New-York tribune., 1910-11-06
Anglo American Memories
MILE DEscLEE-HER UNIQUE ART AS ACTRESS
,,s77risht 1910, by George w smalley

Aimee Desclee Il Fanfan." sppesred In
1890. But Desclee died in 1873. and was
already half forgotten. The book had
no success. 1t never SO much as went to
q second edition. During these fifteen
last years I have sent manv copies of 1t
at intervals to many friends, all Of the
hrst edition, and IL is still in print Al
can say is that the impression made by
her letters is very much the impression
made by her acting In her own life, as
IN the women she impersonated on the
stage she suffered much, loved much,
sinned much. Her own confessions are
the evidence against her. but when you
have read them all and rnourned over
them she remains a woman whose real
nature was true.
And true is the word I have heard
Nine. Sarah Bernhardt use to describe
/ Desclee's acting, and in Sarah's mouth
! perhaps no other word means so much,
or conveys eulogy so high If you
have everything else in acting, or in any
art, and though you speak with the
tongues Of men and Of angels and have
not truth, you are become as sounding
! brass or a tinkling cyrnbaI Whereas,
/ if you have truth in the true sense, it
! seems to matter little what else you
, have, or have not.
When Mile. Aimee Desclee returned
from Brussels TO Paris, or rather when
she appeared in "Froufrou," she was
twenty-nine years Of age She died at
thlrty-three, Of a cruel malady which
made her last few months one long agony.
Into these four years, from 1863 to 1873,
she crowded the triumphs Of a lifetime.
To win them she wore herself out, and
she won them almost against her own
wish Her longing was for repose. a
| convent, or no matter what Yet into
the mimic life Of the stage she put her
whole soul; her strength, her passion, her
life-I use these words often. but there
are no others. She knew well it was a
slow suicide. In the midst Of her dag
zling success as the Princess Georges,
her prayer for retreat and rest is heard
again:
But, mon Dieu, why an 7 not happy
/ or even content? Shall 1 never be that?
I make no complaint. How many won1-
er in my place would thank Heaven.
The house full; each night flowers and
triumphs enough to satiate toHS les
BlirOtdures deS thedtres. Yet for all that
I care nothing. 1t all comes TO this
that I shall end beneath a nuns cap. I
don't wish 20 kill myself, but I would
gladly die. At the convent I shall
live in an ecstasy. I shall adore my
Christ, and He perhaps will give me
back what I give TO Him. There only
shall I at last be content with my lot,
that perhaps is my true vocation. Still,
I struggle on. Nobody cares that I
should stay where 1 am. Ny disappear
ance will at least make a few people Z.
few women happy. 4 place vacant.
Whose turn is it?''
That is the voice Of & woman who had
all Paris at her feet. the greatest
dramatist Of his time TO write plays for
her. the most critical public in the world
crowning her with laurels: her fame
worldwide Whatever she might say at
times. she loved her art But the dis
ease which was TO kill her had already
laid hands upon her; and in the bitter
ness OF her reproaches you hear the cry
OF unendurable pain. From that time on
her life was martyrdom, and death
came as deliverance 9. N. {.