gnise herself in the portrait drawn by the critic. Filled with shame

and rage, she hurried to the gentlemen of the chamber, and threatened to withdraw from the theatre unless instant justice was executed upon that horrible Freron. All Paris was in commotion; the king hastily summoned a meeting of his privy council, and a warrant was signed for the committal of Freron. The police-officers, according to order, came to seize his person. What could he oppose to the strong arm of the law? Our critic imagined a violent fit of the gout; he uttered cries of anguish, and declared that he could not move a finger without suffering tortures. This momentous affair occurred on the 14th of February, 1775; in a journal of the 16th, we find the following notice:

The quarrel between Freron and Mademoiselle Clairon, alias the pamphleteer Aliboron and Queen Cleopatra, makes a great noise both at court and in the city. Monsieur l'Abbé de Voisenon, having, at the solicitation of some friends of the former, written a very pathetic letter to M. le Duc de Duras, gentleman of the chamber, the latter replied to the abbé, whom he highly esteemed, that it was the only favour he believed it his duty to refuse him, that this request could be granted only at the personal solicitation of Mademoiselle Clairon.' Glorious times these, truly, when a journalist, a man, moreover, possessed of more than one title to respect, should be threatened with imprisonment for expressing an opinion about an actress, or, what was an alternative much more humiliating, that he should owe his pardon to the actress whom he had offended. Sooner than submit to such degradation, Freron declared that he would suffer a thousand deaths. Strange as it may appear, this ridiculous affair was not only debated before the king, but was carried to the feet of the queen also. Marie Leczinska, who loved to show clemency, ordered that Freron should be pardoned, but Mademoiselle Clairon would not abide by the queen's decision; she declared to the gentlemen of the chamber that if Freron were not punished, she would certainly withdraw from

the theatre. Awful was the commotion. Mademoiselle Clairon demanded an audience of M. le Duc de Choiseul, prime minister, which was graciously acceded. Justice!" cried she, with her stage accent, as soon as the minister appeared. Mademoiselle,' replied the duke, with mock gravity, we both of us perform upon a great stage; but there is this difference between us: that you can choose your parts, and you have only to show yourself to be applauded; whilst I, on the contrary, have not this privilege, and what is still worse, as soon as I make my appearance I am hissed; let me do my best or my worst, it is all the same; I am criticised, ridiculed, abused, condemned, yet for all that I remain at my post, and if you take my advice you will do the same. Let us then, both of us, sacrifice our private resentments to the good of our country, and serve it, each in our own way, to the best of our power. And, besides, the queen having pardoned, you can, without compromising your dignity, imitate her majesty's clemency.

In a journal of the 21st of February we read as follows:- The queen of the stage has held a meeting of her friends, presided over by the Duc de Duras, at which it was determined that M. de Saint Florentin should be threatened with the immediate desertion of the entire troop unless speedy justice were done to the modern Melpomene for the insolence of Freron. This line of conduct has greatly disturbed M. de Saint Florentin, and this minister has written to the queen, stating that the affair has become one of the

vastest importance; that for a length

of time matter of such serious import has not been discussed at court () that in fact the court is divided into two factions on the question, and that, despite his profound respect for the commands of her Majesty, he much fears he will be compelled to obey the original orders of the king.' In the end, however, Freron was saved from imprisonment by a combination of three circumstances, viz., the gout which he had not, the clemency of Marie Leczinska, but chiefly because, mirabile dictu, Mademoiselle

1853.]

Clairon herself was sent to For l'Evêque!

A

In the annals of the French stage there are few stories more supremely ridiculous than that of the comedians in ordinary to the king, who, at the moment of commencing the performance refused to play because his Majesty had added to the troop an individual whom they judged unworthy of being a member of their aristocratic body. Mademoiselle Clairon was at the head of this revolt also, but her star was beginning to pale in the theatrical firmament, her crown of roses was begining to show its thorns. On this occasion, the pit, exasperated to the highest point at not having its accustomed entertainment, angrily shouted aloud La Clairon à l'hopital. Her fate was sealed! The pit of a theatre is for the actors the Prætorian guard. This momentous event occurred on the 15th of April, 1775; on the ensuing day the papers contained the following announcement: Astonishing fermentation in Paris! special Privy Council has been held at the house of M. de Sartines, at which it was determined that the culprits in the late theatrical emeute should be sent to For l'Evêque. Mademoiselle Clairon receives the visits of the court and city.' That very day, however, she went to For l'Evêque before that rascal Freron, to use her own expression to the Intendant of Paris. Next morning Sophie Arnould related the story of her capture in almost these words: Fretillon was in the height and glory of her receptions, playing the grand lady to the admiration of all, when an unannounced visitor made his appearance, in the shape of a police officer, who very unceremoniously desired her to follow him to For l'Evêque, by order of the king. I am submissive to the commands of his Majesty,' said she, with her usual pompous stage accent; 'my property, my person, my life are in his hands; but my honour will remain intact, for even the king himself cannot touch that.' Very true, Mademoiselle,' replied the alguazil, for where there is nothing the king necessarily loses his rights.'

At For l'Evêque Mademoiselle Clairon found not a cell, but an

361

apartment, which her friends, the Duchesses of Villeroy and de Duras and Madame de Sauvigny, had furnished for her with great magnificence. We read, in a journal of the 20th of April : • Mademoiselle Clairon converts into a triumph a punishment which was intended as a humiliation. A crowd of carriages besiege the gates of the prison; she gives, we understand, divine suppers; in short, is leading, at For l'Evêque, a life of princely luxury.' This method of imprisoning actresses was not, it must be admitted, a very cruel one. One might say they kept open house, for there they received their lovers and friends, and supped from night till morning; and then, as the finishing stroke to this luxurious captivity, so soon as their incarceration became a little wearisome there was always to be found some accommodating physician, who would seriously declare that their lives were in danger. So it was in this instance, for, after a week's feasting, Mademoiselle Clairon was authorised, thanks to the certificate of the jail doctor, to return to her own house, where she was directed to consider herself a prisoner, for the space of thirteen days more.

A deputation from the king and the gentlemen of the chamber, shortly afterwards waited upon her, to solicit her re-appearance on the stage of the Comedie Française, but she had still at heart the terrible words: La Clairon à l'hopital. 'It is not,' she said, 'the king who ought to solicit my re-appearance at a theatre he never visits,-it is the public; I await the orders of the public.' But the fickle public had had time, during the short absence of its former sovereign, to choose another queen: it chose two, indeed-Mademoiselle Dubois and Mademoiselle Raucourt-queens of a day, it is true, but still sufficiently regal to dethrone the ancient one. Mademoiselle Clairon, dreading forgetfulness like death, no longer willing to appear before a public that had adored her for twenty years only, had horses put to her carriage one day, and took her departure from Paris. I am ill,' she said; 'I am going to consult Tronchin;' but it was to Voltaire she went, and the

little theatre of Ferney ere long rang with her stentorian accents.

::

She returned to Paris in the winter, and found winter everywhere in her deserted house, among her forgetful friends, and also among her scattered lovers. She resumed, however, her former train of life, but the grain of sadness sown in her heart had germinated. In vain did she summon the élite of Parisian society to her exquisite petits soupers, in vain did she receive the oaths and protestations of M. de Valbelle, and line her carriage with silk, in an attempt to vie in luxury with the brilliant Guimard. She suffered deeply, for she had lost, at the same time, both her youth and her glory; she was fated to live, from henceforth, upon two tombs.

We will pass over in silence that portion of our heroine's life which she spent at the court of the Margrave of Anspach, a petty German prince, fashioned upon the model of Louis XV., who was accustomed to leave to his mistresses the care of his dominions, and who had offered her his heart and a share of his palace. Though her position at the Margrave's court was an equivocal one enough, it cannot be denied that during her sojourn there she did a great deal of good: debts, old and new, were gradually liquidated, taxes reduced, agriculture usefully protected, and the city of Anspach adorned with a monumental fountain; while the Clairon Hospital, one of her last gifts to the community, put the crowning grace to her numerous benefactions, and rendered her name universally beloved, by the poorer classes especially. Born thirteen years before the Margrave, she might almost have been his mother, and he, indeed, used to give her this title; but court intrigue was brought into play to dethrone the grey-haired Egeria, and, after a reign of seventeen years, she quitted for ever the scene of her diplomatic labours, and returned, once more, to Paris, poorer, by a great deal, than when she had left it. The illustrious actress, who formerly had a coach and four, and had seen all Paris at her feet, now fell into the extreme of poverty. But such is ever the end of those

charming butterflies which shine only in the morning of life. Mademoiselle Guimard, for example, who, in the spring time of her success, when she had in her magnificent hotel a private theatre and a winter garden, had refused the hand of a prince, was very glad, in after life, to marry her dancing-master. Sophy Arnould, again, after having spent her early years in almost unexampled luxury and profusion, went, uncomplainingly, when her winter had set in, to seek shelter and a morsel of bread at the hands of her hairdresser. Mademoiselle Clairon, who had lived as a queen and a sultana, who never deigned to hold a needle in her fingers, and had seen all the grand seigneurs of an entire generation humbly kissing the dust of her feet, found herself, at the age of sixty-five, reduced to the necessity of mending, with her own hands, her ragged dresses, of making her own bed, and sweeping out every morning the dust of her poor and solitary chamber. But, ever a woman of strong mind, she bore her poverty bravely; she turned philosopher, like all the rest of them, in those days, and, when some old friend or acquaintance chanced to call, she would, in con versation, live all her bright days o'er again.

By degrees, however, she met with some friends, and managed to scrape together some small portion of her scattered wealth. A worthy bourgeoise family took her under their protection, and a few rays of wintry sunshine illumined her declining years. Entirely engrossed with her philosophy, she wrote much, and more than one of her works is worthy of being placed beside those of J. J. Rousseau. In addition to her Mémoires, Mademoiselle Clairon wrote a prodigious number of letters; the Comte de Valbelle had received for his own share alone the enormous quantity of fifteen hundred. The loss of this correspondence is much to be regretted, if we may judge of it by the style of the small number of letters which remain, wherein the most captious criticism can scarcely discover a fault, either as regards expression, sensibility, or purity of style and language.

HE Session of 1853 will have a THE very distinct character in our Some sesparliamentary annals. sions possess no marked features whatever, and leave a vague impression upon the memory; others have been loud and exciting while they lasted, but have left little or no results behind them; others, again, stood out as eras in history, like that of the Reform Bill or of Corn-Law Repeal, and wear a dramatic and almost romantic aspect, such as that memorable year when Peel fell from power, like a great The captain after a great victory.

session which has just closed will not be famous for fiery debates or close divisions, neither can it rank with those periods of peaceful revolution, which mark from time to time the course of our constitutional government. Yet it will have a history, and, we may add, a hero, of

its own.

Its history will record an extraordinary amount of good work well done, and the hero of the tale will undoubtedly be Mr. Gladstone. The last, and indeed the only great political conflict since the fall of Sir Robert Peel, was the struggle of December, 1852. None who were present will ever forget the excitement of that debate, and the encounter between the then Chancellor of the Exchequer and his successor which closed it; the one so desperate, the other so commanding; the one dying so game upon the Treasury bench, the other so strong in the confidence of victory. As Mr. Gladstone was the champion of the victorious party upon that occasion, so, as the author of the Budget of 1853, has he been the foremost figure in this year's House of Commons. Although others have played their parts well, no one has contributed so much as he has done to the success of Lord Aberdeen's Government. About the reality of that success there can hardly be two opinions. For ourselves, we hold, that if the Ministry were not to survive another year, it would have amply justified its formation, by the services which it has already rendered to the country. Its origin and its progress have been equally

6

remarkable the latter unprece dented in the history of politics. A coalition' government, it had the misfortune of a bad name to begin with-a name associated in English minds with want of principle and want of permanence, with factiousness and failure-a name ready-made to point the sneer of every scribbler in Opposition newspapers, of every ranter on Opposition benches. That disadvantage, which is as embarrassing to a government as to an individual, it has already outlived. We now hardly meet with the word coalition,' even in the columns of the Herald. Mr. Disraeli has thrown away the pointless weapon, and even Colonel Sibthorp has not picked it out of the dirt. But the Aberdeen Government has outgrown the weakness of its birth as well as the calamity of its baptism, and has attained to a degree of health and strength surprising to friend and foe. Starting with no party that it could call its own, it has carried great measures with a high hand, and by majorities in both Houses almost equal to those wielded by Sir Robert Peel. Composed of heterogeneous materials derived from different regions of the political world, it has rivalled in vigour that compact administration which, in 1841, passed over as one body from the Opposition to the Treasury bench. Nay, it seems to have gained strength from the individuality of its members, like the faggot in the fable; let us say, like the bundle of sticks,' for we defy the joke of a gay weekly contemporary, well-known to our clubroom and May-Fair readers, whose political badinage reminds us more of the pleasant small-talk at Mr. Coningsby's table, than of that vulgar tongue generally employed by the Press, as being more easily understanded of the people.'

But if the growth and progress of the Government has been rapid and remarkable, equally so has been the decay and dissolution of the Derbyite party. The compact array on which Lord Derby reckoned last December, as about to follow him into