sir Henry Ellis; Messieurs Ampere, Beaumont, Blanchard,
Bouffet, Auguste Chevalier, Victor Cousin, De Witt, Duchfttel, Duepetiaux,
Dumon, Dussard, Duvergier de Hauranne, LUon Faucher, Frbre-Orban, Grimblot, Guizot, Lafitte, Labaume, Lamartine, Lanjuinais, Mallac, Manin, Mtdrimne,
Mignet, Jules Mohl, Montanelli, Odillon-Barrot, Quetelet, Rdmusat, Rogier,
Rivet, Rossini, Horace Say,. Thiers, Trouvd-Chauvel, Villemain, Wolowski;
Mesdames Circourt, Cornu, Ristori, &c.
"This new series of Mr. Senior's ' Conversations' has been for some years past
known in manuscript to his more intimate friends, and it has always been felt that
no former series would prove more valuable or important. Mr. Senior had a social
position which gave him admission into the best literary and political circles of
Paris. He was a cultivated and sensible man, who knew how to take full advantage of such an opening. And above all, he had by long practice so trained his
memory as to enable it to recall all the substance, and often the words, of the long
conversations which he was always holding. These conversations he wrote down
with a surprising accuracy, and then handed the manuscript to his friends, that
they might correct or modify his report of what they had said. This book thus
contains the opinions of eminent men given in the freedom of conversation, and
afterwards carefully revised. Of their value there cannot be a question. The book
is one of permanent historical interest. There is scarcely a page without some
memorable statement by some memorable man. Politics and society and literature
-the three great interests that make up life-are all discussed in turn, and there is
nodiscussion which is unproductive of weighty thought or striking fact."-Athenaunr.
"The present selection of Mr. Senior's Journals, edited with remarkable skill
and judgment by Mrs. Simpson, is extraordinarily full and interesting. Although
the unreserved and original communications of Thiers are especially fascinating,
the book would be abundantly interesting if it consisted only of the reports of
conversations with Guizot, Montalembert, Cousin, Lamartine, and other persons of
celebrity and eminence."-Saturday Review.
"These conversations extend from the year 18T52 to 1860, and will be found to
refer to some of the most interesting public events of our time-the Revolution of
1848, the Crimean War, the French Alliance, the attempt on the life of Louis Napoleon, the Indian Mutiny, and the Italian campaign of 18.59. Besides these great
public occurrences of European celebrity, we have many very curious and piquant
anecdotes of a private character, and expressions of opinion on men and things by
persons of eminence. All that is said in these volumes of France, England, and
Russia, is as interesting now as when it was first uttered."-Standard.
"The two new volumes of the late Mr. Nassau Senior's most interesting conversations give us the ideas of some eminent foreign statesmen on the Eastern Question. They embrace the eventful years from 1852 to 1860, during which Mr. Senior
paid prolonged visits to Paris, and conversed on the most confidential terms with
some of the shrewdest men of the time. They set forth the opinions of those who
had the best means of informing themselves on Russian objects and English interests. They abound, besides, in most interesting details as to the personal character
of the Emperor Nicholas and his successor; as to the relations of Russia and
Austria; as to the social condition and resources of the two empires; as to the considerations that govern their policy, and their respective capabilities as fighting
Powers." —Bkwood's Magazine.
3




18, GmIT MAurLoBOUw 8TmR.
MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S
NEW WORKS —Continued.
HISTORY OF TWO QUEENS: CATHARINE
OF ARAGON and ANNE BOLEYN.               By W. Hzxwowrn DIXw.
Second Edition. Vols. 1 & 2. Demy 8vo. 80s.
"In two handsome volumes Mr. Dixon here gives us the first instalment of a
new historical work on a most attractive subject. The book is in many respect a
favourable specimen of Mr. Dixon's powers It is the most painstaking and
elaborate that he has yet written.. On the whole, we may say that the book
is one which will sustain the reputation of its author as a writer of great power
and versatility, that it gives a new aspect to many an old subject, and presents in
* very striking light some of the most recent discoveries in English history."A thenmum.
"In these volumes the author exhibits in a signal manner his special powers
and finest endowments. It is obvious that the historian has been at especial pains
to justify his reputation, to strengthen his hold upon the learned, and also to
extend his sway over the many who prize an attractive style and interestig narrative more highly than laborious research and philosophic insight."-Morning Post.
" The thanks of all students of English history are due to Mr. Hepworth Dixon
for his clever and original work, ' History of two Queens.' The book is a valuable
contribution to English history. The author has consulted a number of original
sources of information-in particular the archives at Simanca, Alcala, and Venice.
Mr. Dixon is a skilful writer. His style, singularly vivid, graphic, and dramatiis alive with human and artistic interest Some of the incidental deariptios
reach a very high level of picturesque power." —Daily News.
VOLS. III. & IV. OF THE HISTORY OF TWO
QUEENS: CATHARINE OF ARAGON and ANNE BOLEYN.
By W. HBPWORTH DixoN. SecondEdition. Demy 8vo. Price 30s.
Completing the Work.
"These concluding volumes of Mr. Dixon's ' History of two Queens ' will be perused with keen interest by thousands of readers Whilst no less valuable to the
student, they will be far more enthralling to the general reader than the earlier
half of the history. Every page of what may be termed Anne Boleyn's story affords
a happy illustration of the anthor's vivid and picturesque style  The work should
be found in every library."-Post.
Mr. Dixon has pre-eminently the art of interesting his readers. He has produced a narrative of considerable value, conceived in a spirit of fairnea, and
written with power and picturesque effect."-Daily Nem.
HISTORY OF WILLIAM PENN, Founder of
Pennsylvania. By W    HEPWOBTa    DIxoN. A Nsw LBmax       EDIoTIN.
1 vol. demy 8vo, with Portrait. 12s.
" Mr. Dixon's ' William Penn' is, perhaps, the best of his booka  He as now revised and issued it with the addition of much fresh matter. It is now offered in a
sumptuous volume, matching with Mr. Dixon's recent books, to a new generation of
readers, who will thank Mr. Dixon for his interesting and instructive memoir of
one of the worthies of England."-Examner.
FREERUSSIA. By W. HEPWORTH DIXON. Third
Edition. 2 vols. 8vo, with Coloured Illustrations. 30s.
"Mr. Dixon's book will be certain not only to interest but to please it readers
and it deserves to do so. It contains a great deal that is worthy of attention, and
is likely to produce a very useful effect."-Saturr ay Revw.
THE SWITZERS.                   By W. HEPWORBT DIXON.
Third Edition.   1 vol. demy 8vo. 15s.
"A lively, interesting, and altogether novel book on Switzerland. It is full of
valuable information on social, political, and ecclesiastical question, and, like all
Mr. Dixon's books, is eminently readable."-DailY Nvs.
*1




18, GREAT MARLBOROUQH STRhET.


MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S
NEW        WORKS —Continued.
MEMOIRS OF GEORGIANA, LADY CHATTERTON; With some Passages from        HER DIUAY. By E. HENEAGE
DERING. 1 vol. demy 8vo. 15s.
Among other persons mentioned in this work are Lords Lansdowne, Brougham,
Macaulay, Lytton, Houghton; Messrs. Wilberforce, Wordsworth, Hallam,
Rogers, Moore, Sydney Smith, Landor, Lockhart, Fonblanque, Warburton,
Harness, Chantrey; Count Montalembert, Dr. Ullathorne, Dr. Newman,
Joanna Baillle, Lady Gifford, Lady Cork, Mrs. Somerville, Mrs. Norton, &c.
"Lady Chatterton's Diary gives a sketch of society during a well known but
ever-interesting period. Mr. Dering may be congratulated on having furnished a
graceful epilogue to the story of an interesting life,"-Athenrfum.
"In this work we have the pleasant picture of a literary artist and an amiable
lady, and some interesting anecdotes which give value to the volume." —John Bull.
"In this agreeable volume Mr. Dering has succeeded in bringing before us in
vivid colours the portrait of a very remarkable, talented, and excellent lady. Her
Diary is full of charming reminiscences."-The Tablet
HISTORIC CHATEAUX: BLOIS, FONTAINEBLEAU,
VINCENNEs. By ALZXANDER BAILLE COCHBIN, M.P. 1 vol. 8vo. 158.
"A very interesting volume." —Times.
"A lively and agreeable book, full of action and colour."'-A thensum
"This book is bright, pleasant reading."-British Quarterll Review.
"A most valuable addition to the historical works of the time. It is fall of life
and colour."-Morning Post.
"A well executed book by a polished and vigorous writer."-The Worl,.
THE SEA OF MOUNTAINS: AN ACCOUNT OF
LoRD DUFFBP   N's TOUR THROUGH BRIISH COLUMBIA IN 1876.        By
MOLYNMUX ST. JOHN. 2 vols. crown 8vo. With Portrait of Lord
Dufferin. 21s.
"Mr. St. John has given us in these pages a record of all that was seen and done
in a very successful visit. His book is instructive, and it should be interesting to
the general reader."-Times.
" Mr. St John is a shrewd and lively writer. The reader will find ample variety
in his book, which is well worth perusal"-Pall Mall Gazette.
" These volumes are amusing, interesting, and even valuable. They give us a
very clear idea of the great quarrel between British Columbia and the Dominion
ofCanada; and they contain a full report of Lord Dufferin's great speech at
Victoria. Then there are some graphic sketches of social life and scenery, and
some entertainiug stories' -Spectator.
A MAN OF OTHER DAYS: Recollections of the
MARQus DE BEAUREGARD. Edited, from the French, by CHARLOrrE
M. YONGE, Author of " The Heir of Redclyffe," &c. 2 vols. 21s.
"The 'man of former times' whose biography is now introduced to our notice,
will be remembered by all who have read the correspondence of Count Joseph de
Maistre. A Savoyard by birth, M. Costa de Beauregard lived long enough to see
the last years of the Monarchy, the Revolution, and the early promise of General
Bonaparte. The opening chapters of the work introduce us to Paris society at the
time when it was perhaps the most brilliant; and it is amusing to accompany our
hero to Mme. Geoffrin's salon, where Marmontel, Rochefoucauld, Greuze, Diderot,
Cochin, and many others, discourse literature, art, and philosophy. Sent off to
Paris for the purpose of finishing bis education by mixing with all the choice
spirits of the day, young Costa writes home brilliant descriptions of the sights he
has seen and the company to which he has been introduced. The variety of scenes
described in these pleasant memoirs, the historical personages crowded on the
canvas, and the account of the noble struggle of Savoy against the French Republic, give to the whole work a dramatic interest which derives additional charm
from the character of the Marquis himself-a character in which high principle,
genuine wit, and patriotism are happily blended together."-Saturday Review.


6




18, GREAT MA]BI.OOUOn    STiar.
MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S
NEW WORKS Continued.
VOLS. I. & II. OF HER MAJEST'S TOWER.
By W HEPWORTH DIXON. DEDICATED BY EXPRESS
PERMISSION      TO THE QUEEN.         Sixth Edition.  8vo. 80s.
FROM   TE TIe: —" All the civilized world-English, Continental, and American-takes an interest in the Tower of London.  The Tower is the stage
upon which has been enacted some of the grandest dramas and saddest tragedies
in our national annals. If, in imagination, we take our stand on those time-worn
walls, and let century after century flit past us, we shall see in due succesion the
majority of the most famous men and lovely women of England in the olden time.
We shall see them jesting, jousting, love-making, plotting, and then anon, perhaps, commending their souls to God in the presence of a hideous masked figure,
bearing an axe in his hands. It is such pictures as these that Mr. Dixon, with
considerable skill as an historical limner, has set before us in these volumes. Mr.
Dixon dashes off the scenes of Tower history with great spirit. His descriptions
are given with such terseness and vigour that we should spoil them by any attempt
at condensation. In conclusion, we may congratulate the author on this work. Both
volumes are decidedly attractive, and throw much light on our national history."
VOLS. III. & IV. OF HER MAJESTY'S TOWER.
By W. HEPWORTH DIXON. DEDICATED BY EXPRESS
PERMISSION TO THE QUEEN. Completing the Work. Third
Edition. Demy 8vo. 30s.
"These volumes are two galleries of richly painted portraits of the noblest
men and most brilliant women, besides others, commemorated by English
history. The grand old Royal Keep, palace and prison by turns, is revivified in
these volumes, which close the narrative, extending from the era of Sir John Eliot,
who saw Raleigh die in Palace Yard, to that of Thistlewood, the last prisoner immured in the Tower. Few works are given to us, in these days, so abundant in
originality and research as Mr. Dixon '"-Standard.
RECOLLECTIONS OF COLONEL DE GONNEVILLE.     Edited from   the French by CHABLOTT        M. YoN-o,
Author of the " Heir of Redclyffe," &c. 2 vols. crown 8vo. 21s.
"This very interesting memoir brings us within the presence of Napoleon L,
and some of the chiefs who upheld the fortunes of the First Empire, and its
anecdotes about that extraordinary man are evidently genuine and very characteristic. It introduces us to the inner life and real state of the Grand Army, and
lays bare the causes of its strength and weakness. The work disclose, a variety
of details of interest connected with Napoleon's escape from Elba, the Hundred
Days, the Bourbon Restoration, and the Revolution of July, 1830. We have dwelt
at length on this instructive record of the experiences of a memorable age, and
can commend it cordially to our readers."-The imes.
MY YOUTH, BY SEA AND LAND, FROM 1809 TO
1816.   By CHARLES LorFTs, formerly of the Royal Navy,
late of the Coldstream Guards. 2 vols. crown 8vo. 21s.
"It was a happy thought that impelled Major Loftus to give us these reminiscences of 'the old war,' which still retains so strong a hold on our sympathieL
Every word from an intelligent actor in these stirring scenes is now valuable
Major Loftus played the part allotted to him with honour and ability, and he
relates the story of his sea life with spirit and vigour. Some of his sea stories are
as laughable as anything in 'Peter Simple,' while many of his adventures on
shore remind us of Charles Lever in his freshest days During his sea life
Major Loftus became acquainted with many distinguished persona Besides the
Duke of Wellington, the Prince Regent, and William IV., he was broght into
personal relation with the allied Sovereigns, the Due D'Angoulme, Lord William
Bentinck, and Sir Hudson Lowe  A more genial, pleasant, wholesome book we
have not often read."-'StandarL


6




13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STRBET.


MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S
NEW        WORKS ---Continued.
CELEBRITIES I HAVE KNOWN. By LORD
WILuI  M Pirr LENNOX. SECONDERIEs. 2 volumes demy 8vo. 30s.
Among other persons mentioned in the Second Series of this work are-The
Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold; the Dukes of Wellington and Beau.
fort; the Earls of Durham and Carlisle; Lords Byron, Clyde, Adolphus Fitzclarence, and Cockburn; Sirs Walter Scott, G. Wombwell, A. Barnard, John
Elley, Sidney, Harry, and C. F Smith; Count D'Orsay; Dr. Dodd; Messrs.
Thomas Moore, Theodore Hook, Leigh Hunt, Jerdan, James, Horace, and
Albert Smith, Beazley. Tattersall, Hudson, Ude, George Colman, The Kembles,
G. F. Cooke, Charles Young, Edmund and Charles Kean, Yates, Harley; Miss
Foote; Mrs Nisbet; Mesdames Catalani, Grassini Rachel, &c.
"This new series of Lord William Lennox's reminiscences is fully as entertain.
ing as the preceding one. Lord William makes good use of an excellent memory,
and he writes easily and pleasantly."-Pall Mall Gazette.
"One of the best books of the season. Pleasant anecdotes, exciting episodes, smart
sayings, witticisms, and repartees are to be found on every page."-Court Journal.
COACHING; With ANECDOTES OF THE ROAD. By
LORD WILLIAM PITT LENNOX, Author of " Celebrities I have
Known," &c.      Dedicated to His Grace the DUKE OF BEAUFORT, K.G., President, and the Members of the Coaching
Club. 1 vol. demy 8vo. 15s.
"Lord William's book is genial, discursive, and gossipy. We are indebted to the
author's personal recollections for some lively stories, and pleasant sketches of
some of the more famous dragsmen. Nor does Lord William by any means limit
himself to the English roads, and English coaches. Bianconi's Irish cars, the continentel diligences, with anecdotes of His Grace of Wellington, when Lord William
was acting as his aide-de-camp during the occupation of Paris, with many other
matters more or less germane to his subject, are all brought in more or less
naturally. Altogether his volume, with the variety of its contents, will be found
pleasant reading."-Pall Mall Gazette.
LIFE OF MOSCHELES; WITH SELECTIONS FROM
HIS   DIARIES AND        CORRESPONDENCE.           By   His WIFE.
2 vols. large post 8vo, with Portrait. 24s.
"This life of Moscheles will be a valuable book of reference for the musical historian, for the contents extend over a period of threescore years, commencing with
1794, and ending at 1870. We need scarcely state that all the portions of Moschelea' diary which refer to his intercourse with Beethoven, Hummel, Weber, Czerny,
Spontini, Rossini, Auber, Haldvy, Schumann, Cherubini, Spohr, Mendelssohn, F
David, Chopin, J B. Cramer. Clementi, John Field, Habeneck, Hauptmann, Ealkbrenner, Kiesewetter, C. Klingemann, Lablache, Dragonetti, Sontag, Persiani,
Malibran, Paganini, Rachel, Ronzi de Begnis, De Beriot, Ernst, Donzelli CintiDamoreau, Chelard, Bochsa, Laporte, Charles Kemble, Paton (Mrs. Wood),
Schrider-Devrient, Mrs. Siddons, Sir H. Bishop, Sir G. Smart, Staudigl, Thalberg,
Berlioz, Velluti 0. Young, Balfe, Braham, and many other artists of note in their
time, will recall a flood of recollections. It was a delicate task for Madame Moscheles to select from the diaries in reference to living persons, but her extracts have
been judiciously made. Moscheles writes fairly of what is called the ' Music of the
Future' and its disciples, and his judgments on Herr Wagner, Dr. Liszt, Rubenstein, Dr. von Bilow, Litolif, &c., whether as composers or executants, are in a
liberal spirit. He recognizes cheerfully the talents of oar native artists, Sir Sterndale Bennett, Mr. Macfarren, Madame Arabella Goddard, Mr. John Barnett, Mr.
Hullah, Mrs. Shaw, Mr. A. Sullivan, &c. The celebrities with whom Moscheles
came in contact, include Sir Walter Scott, Sir Robert Peel, the late Duke of Cambridge, the Bunsens, Louis Philippe, Napoleon the Third, Humboldt, Henry Heine,
Thomas More, Count Nesselrode, the Duchess of Orleans, Prof. Wolf, &c.Indeed, the two volumes are full of amusing anecdotes. -Athen~ura
7




18, GRKST MARLBOBOUGH STurT.


MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S
NEW        WORKS- Continued.
WORDS OF HOPE AND COMFORT TO
THOSE IN     SORROW. Dedicated by Permission to Tnu QumK.
Fourth Edition.   1 vol. small 4to, 5s. bound.
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"'The writer of the tenderly-conceived letters in this volume was Mrs Julius
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and fine sympathy which we associate with the name of Maurice; but in her there
is added a winningness of tact, and sometimes, too, a directness of language, which
we hardly find even in the brother. The letters were privately printed and circlated, and were found to be the source of much comfort, which they cannot fail
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OUR BISHOPS AND DEANS. By the Rev. F.
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MY YEAR IN AN INDIAN FORT. By Mrs.
GuTHRI. 2 vols. crown 8vo. With Illustrations. 21s.
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ing pictures of a curious country." —Graphic.
" A bright and lively account of interesting travel We have not met anywhere
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6




18, GREAT MALBOROUOH STRENT.
MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S
PUBLICATIONS- Continued.
THROUGH FRANCE AND BELGIUM, BY
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NOTES OF TRAVEL IN SOUTH AFRICA.
By C. J. ANDRmssor, Author of "Lake Ngami," &c.     Edited by
L. LLOYD, Author of " Field Sports of the North." 1 volume
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MRS. GREY'S REMINISCENICES. By LADY
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10




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its descriptive setting cannot fail to be appreciated. There is not a character
without individuality from one end of the book to the other."-Ath/enum.
A CHEQUERED LIFE. By Mrs. DAY, Author of
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The plot is ingenious, and the interest sustained to the last."-Atheneum.
HATHERCOURT RECTORY. By Mrs. MOLESWORTH (ENNIm GRA&H     ), Author of "The Cuckoo Clock," &c. Second
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RUBY GREY. By W. HEPWORTH DIXON. Third
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striking episodes. It is well worth reading."-Morning Post.
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Author of " Kitty," " Bridget," &c. 3 vols.
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pleasant sketches of character."-.Academy.
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difficult to lay down."-gpectator.
11




nJu It (             tvial saI aromrnt    of d  tr I   ajtS.
Published annually, in One Vol., royal 8vo, with the Arms beauti.fiJ
engraved, handsomcly bound, with gilt edges, price 31i. 6dL
LODGE'S PEERAGE
AND BARONETAGE,
CORRECTED BY THE NOBILITY.
THE FORTY-EIGHTH EDITION FOR 1879 IS NOW BEADY.
LoDGE's PmEEzBa   AMD BAaONETAOE is acknowledged to be the most
complete, as well as the most elegant, work of the kind. As an established and authentic authority on all questions respecting the family
histories, honours, and connections of the titled aristocracy, no work has
ever stood so high. It is published under the especial patronage of Her
Majesty, and is annually corrected throughout, from the personal communications of the Nobility. It is the only work of its class in which, the
type being kept constantly standing, every correction is made in its proper
place to the date of publication, an advantage which gives it supremacy
over all its competitors.  Independently of its full and authentic information respecting the existing Peers and Baronets of the realm, the most
sedulous attention is given in its pages to the collateral branches of the
various noble families, and the names of many thousand individuals are
introduced, which do not appear in other records of the titled classes. For
its authority, correctness, and facility of arrangement, and the beauty of
its typography and binding, the work is justly entitled to the place it
occupies on the tables of Her Majesty and the Nobility.
LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS.


Historical View of the Peerage.
Parliamentary Roll of the House of Lords.
English, Scotch, and Irish Peers, in their
orders of Precedence.
Alphabetical List of Peers of Great Britain
and the United Kingdom, holding superior rank in the Scotch or Irish Peerage.
A lphabetical list of Scotch and Irish Peers,
holding superior titles in the Peerage of
Great Britain and the United Kingdom.
A Collective list of Peers, in their order of
Precedence.
Table of Precedency among Men.
Table of Precedency among Women.
The Queen and the Royal Family.
Peers of the Blood RoyaL
The Peerage, alphabetically arranged.
Families of such Extinct Peers as have left
Widows or Issue.
Alphabetical List of the Surnames of all the
Peers.


The Archbishops and Bishops of England,
Ireland, and the Colonies
The Baronetage alphabetically arranged
Alphabetical List of Surnames assmed by
members of Noble Families
Alphabetical List of the Second Titles of
Peers, usually borne by their Eldest
Sons.
Alphabetical Index to the Daughters of
Dukes, Marquises, and Earls, who, having married Commoners, retain the title
of Lady before their own Christian and
their Husband's Surnames
Alphabetical Index to the Daughters of
Viscounts and Barons, who, having
married Commoners, are styled Honourable Mrs; and, in case of the husband
being a Baronet or Knight Honourable
Lady.
Mottoes alphabetically arranged and translated.


" This work is the most perfect and elaborate record of the living and recently deceased members of the Peerage of the Thrqe Kingdoms as it stands at this day. It Iu
a most useful publication. We are happy to bear testimony to the fact that scrupulous
accuracy is a distinguishing feature of this book." —Titme
"Lodge's Peerage must supersede all other works of the kind, for two reasons: first, it
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the readiest, the most useful, and exactest of modern works on the subject"-.p.t.tor.
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" The best existing, and, we believe, the best possible Peeraoe It is the standard
authority on the subject"-oStasdrd,
la




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being well illustrated and elegantly bound."-Post.
2. JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.
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freely from hand to hand as a gift book in many households."-Examiner.
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BY ELIOT WARBURTON.
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5. A WOMANS THOUGHTS ABOUT WOMEN.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN."
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young lady may thank the author for means of doing so."-Examiner.
6. ADAM GRAEME. By MRS. OLIPHANT.
A story awakening genuine emotions of interest and delight by its admirable pictures of Scottish life and scenery. The author sets before us the essential attributes of
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9. A LIFE FOR A LIFE.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "6 JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN."
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13




HURST & BLACKETT'S STANDARD LIBRARY
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BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN."
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22. STUDIES FROM LIFE.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN."
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book will not dimimsh the reputation of the accomplished author.'-Satwrday Reriew
23. GRANDMOTHER'S MONEY.
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14




HURST & BLACKETT'S STANDARD LIBRARY
24. A BOOK ABOUT DOCTORS.
BY J. 0. JEAFFRESON.
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25. NO CHURCH.
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26. MISTRESS AND MAID.
BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN."
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tlve."-Athenrnm. "A charming tale charmingly told."-Standard
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28. LES MISERABLES. By VICTOR HUGO.
AUTHORISED COPYRIGHT ENGLISH TRANSLATION.
"The merits of ' Les Miserables' do not merely consist in the conception of it as a
whole; it abounds with details of unequalled beauty. M. Victor Hugo has stamped upon
every page the hall-mark of ganias."-Quarterly Revieo.
29. BARBARA'S HISTORY. By AMELIA B. EDWARDS.
"* It is not often that we light upon a novel of so much merit and interest as ' Barbara's
History.' It is a work conspicuous for taste and literary culture. It is a very graceful
and charming book, with a well-managed story, clearly-cut characters, and sentiments
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30. LIFE OF THE REV. EDWARD IRVING.
BY MRS. OLIPHANT.
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"A truly interesting and most affecting memoir. Irving's Life ought to have a niche
in every gallery of religious biography. There are few lives that will be fuller of instruction, interest, and consolation."-Saturday Review.
31. ST. OLAVE'S.
"This charming novel is the work of one who possesses a great talent for writing, as
well as experience and knowledge of the world. '-Athenwum.
32. SAM SLICK'S AMERICAN HUMOUR.
"Dip where you will into this lottery of fun, you are sure to draw out a prize"'-Posg
33. CHRISTIAN'S MISTAKE.
BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN."
"A more charming story has rarely been written. Even if tried by the standard of
the Archbishop of York, we should expect that even he would pronounce ' Christian's
Mistake' a novel without a fault."-nma.
34. ALEC FORBES OF HOWGLEN.
BY GEORGE MAC DONALD, LL.D.
" No account of this story would give any idea of the profound interest that pervades
the work from the first page to the last."-Athenurm.
35. AGNES. By MRS. OLIPHANT.
"' Agnes' is a novel superior to any of Mrs. Oliphant's former works."-Athewum.
"A story whose pathetic beauty will appeal irresistibly to all readers."-PoSt.
36. A NOBLE LIFE.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN."
"This is one of those pleasant tales in which the author of ' John Halifax' speaklc
out of a generous heart the purest truths of 11fe."-Examiner.


15




HURST & BLACKETT'S STANDARD LIBRARY
37. NEW AMERICA. By HEPWORTH DION.
"A very interesting book. Mr. Dixon has written thoughtully and welL" —1wan
"We recommend every one who feels any interest in hnmn nature to read Mr.
Dixon's very interesting bookl"-a twdm  Reviw.
38. ROBERT FALCONER.
BY GEORGE MAO DONALD, LL.D.
"'Robert Falconer' is a work brimful of life and humour and of the deepest human
Interest It Ie a book to be returned to spin and again for the deep and searching
knowledge it evinces of human thoughts nnd feelings"-Athenaum
39. THE WOMAN'S KINGDOM.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN"
"'The Woman's Kingdom' sustains the author's reputation as a writer of the
purest and noblest kind of domestic storiea-Athenawm
40. ANNALS OF AN EVEITFUL LIFE.
BY GEORGE WEBBE DASENT, D.C.L.
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work sparkles with wit and humour."-Quarterly Reiew.
41. DAVID ELGINBROD. By GEORGE MAC DONALD.
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42. A BRAVE LADY.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN."
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with human nature, and permeated by a pure and noble spirit"-Exzamier.
43. HANNAH.
BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN."
"A very pleasant, healthy story, well and artistically told. The book is sure of a
wide circle of readers The character of Hannah is one of rare beauty."-Stadard
44. SAM SLICK'S AMERICANS AT HOME.
"This is one of the most amusing books that we ever read." —Sandrd
45. THE UNKIND WORD.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN."
"The author of 'John Halifax' has written many fascinating storie, but we can
call to mind nothing from her pen that has a more enduring charm than the graceful
sketches in this work."-Unitted Seric Magazine
46. A ROSE IN JUNE. By MRS. OLIPHANT.
"' A Rose in June' is as pretty as its title. The story is one of the best and most
touching which we owe to the industry and talent of Mr  Oliphant, and may hold its
own with even ' The Chronicles of Carlingford.' " —ie.
47. MY LITTLE LADY. By E. F. POYNTEBI
"There is a great deal of fascination about this book. The author writes in a clear,
unaffected style; she has a decided gift for depicting character, while the descriptions
of scenery convey a distinct pictorial impression to the reader."'-Times
48. PH(EBE, JUNIOR. By MRS. OLIPHANT.
"This novel shows great knowledge of human nature. The interest goes on
growing to the end. Phoebe is excellently drawn."-Tinme
49. LIFE OF MARIE ANTOINETTE.
BY PROFESSOR CHARLES DUKE YONGE.
"A work of remarkable merit and interest, which will, we doubt not, become the
most popular English history of Marie Antoinette" —Spacator.
" This book is well written, and of thrilling interestL"-Academy,