the child, known by the name of the savage of Aveyron, is gifted with
the free exercise of all his senses; that he gives continual proofs
of attention, recollection, and memory; that he can compare, discern,
and judge—in one word, that he can apply all the faculties of his
understanding to objects relative to his instruction. It is necessary to
remark, as an essential point, that these happy changes have taken place
in the short space of nine months, and those too in a subject, who was
thought incapable of attention. Hence we may fairly conclude, that his
education is possible, if it be not already certain, from the success
already obtained, independently of that which may naturally be expected
from the assistance of time, which, in its constant unvarying course,
seems to give to infancy all that strength and power of unfolding itself,
which it takes from man in the decline of life.”
I ought, perhaps, to mention, that this unfortunate child, to whom the
name of “Victor” has been given, because he listened easily to the sounds
which formed that name, has already pronounced the word “lait,” _milk_;
that he has learnt to put the letters together which compose that word;
and that he regularly does so, when he wishes to drink, taking also
in his hand a little cup to receive his favourite beverage. Dr. Itard
assured me, that he entertained no doubt of his ultimately speaking.
He is warm, passionate, grateful, and he has already given strong proofs
of his attachment to his nurse, madame Guerin. His person is not very
remarkable, but his countenance is mild. His face has been cut in several
places. He cannot yet use any two senses at the same time; and, to enable
him to hear, it is necessary to bind his eyes. When he is angry, he makes
a noise like the growling of a dog. He is now dressed like another boy;
but I am told, it was long before they could persuade him to bear the
restraint of clothing. I remarked, that while we were in the room, he
kept his eye constantly on the door, and that the desire of escaping has
not yet abandoned him.
To conclude, it seems that he has a mark in his neck, which proves,
almost to a certainty, that his life was attempted in his infancy. The
hapless offspring of illicit love, he was probably first wounded by the
trembling hand of an unnatural mother; and then, under the supposition of
being dead, thrown into the wood, where he so long wandered, and was at
last discovered.
If you feel as much interested as I do on this subject, you will easily
pardon the prolixity of my letter. I only regret, that I cannot send you
a more perfect account.
I am, &c.
LETTER XIV.
Detailed account of all the theatres or _spectacles_.
Paris, january 21st, 1802 (1 Pluviôse).
MY DEAR SIR,
You have, doubtless, been surprised, that I have not in any of my letters
spoken of theatres, or _spectacles_ as they are called at Paris. I
purposely omitted doing so, till I had had an opportunity of seeing the
greater part of those which are now in vogue, that I might place them all
before you at one view.
“Le théâtre françois de la république,” formerly called, “le théâtre du
roi,” situate in la rue de la Loi, ci-devant de Richelieu, deservedly
takes the lead. It is here, where the tragedies of Racine, Corneille,
and Voltaire, are constantly acted; and where also the best comedies
on the french stage are represented. The most celebrated performers
in the tragic line are, Talma, and la Fond, among the men; and madame
Pettit, (otherwise called, mademoiselle Vanhove,) mademoiselle Volney,
and mademoiselle Burgoing, among the women. Talma and la Fond have
each their admirers, and it is a disputed matter in society to which
the palm is due. The same thing may be said of the actresses. In some
circles, madame Pettit is commended as a performer of very extraordinary
talents, highly superiour to her competitors; in others, mademoiselle
Volney is the favourite; and lately, mademoiselle Burgoing has disputed
the victory with both. It is presumptuous perhaps, in a foreigner, to
form a judgment on a subject on which natives are divided. I shall only
say, that to my english ear, the roaring declamation, common to all the
french tragedians, is dreadfully offensive. I must add, that I have
more than once mistaken the violence of their action for bombast, and
the perpetual motion of their features for grimace. After making this
candid avowal, I do not deserve or expect any credit for the judgment
I am about to pronounce. I think Talma less bad than la Fond; but such
is the difference of national taste, that I am sure neither of them
would be suffered on an english stage. I entertain the same opinion
of madame Pettit, and mademoiselle Volney, though the latter is to my
mind, infinitely superiour to the former. As to mademoiselle Burgoing,
she has the great merit of being natural; and it is for this reason,
I suppose, that in several of the newspapers here, she is accused of
being cold and insipid. I saw her perform “Zaire” a few evenings since,
and I never remember to have been more amused. She is a beautiful young
girl of sixteen, with a fine expressive countenance, and an elegant
graceful figure. Her voice is clear and articulate; her manner simple
and unaffected; and her representation of the different passions strong
and impressive, without “outstepping the modesty of nature.” Her dress
was elegantly simple, and her deportment truly correct. After the play,
“Zaire” was called for again and again, (this is the highest compliment
which can be paid to a performer at Paris) and it was long before she
could be persuaded to appear. At length the curtain drew up, and Talma
led her, “still unwilling,” towards the audience. She seemed really
distressed, by the thunder of applause which greeted her, and she ran off
the stage, as soon as respect to the company would permit.
If mademoiselle Burgoing has the good sense to remember, that this early
praise can only be secured by incessant study; and if she has the courage
to disregard the ridiculous criticisms of the french journals, (in which
she is daily recommended to use more action, to speak in a louder tone of
voice, &c. in short, to lay aside the happy _naturel_, which constitutes
her merit) it is highly probable, that in a few years she may become the
first tragic actress of Europe.
If, generally speaking, I am not pleased with the french tragedians, I
entertain a very different opinion as to their comic actors. In this
line, I conceive their stage is very superiour to ours. The celebrated
mademoiselle Contat, who, for so many years, has been the delight of
the public, is still here. She retains all her powers of acting, and
much of her beauty. Molé is as admirable as ever; and Dezencourt and
Dugazon, in their different lines, cannot be rivalled. Fleury too, is
incomparable; and whoever has seen him act Frederic the 2d, in “Les deux
Pages,” has seen the most perfect performance, which any stage ever
presented. Mesdemoiselles Mezeray, and Mars (cadette), are also excellent
actresses; and St. Fal, in many parts, deserves to be considered as a
very respectable actor.
In the “Philosophe marié,” in the “Vieux Celibataire,” and many other
comedies, and in the farces of “Les deux Pages,” and of “le Circle,” (in
which most of these eminent actors perform), I have sometimes forgotten,
that I was at the play, and believed I saw before me, the characters
which they represented. In the “Abbé l’Epée,” (which has been so well
translated into english) “Monvel” deservedly obtains great applause,
for the excellent and natural manner, in which he represents the
philanthropic abbé. How interesting is this play! those who have seen,
as I have done, the “_institution des sourd muets_,” view it with double
pleasure. The whole appears like a real scene, and the abbé Sicard has so
admirably followed the example of his humane predecessor, that the soul
of the latter seems revived in the former; and in seeming the play, we
forget that l’abbé l’Epée no longer exists.
The _théâtre françois_, though a very large building, is always full,
when the good actors perform. You will be surprised, perhaps, when I add,
that I have not found “Molière’s” plays act as well as I expected. I
was present a few evenings ago at the representation of “Tartuffe,” and
though all the parts were admirably cast, I was heartily tired before the
curtain had dropped. I have more than once heard the audience hiss some
of his farces, believing them to be modern ones; and to say the truth,
they are not on the stage, what they appear in the closet. I cannot
determine, whether the change of manners, which has taken place, makes us
no longer relish a satire on follies, which exist no more; whether the
metre in which these plays are written, fatigues the ear, or that the
broad fun which they are intended to produce, is too coarse for modern
taste. It may arise indeed, from that taste being vitiated, for Voltaire
said, long ago,
“Vous parlez de Molière, oh son regne est passé,
Le siècle est bien plus fin, notre scène épurée,
Du vrai beau qu’on cherchoit est enfin décorée[45].”
Without pretending to decide, whether my judgment be bad or good, I can
only say, that I have never yet been entertained with the performance
of one of Molière’s plays; and if I may judge from the thinness of
the house, in some cases, and the unusual noise of it in others, the
parisians are of my opinion. Even the “Bourgeois gentilhomme” is obliged
to borrow the assistance of a dance: and with this aid, brings but an
indifferent audience.
To conclude my account of “le théâtre françois,” I ought to say something
of their company, and of their accommodations. All the _spectacles_ here
lose much of their effect, from the undress, in which it is the fashion
to frequent the play houses, excepting on a first representation of a
new piece, when the ladies make it a point to appear “en grand costume.”
On common occasions, hats or morning caps, shawls and coloured gowns,
are the toilet of the ladies; and boots, round hats, and great coats,
that of the gentlemen. Wax candles are not used at all; and one solitary
lustre of (what we call in England) patent lamps, suffices for the whole
building: this throws a dim and melancholy light on the countenances of
the audience, and on the appearance of the house in general. Nothing,
indeed, can be less lively, than a french theatre. “La gallerie,” which
is of course filled with inferiour company, occupies that part of the
building, which in England forms the front and side boxes, and the boxes
below are behind the gallery. “Les premières” are immediately above
these, answering in height to our green boxes; but they are considered as
the principal seats, and are accordingly the dearest.
There are four tiers of boxes above, which, under the respective names
of 2me, 3me, 4me, and 5me, diminish in price, in proportion as you
ascend. A box may be engaged before hand, by taking all the places,
which vary in number, from three to eight; and when this is done, no
person whatever has the right of coming there, without the permission
of those by whom it is hired; and it is not necessary, as in London, to
come before the conclusion of the first act. The box, for the whole of
the evening, is private property. It is but justice to add, that if the
french theatres are less gay than the english, they are infinitely more
orderly; and I never remember to have seen any thing like a dispute, or
riot at any of the _spectacles_. Women, too, of a certain description,
do not ply for custom, (with the single exception of one theatre, which
I shall afterwards name) as at Covent Garden, and Drury Lane, and indeed
are rarely seen at the larger play-houses. The price of each ticket in
the first places, is six livres, twelve sous, answering exactly to five
shillings and sixpence of our money. The stage box, ornamented with
scarlet cloth, richly embroidered, is reserved for the family of the
first consul; but he generally occupies a little _loge grillé_, or shaded
box, in which he cannot be seen, immediately under the large one, in
which madame Bonaparte often sits.
The next theatre which I shall mention is, “the opera,” or “le théâtre de
la république, et des arts,” by which latter name it is daily advertised,
but never called.
An englishman just arrived at Paris, will be much disappointed, if,
in going to the opera, he expects to find that blaze of beauty, that
striking _coup d’œil_, and that brilliant assemblage of rank and fashion,
to which he has been accustomed in the Hay market. A connoisseur,
and “lover of soft sounds,” will turn away with equal disgust from a
performance, in which the miserable rant of french composition takes the
place of the best italian music. But to those, who are contented with
splendid exhibition, graceful attitude, and extraordinary agility, this
theatre affords an amusement decidedly unequalled. The _ballets_, in
this respect, deserve all their celebrity; and the opera, in addition
to the first figurantes in Europe, and the most striking decorations,
has to boast some very superiour dancers, without counting either
Vestris, Dehayes, or mademoiselle Chamroi, of whom I shall probably
have occasion to speak hereafter; but who, though engaged, have not
yet appeared this season. The most distinguished dancer at present is
mademoiselle Clotilde, an almost gigantic beauty, who, to great strength
and extraordinary height, unites much grace, agility, and knowledge of
her profession. Her person is well made, her figure commanding, and her
countenance expressive. Next to her in reputation is madame Gardel, who
is deservedly a great favourite with the parisian public; and madame
Vestris, madame Chevigney, and several others, are always received with
considerable applause. If the french _ballet_ has a decided advantage
over the english, it arises from the great art and neatness, with which
they contrive to fill the stage. It is not an unusual thing, to see
in processions or dances, which require the pomp of show, two hundred
persons assembled at a time, all of whom are so admirably drilled, that
the whole proceeds with the utmost regularity. _Lais_ is the only singer,
who enjoys any thing like popularity; and judges of music assure me, that
his voice is uncommonly good.
As to the audience, I have only to refer you to the remarks which I
have already made about “le théâtre françois.” It is the fashion to be,
if possible, less dressed at the opera, than at any other _spectacle;_
and the boxes (very few of which are hired by the year) are exactly on
the same footing as those of the french theatre. The price is something
dearer.
The lighting is equally defective; in short, the whole amusement
consists in the dancing; which, notwithstanding the extraordinary degree
of perfection, to which it is carried, does not, in my mind, sufficiently
repay you for the _ennui_ of hearing the hoarse screaming of execrable
singers, and for the fatigue of being three or four hours locked up in
a hot and gloomy theatre. I never visit this house, without feeling
the truth of lord Chesterfield’s remark, who well observed, that, in
going to the opera, he always left his understanding at the door, with
his half-guinea. I cannot help taking this opportunity, of mentioning
a singular _trait_ in the french character. Notwithstanding the levity
of which, they are, perhaps, not unjustly accused; and notwithstanding
their passion for talking, which I fancy is also indisputable, the most
solemn silence prevails at their _spectacles;_ and if an individual,
during the longest and dullest performance, ventures to speak, though in
a whisper, he is instantly called to order. I am afraid that the theatre
in the Hay market would soon lose half its subscribers, if such a rule
were to be enforced in London, though a Banti, or even a Billington were
the occasion of it. The stage box of this theatre, also ornamented and
embroidered, is kept for the use of the first consul.
After “le théâtre françois de la république,” and “the opera,” the most
esteemed is “le théâtre comique rue Feydeau.” The building is elegant,
and though smaller than the other two, yet sufficiently spacious. It
is of a circular form, supported by Corinthian pillars, and prettily
decorated. It is here, where are performed comic operas, and little
pieces, in which are blended dialogue and music. The singers are very
good, and the actors respectable. “Le Caliph de Bagdad,” “la Maison à
vendre,” and “la Folie,” are the performances, which have attracted
the greatest crowds this winter. Mademoiselle Phyllis is the principal
performer. She is a very pretty woman, with an excellent voice, and an
elegant person.
“Feydeau,” as it is commonly called, is much frequented by the
fashionables of Paris, and is by many preferred even to the larger
theatres. “Vaudeville” is an extremely pretty little theatre, where
short lively pieces are acted, enlivened with songs, all of which
have an epigrammatic turn. Celebrated authors, distinguished public
characters, and temporary occurrences, are often the subjects of these
pieces. The philosopher of “Ferney,” is well represented in one of these
called, “Voltaire,” as are, “Florian,” “Gesner,” “Scarron,” &c. in the
pieces called, by their respective names. When lord Cornwallis honoured
this little theatre with his presence, couplets were instantly sung in
celebration of the peace; and a farce has lately been acted here, called,
“le Peintre françois à Londres,” in which a very handsome compliment
is paid to the english character. Madame Henry is the heroine of
“Vaudeville.” She is a good actress, and one of the most beautiful women
I have yet seen in France.
“Le théâtre de Louvois,” is larger than “Vaudeville;” but smaller than
“Feydeau.” Here plays are acted mostly of two or three acts; but they
sometimes perform longer pieces. I saw at this house, a few nights
since, a comedy taken from Fielding’s Tom Jones. It was a sentimental
drama, and neither ill written, nor ill acted; but the ridiculous use
of the following expression, “Tom, mon cher Tom[46],” in the midst of
a very pathetic scene, had such an effect on my muscles, that I could
not recover my gravity for the rest of the evening. Apropos; the french
have a most extraordinary aptitude to make mistakes in translating, and
adopting our english appellations. In a serious drama, or in a novel
taken from our language, the vulgarism of addressing a young lady, by
the name of, “miss,” is retained in french; and the absurd manner in
which the word is pronounced, united to the coarse familiarity of the
expression, often destroys the effect of the best imagined passages. In
the same manner, “Mrs.” instead of being translated “madame,” is written
“mistriss;” and if “a lord William,” or a “lord Charles” is mentioned,
he is sure to be called in the next page, “le chevalier baronet,” &c. A
respectable old steward receives the childish name of “Dick,” a heroine
is “miss Peggy,” and a renowned warrior, “sir Jack,” or “admiral Billy.”
I resume my subject. The actors of “Louvois,” are tolerably good; the
house is about the size of our little theatre in the Hay market, and the
pieces represented here are often entertaining.
“Le théâtre de la rue Favart,” to which “l’opera Buffa,” or the Italian
opera has lately removed from “la salle olympique,” is a handsome
building, the boxes of which are so far more lively than those of the
other theatres, that they are open. In most of the play-houses at Paris,
the boxes are separated by a partition on each side, like the division
of the private ones in London. This is not done at “Favart,” and the
effect is favourable to the appearance of the theatre; the company not
being concealed from view, as at the other “spectacles.” Madame Bolla has
lately made her appearance on this stage, and has excited a considerable
degree of public curiosity. She is generally much admired; and when her
name is announced, the house is sure to be full. The music is excellent,
the orchestra is well chosen, and some of the actors are uncommonly good.
The “opera Buffa” is particularly patronized by madame Bonaparte, who
has a box here, and seldom fails to attend, when any favourite piece is
performed. The first consul is likewise said to be partial to this house.
Besides the six principal theatres, which I have already enumerated, and
which are not only the most frequented, but also the most central, being
all situate in, or near “la rue de la Loi;” there are several others
scattered about the town, which are full every night. The buildings of
many of them are pretty, and the acting far from indifferent.
The “théâtre de Montansier,” in the Palais royal, is devoted to little
farces, and to that sort of comedy, which rather forces an involuntary
laugh, than claims a smile of serious approbation. The blunders of a
clownish servant, the tricks of _Scapin_, or the caricature of some
reigning fashion, and now and then a sentimental piece of one act, (for
“sentiment” is the order of the day, at Paris) constitute the kind of
amusement, usually offered at this house. At this theatre are lobbies, or
_foyers_ as they are called, in which the ladies of the “Palais royal”
roam at large, as at Covent-garden and Drury-lane. On this account,
“Montansier” is not much frequented by women of character; though now and
then it is the fashion, even for the first females of the place to make
parties, and go there.
“Le théâtre de Molière,” as it was called, till last week, when it
assumed, I know not why, the name of “théâtre National et Étranger,” is
situate in “la rue St. Denys.” It is a very elegant little theatre,
and the backs of the boxes are covered with glass, by which means the
audience are reflected, and doubled on every side. I saw here, a few
evenings since, “le Lovelace Anglois, ou la Jeunesse de Richelieu,” an
excellent comedy, which, to my great surprise, was very well performed by
the actors of this house.
“L’Ambigu-comique,” at the most distant part of the Boulevard, not far
from the ci-devant Bastille, is much frequented, on account of its
splendid processions. A piece called, “le Jugement de Solomon,” has been
so extremely popular, as to render it very difficult to get a seat,
when it was performed. After several fruitless attempts, I succeeded
last night in gaining admittance; and I must confess, that I was much
disappointed. The theatre is little and dirty; and the stage is too
confined for the shows presented on it, to produce any effect. “Le
Jugement de Solomon,” notwithstanding its great celebrity, seemed to me a
very tiresome, dull, uninteresting piece of tawdry parade.
“Le théâtre des jeunes Artistes,” is also on the Boulevard, very near
“l’Ambigu-comique.” “La salle,” or the hall, appropriated to the purpose,
though small, is neat and prettily decorated. Here I saw a pantomime
in five acts; the hero of which was the renowned “Puss in Boots,” or
“le Chat botté,” as he is called by the french. Need I add, that I was
completely _ennuyé_. The actors are really young beginners, or “jeunes
artistes;” and I fear, from the _promising_ appearance of three or four
of the female performers, (none of whose ages exceeded sixteen) that this
theatre is a nursery for other places, besides the play-houses.
“Le théâtre du Marais,” I have not yet visited; but I am told, that the
building is elegant. A detachment from the company, which I have already
mentioned as acting at “le théâtre de Molière,” performs at this house.
There are likewise, “le théâtre de la Gaieté, rue Thionville,” “le
théâtre des jeunes Élèves,” et “le théâtre sans Pretension,” on the
Boulevard. I have not seen them; but I hear they are exactly on the same
plan, and in the same state as “le théâtre de l’Ambigu-comique.”