of her most tragic parts, put such intensity into her acting that as she descended the stage, clothed in terror or insane with rage, as if she saw no pit before her and would sweep through it, the audience there actually recoiled, and only as the great actress drew back did they slowly return to their old positions.

The autobiographical memoirs of Mdlle. Clairon give her rank as author as well as actress. Her style was declamatory, rather heavy, and marked by dramatic catchings of the breath which were among the faults that weaker players imitated. It was the conventional style, not to be rashly broken through in Paris; she accordingly first tried to do so at Bordeaux in 1752. "I acted," she tells us," the part of Agrippina, and from first to last I played according to my own ideas. This simple, natural, unconventional style excited much surprise in the beginning; but, in the very middle of my first scene, I distinctly heard the words from a person in the pit, 'That is really fine!'" It was an attempt to change the sing-song style, just as Mdlle. Clairon attempted to change the monotonous absurdity of the costume worn by actresses; but she was preceded by earlier reformers, Adrienne Lecouvreur, for instance. Her inclination for natural acting was doubtless confirmed on simply hearing Garrick recite passages from English plays in a crowded French drawing-room. She did not understand a word of English, but she understood Garrick's expression, and, in her enthusiasm, Mdlle. Clairon kissed Roscius, and then gracefully asked pardon of Roscius's wife for the liberty she had taken.

It is said that Clairon was one of those actresses who kept themselves throughout the day in the humour of the character they were to act at night. It is obvious that this might be embarrassing to her servants and unpleasant to her friends, family and visitors. A Lady Macbeth vein all day long in a house would be too much of a good thing; but Malle. Clairon defended the practice, as others did: "How," she would say, "could I be exalted, refined, imperial at night, if through the day I had been subdued to grovelling matters, every-day commonness, and polite servility? There was something in it; and in truth the superb Clairon, in ordinary life, was just as if she had to act every night the most sublimely imperious characters. With authors she was especially arbitrary, and to fling a manuscript part in the face of the writer, or to box his ears with it, was thought nothing of. Even worse than that was "only pretty Fanny's way."

The cause of Mdlle. Clairon's retirement from the stage was a singular one. An actor named Dubois had been expelled from membership with the company of the Théâtre Français, on the ground that his conduct had brought dishonour on the profession. An order from the king commanded the restoration of Dubois, till the question could be decided. For the 15th of April, 1765, the Siege of Calais' was accordingly announced, with Dubois in his original character. On

that evening, Lekain, Molé, and Brizard, advertised to play, did not come down to the theatre at all. Mdlle. Clairon arrived, but immediately went home. There was an awful tumult in the house, and a general demand that the deserters should be clapped into prison. The theatre was closed; Lekain, Molé, and Brizard suffered twenty-four days imprisonment, and Mdlle. Clairon was shut up in Fort l'Evêque. At the re-opening of the theatre Bellecourt offered a very humble apology in the names of all the company; but Mdlle. Clairon refused to be included, and she withdrew altogether from the profession.

On a subsequent evening, when she was receiving friends at her own house, the question of the propriety of her withdrawal was rather vivaciously discussed, as it was by the public generally. Some officers were particularly urgent that she should return, and play in the especially popular piece the 'Siege of Calais." "I fancy, gentlemen," she replied, "that if an attempt was made to compel you to serve with a fellow-officer who had disgraced the profession by an act of the utmost baseness, you would rather withdraw than do so?" "No doubt we should," replied one of the officers, "but we should not withdraw on a day of siege." Clairon laughed, but she did not yield. She retired in 1765, at the age of forty-two.

Clairon, being great, had many enemies. They shot lies at her as venomous as poisoned arrows. They identified her as the original of the shameless heroine in the 'Histoire de Frétillon.'

With her,

however, love was not sporadic. It was a settled sentiment, and she loved but one at a time; among others, Marmontel (see his Memoirs), the Margrave of Anspach, and the comedian Larive. After all, Clairon had a divided sway. The rival queen was Marie Françoise Dumesnil. The latter was much longer before the public. The life of Mademoiselle Dumesnil was also longer, namely, from 1711 to 1803. Her professional career in Paris reached from 1737, when she appeared as Clytemnestra, to 1776, when she retired. For eleven years after Clairon's withdrawal Dumesnil reigned alone. She was of gentle blood, but poor; she was plain, but her face had the beauty of intelligence and expression. When Garrick was asked what he thought of the two great tragédiennes, Clairon and Dumesnil, he replied, "Mdlle. Clairon is the most perfect actress I have seen in France." "And Mdlle. Dumesnil ?” "Oh!" rejoined Garrick, "when I see Mdlle. Dumesnil I see no actress at all. I behold only Semiramis and Athalie !"-in which characters, however, she for many years wore the paniers that were in vogue. She is remembered as the first tragic actress who actually ran on the stage. It was in Mérope,' when she rushed to save Ægisthe, exclaiming, "Hold! he is my son!" She reserved herself for the 'points,' whether of pathos or passion. The effect she produced was the result of nature; there was no art, no study. She exercised great power

over her audiences. One night, having delivered her famous line in Clytemnestra:

66

'Je maudirais les dieux, s'ils me rendaient le jour,"

an old captain standing near her clapped her on the back, with the rather rough compliment of " Va-t-en chienne, à tous les diables!" Rough as it was, Dumesnil was delighted with it. On another occasion, Joseph Chénier, the dramatist, expressed a desire, at her own house, to hear her recite. It is said that she struck a fearful awe into him, as she replied, " Asséyez-vous, Néron, et prenez votre place!"— for, as she spoke, she seemed to adopt the popular accusation that Joseph had been accessory to the guillotining of his brother, the young poet, André Chénier. Her enemies asserted that Dumesnil was never "up to the mark" unless she had taken wine, and a great deal of it. Marmontel insists that she caused his Héraclides' to fail through her having indulged in excess of wine; but Fleury states that she kept up her strength during a tragedy by taking chicken broth with a little wine poured into it.

Mademoiselle Dumesnil retired, as we have said, in 1776. The stage was next not unworthily occupied by Mdlle. Raucourt. But meanwhile there sprung up two young creatures destined to renew the rivalry which had existed between Clairon and Dumesnil. While these were growing up the French Revolution, which crushed all it touched, touched the Comédie, Française, which fell to pieces. It pulled itself together, after a manner, but it was neither flourishing nor easy under the republic. The French stage paid its tribute to prison and to scaffold.

When the storm of the Revolution had swept by, that stage became once more full of talent and beauty. Talma reappeared, and soon after three actresses set the town mad. There was Mdlle. Georges, a dazzling beauty of sixteen, a mere child, who had come up from Normandy, and who knew nothing more of the stage than that richly dressed actors there represented the sorrows, passion, and heroism of ancient times. Of those ancient times she knew no more than what she had learned in Corneille and Racine. But she had no sooner trod the stage, as Agrippina, than she was at once accepted as a great mistress of her art. Her beauty, her voice, her smile, her genius and her talent, caused her to be hailed queen; but not quite unanimously. There was already a recognised queen of tragedy on the same stage, Mdlle. Duchesnois. This older queen (originally a dressmaker, next, like Mrs. Siddons, a lady's-maid,) was as noble an actress as Mdlle. Georges, but her noble style was not supported by personal beauty. She was, perhaps, the ugliest woman that had ever held an audience in thrall by force of her genius and ability alone. While song-writers celebrated the charms of Mdlle. Georges,

portrait painters, too cruelly faithful, placed the sublime ugliness of Mdlle. Duchesnois in the shop windows. There she was to be seen in character, with one of the lines she had to utter in it, as the epigraph:

"Le roi parut touché de mes faibles attraits."

Even Talleyrand stooped to point a joke at her expense. A certain lady had no teeth. Mdlle. Duchesnois had, but they were not pleasant to see. "If," said Talleyrand, alluding to the certain lady, "If Madame had teeth, she would be as ugly as Mdlle.

Duchesnois."

Between these two queens of tragedy the company of the Théâtre Français were as divided in their allegiance as the public themselves. The Emperor Napoleon and Queen Hortense were admirers of Mdlle. Georges; he covered her with diamonds, and he is said to have lent her those of his wife Josephine, who was the friend of Mdlle. Duchesnois. Bourbonites and Republicans also adopted Mdlle Duchesnois, who was adopted by Mdlle. Dumesnil. Talma paid allegiance to the same lady, while Lafon swore only by Mdlle. Georges, in whose behalf Mdlle. Raucourt once nearly strangled Duchesnois. In society, every member of that awful institution was compelled to choose a side and a night. One queen played on a Monday, the other on a Wednesday; Malle. Georges on Friday, and Duchesnois again on Sunday; and on the intervening nights the brilliant muse of comedy, Mdlle. Mars (as the daughter of Monvel, the actor, always called herself), came and made Paris ecstatic with her Elmire, her Célimène, and other characters. Of these three supreme actresses, Mdlle. Mars alone never grew old on the stage, in voice, figure, movement, action, feature, or expression. I recollect her well at sixty, creating the part of Mdlle. de Belleisle, a young girl of sixteen; and Mdile. Mars that night was sixteen, and no more. It was only by putting the binocle to the eyes that you might fancy you saw something older, but the voice! It was the pure, sweet, gentle, penetrating, delicious voice of her youth-ever youthful. Jules Janin describes the nights on which the brilliant and graceful Mdlle. Mars acted, as intervals of inexpressible charm, moments of luxurious rest. Factions were silenced. The two queens of tragedy were forgotten for a night, and all the homage was for the queen of comedy.

The beauty, youth, and talent of Mdlle. Georges would probably have secured her seat on an undisputed throne, only for the caprices that accompany those three inestimable possessions. The youthful muse suddenly disappeared. She rose again in Russia, whither she had been tempted by the imperial liberality of Alexander the Czar. She was queening it there in more queenly fashion than ever; her name glittered on the walls of Moscow when the Grand Army of France, scattered all such glories and wrecked its own. A quarter

of a million of men perished in that bloody drama, but the tragedy queen contrived to get safe and sound over the frontier.

Thenceforth she gleamed like a meteor from nation to nation. Mdlle. Duchesnois and Mdlle. Mars held the sceptres of tragedy and comedy between them. They reigned with glory, and when their evening of life came on they departed with dignity-Duchesnois in 1835. The more impetuous Mdlle. Georges flashed now here now there, and blinded spectators by her beauty, as she dazzled them by her talent. The joy of acting, the ecstasy of being applauded, soon became all she cared for. One time she was entrancing audiences in the most magnificent theatres, at another, she was playing with strollers on the most primitive of stages; but always with the same care. Now, the Parisians hailed the return of their queen; in a month she was acting Iphigenia to the Tartars of the Crimea!

When the other once youthful queens of tragedy and comedy were approaching the sunset glories of their reigns, Mdlle. Georges, in her mature and majestic beauty too, seized a new sceptre, mounted a new throne, and reigned supreme in a new kingdom. She became the queen of drama; not melodrama; of that prose tragedy, which is full of action, emotion, passion and strong contrasts. Racine and Corneille were no longer the fountains at which she quaffed long draughts of inspiration. New writers hailed her as their muse and interpreter. She was the original Christine at Fontainebleau, in Dumas's piece so named, and Victor Hugo wrote for her his terrible 'Mary Tudor' and his Lucrezia Borgia.' It was a delicious terror, a fearful delight, a painful pleasure, to see this wonderful woman transform herself into those other women, and seem the awful reality which she was only-but earnestly, valiantly, artistically-acting. She could be everything by turns: proud and cruel as Lady Macbeth, tender and gentle as Desdemona. Mdlle. Georges, however, found a rival queen in drama, as she had done in tragedy-Madame Allan Dorval, who made weeping a luxury worth the paying for. Competitors, perhaps, rather than rivals. There was concurrency, rather than opposition. One of the prettiest incidents in stage annals occurred on the occasion of these artists being twice " called," after a representation of Mary Tudor,' in which Mdlle. Georges was the Queen and Madame Dorval Lady Jane Grey. After the two actresses had gracefully acknowledged the ovation of which they were the objects, Madame Dorval, with exquisite refinement and noble feeling, kissed the hand of Mdlle. Georges, as if she recognised in her the still supremely reigning queen. It was a pleasure to see this; it is a pleasure to remember it; and it is equally a pleasure to make record of it here.

When all this brilliant talent began to be on the wane, and playgoers began to fear that all the thrones would be vacant, a curious