"What! on a crane?" said Mademoiselle Duchesnois, in great astonishment. "Is it possible, Talma?"
"Oh! my dear," replied the actor questioned so oddly, "no one ought to know better than yourself that it is done every day."
But, in spite of her ugliness, in spite of her simplicity, in spite of her hiccough, in spite of her nose-blowing, Mademoiselle Duchesnois possessed the most profoundly tender inflections in her voice, and could express such pathetic sorrow, that most of those who saw her in Marie Stuart prefer her to-day to Mademoiselle Rachel. Especially did her qualities shine when she played with Talma. Talma was too great an artiste, too superb an actor to fear being outbidden. Talma gave her excellent advice, which her fine artistic nature utilised, if not with remarkable intelligence, at least with easy assimilation.
The poor creature retired from the stage in 1830, after having struggled as long as she could against the pitiless indifference of the public, and the cruel hints from other actors which generally embitter the later years of dramatic artistes. She reappeared once again before her death in 1835, in Athalie at the Opera, I believe.
It was very sad to see her: it inevitably brought to mind the line from Pierre de Portugal—
"Inès, vivante ou non, tu seras couronnée!"
Alas! poor Duchesnois was crowned when she was more than half dead. She had a son, a good honest lad. After the Revolution of July, Bixio and I got him a sub-lieutenancy; but he was killed, I believe, in Algeria.
The tragedy of Pierre de Portugal was a success; it was even a great success; but it only ran fifteen or eighteen nights, and did not bring in any money.
Lassagne was right.