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tained all the love I had failed to find in real life, exercised over me a really magnetic power. He had not been born in an age which could give him sympathy and fame; I alone could follow and understand him, and he was for five years my king, my life, my love.

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My recollections of this period of my life are disconnected, for their number overwhelms me. As I tell them to you, it seems to me that I grow young again, and that my heart beats once more at the name of Lelio. I have just told you that when I heard the clock strike I trembled with joy and impatience. Even now I seem to feel the delicious oppression which used to overwhelm me at the sound of that clock. Since then, through the vicissitudes of fortune I have come to find myself very happy in the possession of a few small rooms in the Marais. Well, of my magnificent house, my aristocratic faubourg, and my past splendour, I regret only that which could have recalled to me those days of love and dreams. I have saved from the general ruin some pieces of furniture which belonged to me at that time, and which I look upon with as much emotion as if the hour for the theatre were about to strike and my horses were pawing at the door. Oh, my child, never love as I loved. It is a storm which death alone can quell!

"I could no longer live without seeing him; he ruled, he governed me. To me he was not a man, but in a different sense from that of Mme. de Ferrières. To me he was much more; his was an intellectual power, which formed my soul at its will. Soon I was unable to conceal the impression he made upon me. gave up my box at the Comédie Française in order not to betray myself. I pretended I had become pious, and that in the evening I went to pray in the churches. Instead of that I dressed myself as a workwoman, and mingled with the common people, that I might listen to him unconstrained. At last I bribed one of the employes of the theatre and obtained possession of a little hidden corner where no one could see me, and which I reached by a side corridor. As an additional precaution, I "Then I started, young, gay, and happy. dressed myself as a school-boy. The follies I I learned to take pleasure in being young, committed for a man with whom I had never wealthy, and beautiful. Happiness revealed exchanged a word or a glance, had for me all itself through every sense, by every pore. the charms of mystery and all the illusions of Seated in my coach, my feet buried in furs, I happiness. When the hour for the theatre could see myself reflected in the mirror in sounded in the large clock of my drawing-room, front of me. The costume of that time, which I was seized with violent palpitations. While has since been so much laughed at, was of my carriage was getting ready I tried to col- extraordinary richness and splendour. When lect, to control myself; and if Larrieux hap-arranged with taste, and modified in its exagpened to be with me, I was harsh and rude to him, to send him away. I used infinite art to rid myself of all other intruders. The ingenuity with which this theatrical passion inspired me is incredible. I must have had great dissimulation and great tact to have hidden it for five years from Larrieux, who was the most jealous of men, and from all the malicious people who surrounded me.

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gerations, it endowed a beautiful woman with dignity, a softness, a grace, of which the portraits of that time can give you no idea. Ꭺ woman, clothed in this panoply of feathers, silks, and flowers, was obliged to move slowly. I have seen very fair women in white robes with long trains of watered silk, their hair powdered and dressed with white plumes, who might without hyperbole have been compared to swans. Despite all Rousseau has said, those enormous folds of satin, that profusion of muslin, which enveloped a slender little body as down envelops the dove, made us resemble birds rather than wasps. Long wings of lace fell from our arms, and our ribbons, our dresses, and our jewels were variegated with the most brilliant colours. Balancing ourselves in our little high-heeled shoes, we seemed to fear to touch the earth, and we walked with the disdainful circumspection of a little bird on the edge of a brook.

"At the time of which I am speaking blond powder began to be worn, and gave the hair a light and soft colour. This method of modifying the crude shades of the hair gave softness

to the face, and an extraordinary brilliance to the eyes. The forehead was completely uncovered, its outline melted insensibly into the pale shades of the hair; it thus appeared higher and broader, and all women had a majestic air. It was then the fashion to dress the hair low, with large curls thrown back and falling on the neck. This was very becoming to me, and I was celebrated for the taste and magnificence of my dress. I sometimes wore red velvet trimmed with grebe-skin, sometimes white satin edged with tiger-skin, sometimes lilac damask shot with silver, with white feathers and pearls in my hair. Thus attired I would pay a few visits until the hour for the second piece at the theatre, for Lelio never played in the first.

"I created a sensation wherever I appeared, and, when I again found myself in my carriage, I contemplated with much pleasure the reflected image of the woman who loved Lelio, and might have been beloved by him. Until then, the only pleasure I had found in being beautiful lay in the jealousy I excited. But from the moment that I loved, I began to enjoy my beauty for its own sake. It was all I had to offer Lelio as a compensation for the triumphs which were denied him in Paris, and I loved to think of the pride and joy this poor actor, so misjudged, so laughed at, would feel, were he told that the Marquise de R. had dedicated her heart to him.

"These were but dreams, however, as brief as they were beautiful. As soon as my thoughts assumed some consistency, as soon as they took the form of any plan whatever, I had the fortitude to suppress them, and all the pride of rank reasserted its empire over my soul. You seem surprised at this. I will explain it by and-by. Let me still linger in the magic world of my recollections.

"About eight o'clock my carriage stopped at the little church of the Carmelites, near the Luxembourg, and I sent it away, for I was supposed to attend the religious lectures which were given there at that hour. But I only crossed the church and the garden, and came out in another street. I went to the garret of a young needlewoman named Florence, who was devoted to me. I locked myself up in her room, and joyfully laid aside all my adornments to don the black, square-cut coat, the sword and wig of a young college provisor. Tall as I was, with my dark complexion and inoffensive glance, I really had the awkward, hypocritical look of a little priestling who had stolen to the play. I took a hackney-coach, and hastened to hide myself in my little box

at the theatre. Then my joy, my terror, my impatience ceased. A profound calm descended upon me, and I remained until the rising of the curtain as if absorbed in the expectation of a great solemnity.

"As the vulture surrounds the partridge in his magnetic flight, and holds her panting and motionless in the magic circle he describes above her, the soul of Lelio, that great soul of a poet and tragedian, enveloped all my faculties, and plunged me into a torpor of admiration. I listened, my hands clasped upon my knees, my chin upon the front of the box, and my forehead bathed in perspiration. I hardly breathed; the crude light of the lamps tortured my eyes, which, dry and burning, were fastened on his every gesture, his every step. I wished to seize his least breath, the slightest shadow upon his brow. His feigned emotions, his simulated misfortunes, impressed me as if they were real. I could hardly distinguish between truth and illusion. To me, Lelio no longer existed; he was Rodrigue, Bajazet, Hippolyte. I hated his enemies; I trembled at his dangers; his sorrows drew from me floods of tears; and when he died I was compelled to stifle my screams with my handkerchief. Between the acts I sank down exhausted in the back part of my box; I was as one dead until the meagre tones of the orchestra warned me that the curtain was about to rise again. Then I sprang up, full of strength and ardour, to admire, to feel, to weep. How much freshness, poetry, and youth there was in that man's talent! That whole generation must have been of ice not to have fallen at his feet.

"And yet, although he offended every conventional idea, although he could not adapt himself to the taste of that silly public, although he scandalized the women by the carelessness of his dress and deportment, and displeased the men by his contempt for their foolish exactions, there were moments when, by an irresistible fascination, by the power of his eye and his voice, he held the whole of this ungrateful public as if in the hollow of his hand, and compelled it to applaud and to tremble. This happened but seldom, for the entire spirit of an age cannot be suddenly changed; but when it did happen, the applause was frantic. It seemed as if the Parisians, subjugated by his genius, wished to atone for all their injustice. As for me, I believed that this man had at times a supernatural power, and that those who most bitterly despised him were compelled to swell his triumph in spite of themselves. In truth, at such times the Comédie Française seemed smitten with madness, and the specta

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tors, on leaving the theatre, were amazed to remember that they had applauded Lelio. As for me, I seized the opportunity to give full career to my emotion; I shouted, I wept, I passionately called his name. Happily for me, my weak voice was drowned in the storm which raged around me.

"At other times he was hissed when he seemed to me sublime, and then I left the theatre, my heart full of rage. Those nights were the most dangerous for me. I was violently tempted to seek him out, to weep with him, to curse the age in which we lived, and console him by offering him my enthusiasm and my love.

"One evening, as I left the theatre by the side passage which led to my box, a small, slender man passed in front of me, and turned into the street. One of the stage-carpenters took off his hat and said: 'Good evening, Monsieur Lelio.' Eager to obtain a near view of this extraordinary man, I ran after him, crossed the street, and, forgetting the danger to which I exposed myself, followed him into a café. Fortunately, it was not one in which I was likely to meet any one of my own rank.

"When, by the light of a smoky lamp, I looked at Lelio, I thought I had been mistaken and had followed another man. He was at least thirty-five, sallow, withered, and worn-out. He was badly dressed, he looked vulgar, spoke in a hoarse broken voice, shook hands with the meanest wretches, drank brandy, and swore horribly. It was not until I had heard his name repeated several times that I felt sure that this was the divinity of the theatre, the interpreter of the great Corneille. I could recognize none of those charms which had so fascinated me, not even his glance, so proud, so ardent, and so sad. His eye was dull, dead, almost stupid; his strongly accentuated pronunciation seemed ignoble when he called to the waiter, or talked of gambling and taverns. He walked badly, he looked vulgar, and the paint was only half-wiped from his cheeks. It was no longer Hippolyte-it was Lelio. The temple was empty; the oracle was dumb; the divinity had become a man, not even a man— an actor.

"He went out, and I sat stupified, without even presence of mind enough to drink the hot spiced wine I had called for. When I remembered where I was, and perceived the insulting glances which were fixed upon me, I became frightened. It was the first time I had ever found myself in such an equivocal position and in such immediate contact with people of that class.

"I rose and tried to escape, but forgot to pay my reckoning. The waiter ran after me; I was terribly ashamed; I was obliged to return, enter into explanations at the desk, and endure all the mocking and suspicious looks which were turned upon me. When I left I thought I was followed. In vain I looked for a hackney-coach; there were none remaining in front of the theatre. I constantly heard heavy steps echoing my own. Trembling, I turned my head, and recognized a tall, illlooking fellow whom I had noticed in one corner of the café, and who had very much the air of a spy or something worse. He spoke to me; I do not know what he said; I was too much frightened to hear, but I had still presence of mind enough to rid myself of him. The boldness which terror gives transformed me into a heroine. I struck him in the face with my cane, and, leaving him stunned at my audacity, I started away swift as an arrow, and did not stop till I reached Florence's little garret. When I awoke the next morning in my bed with its wadded curtains and coronal of pink feathers, I almost thought I had dreamed, and felt greatly mortified when I recollected the disillusions of the previous night. I thought myself thoroughly cured of my love, and I tried to rejoice at it, but in vain. I was filled with a mortal regret, the weariness of life again entered my heart, the world had not a pleasure which could charm me.

Evening came, but brought no more beneficent emotions. Society seemed to me insipid. I went to church, listened to the evening lecture with the determination of becoming pious; I caught cold, and came home quite ill.

"I remained in bed several days. The Comtesse de Ferrières came to see me, assured me that I had no fever, that lying still made me ill, that I must amuse myself, go out, go to the theatre. She compelled me to go with her to see Cinna.' 'You no longer go to the theatre,' said she to me; 'your health is undermined by your piety and the dulness of your life. You have not seen Lelio for some time; he is improved, and he is now sometimes applauded. I think he may some day become very tolerable.'

"I do not know why I allowed myself to be persuaded. However, as I was completely disenchanted with Lelio, I thought I no longer ran any risk in braving his fascinations in public. I dressed myself with excessive brilliance, and, in a great procenium box, fronted a danger in which I no longer believed.

"But the danger was never more imminent. Lelio was sublime, and I had never been more in love with him. My recent adventure scemed but a dream. I could not believe that Lelio was other than he seemed upon the stage. In spite of myself, I yielded to the terrible agitations into which he had the power of throwing me. My face was bathed in tears, and I was compelled to cover it with my handkerchief. In the disorder of my mind I wiped off my rouge and my patches, and the Comtesse de Ferrières advised me to retire to the back of my box, for my emotion was creating a sensation in the house. I fortunately had the skill to make every one believe that it was the playing of Mdlle. Hippolyte Clairon which affected me so deeply. She was, in my opinion, a very cold and formal actress, too superior perhaps to her profession, as it was then understood; but her manner of saying 'Tout beau,' in 'Cinna,' had given her a great reputation.

"It must be said, however, that when she played with Lelio she outdid herself. Although she took pains to proclaim her share in the fashionable contempt for his method of acting, she consciously felt the influence of his genius, and was inspired by him when the passion of the scene placed them in relation.

"That evening Lelio noticed me either on account of my dress or my emotion; for I saw him, when he was not acting, bend over one of the spectators who, at that epoch, sat upon the stage, and inquire my name. I guessed his question by the manner they both looked at me. My heart beat almost to suffocation, and I noticed during the play that Lelio's eyes turned several times towards me. What would I not have given to hear what the Chevalier de Brétillac, whom he had questioned, had said to him about me! Lelio's face did not indicate the nature of the information he had received, for he was obliged to retain the expression suited to his part. I knew this Brétillac very slightly, and I could not imagine whether he would speak well or ill of me.

Lelio was to me but the shadow of the Cid, the representative of that antique chivalrie love now ridiculed in France. The man, the actor, I did not fear, for I had seen him: I could love him only upon the stage. My Lelio was a fictitious being who had no existence outside the theatre. The illusions of the stage, the glare of the footlights, were a part of the being whom I loved. Without them he was nothing to me, and faded like a star before the brightness of day. I had no desire to see him off the boards; I should have been in despair had I met him. It would have been to me like contemplating the ashes of a great man.

"One evening as I was going to the Carmelite church with the intention of leaving it by the opposite door, I perceived that I was followed, and became convinced that henceforth it would be almost impossible to conceal the object of my nocturnal expeditions. I decided to go publicly to the theatre. I acquired by degrees enough hypocrisy to hide my feelings, and besides, I began to profess a warm admiration for Mdlle. Hippolyte Clairon, which accounted sufficiently for the emotion I showed. I was now under greater constraint, and, compelled as I was to be perpetually conscious of myself, my enjoyment became less poignant and profound.

But this circumstance involved another, which soon established a complete compensation. Lelio saw me and watched me; my beauty had struck him, my sensibility flattered him.

His attention sometimes wandered so much as to displease the public. Soon I could no longer doubt. He was madly in love with

me.

"My box had pleased the Princesse de Vaudemont. I gave it up to her, and took for myself a smaller one, less in view of the house, and better situated. I was almost upon the stage, I did not lose one of Lelio's glances; and he could look at me without its being seen by the public. But I no longer needed to catch his eye in order to understand all his feelings. The sound of his voice, his sighs, the expression which he gave to certain verses, certain words, told me that he was speaking to me. I was the happiest and proudest of women, for then it was the hero, not the actor, who loved me.

"That night I understood for the first time the nature of the passion which enchained me to Lelio. It was a passion purely intellectual, purely ideal. It was not him I loved, "After two years of an unknown and solibut those heroes of ancient times whose sin tary love, cherished in the depths of my own cerity, whose fidelity, whose tenderness he soul, three winters passed over this same love, knew how to represent; with him, and by him, now shared by him; yet never a look, a glance I was carried back to an epoch of forgotten of mine gave Lelio reason to hope for anything virtues. I was proud enough to think that in beyond this mysterious and tacit correspondthose days I should not have been misjudged ence. I have since heard that Lelio often and hated, and that I should not have been followed me in my walks and drives; so little reduced to loving a phantom of the footlights. | did I desire to see him outside the theatre,

that I never perceived it. Of the eighty years I have passed in the world, those five are the only ones in which I really lived.

"One day I read in the Mercure de France the name of a new actor engaged at the Comédie Française to replace Lelio, who was about to leave France. This announcement was a mortal blow to me. I could not conceive how I should exist when deprived of these emotions, this life of passion and storm. This event gave an immense development to my love, and was well nigh my ruin.

"I no longer struggled with myself; I no longer sought to stifle at once all thoughts contrary to the dignity of my rank. I regretted that he was not what he appeared upon the stage; I wished him as young and handsome as he seemed each night before the footlights, that I might sacrifice to him all my pride, all my prejudices.

"While I was in this state of irresolution, I received a letter in an unknown hand. It is the only love-letter I have ever kept; though Larrieux has written me innumerable protestations, and I have received a thousand perfumed declarations from a hundred others, it is the only real love-letter that was ever sent me."

The Marquise rose, opened with an untrembling hand an inlaid casket, and took from it a crumpled worn-out letter, which I read with difficulty.

"MADAM,-I am certain that you will feel nothing but contempt for this letter; you will not even deem it worthy of your anger. But, to a man falling into an abyss, what matters one more stone at the bottom? You will think me mad, and you will be right. You will perhaps pity me, for you will not doubt my sincerity. However humble your piety may have made you, you will understand the extent of my despair; you must already know how much evil and how much good your eyes can do. "If you give one compassionate thought, if, to-night at the theatre, I perceive upon your features a slight expression of pity, I shall be less wretched when I depart; I shall bear with me a memory which may give me strength to live far from France, and there pursue my arduous and barren career.

"But you must know this already, madam; it is impossible that the violent emotions I have betrayed upon the stage, my cries of wrath and despair, have twenty times revealed to you my passion. You cannot have lighted all these flames without being conscious of what you did. Perhaps you played with me as a tiger with his prey; perhaps the spectacle of my folly and my tortures were your pastime.

VOL. II.

| But, no; to think so were to presume too much.
No, madam, I do not believe it; you never
thought of me. You felt the verses of the
great Corneille, you identified yourself with
the noble passions of tragedy; that was all.
And I, madman that I was, I dared to think
that my voice alone sometimes awoke your
sympathies, that my heart echoed in yours,
that between you and me there was something
more than between me and the public. Oh,
my madness was arrant, but it was sweet!
Leave me my illusions, madam; what are they
to you? Do you fear that I should boast of
them? By what right should I do so, and who
would believe me? I should only make myself
the laughing-stock of sensible people. Leave
me this conviction; it has given me more joy
than the severity of the public has caused me
sorrow. Let me bless you, let me thank you
upon my knees, for the sensibility which I
have discovered in your soul, and which no
other soul has ever shown me; for the tears
which I have seen you shed for my fictitious
sorrows, and which have often raised my in-
spiration almost to delirium; for the timid
glances which sought, at least I believed so, to
console me for the coldness of my audience.
Oh, why were you born to pomp and splendour!
Why am I an obscure and nameless artist!
Why have I not riches and the favour of the
public, that I might exchange them for a
name, for one of those titles which I have
hitherto disdained, and which, perhaps, would
permit me to aspire as high as you are placed!
Once I deemed the distinctions conferred upon
talent superior to all others. To what purpose,
thought I, is a man a chevalier or a marquis
but to be the sillier, the vainer, and the more
insolent? I hated the pride of men of rank,
and thought I should be sufficiently avenged
for their disdain if my genius raised me above
them. Dreams and delusions all! my strength
has not equalled my mad ambition. I have
remained obscure; I have done worse-I have
touched success, and allowed it to escape me.
I thought myself great, and I was cast down
to the dust; I imagined that I was almost
sublime, and I was condemned to be ridiculous.
Fate took me me and my audacious dreams-
and crushed me as if I had been a reed! I am
a most wretched man!

"But I committed my greatest folly when I cast my eyes beyond that row of lights which marks between me and the rest of society a line of invincible separation. It is to me the circle of Popilius. I, an actor, I dared to raise my eyes and fasten them upon a beautiful woman-upon a woman, young, lovely, and of

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