Paris.
Considering the natural gaiety and volatility of the French nation, I
have often been surprised at their fondness for tragedy, especially as
their tragedies are barren of incident, full of long dialogues, and
declamatory speeches;—and modelled according to the strictest code of
critical legislation.
The most sprightly and fashionable people of both sexes flock to these
entertainments in preference to all others, and listen with unrelaxed
gravity and attention. One would imagine that such a serious, correct and
uniform amusement, would be more congenial with the phlegm, and saturnine
dispositions of the English, than with the gay, volatile temper of the
French.
An English audience loves show, bustle and incident, in their tragedies;
and have a mortal aversion to long dialogues and speeches, however fine
the sentiments, and however beautiful the language may be.
In this it would seem, that the two nations had changed characters.
Perhaps it would be difficult to account for it in a satisfactory manner.
I shall not attempt it. A Frenchman would cut the matter short, by
saying, that the Paris audience has a more correct and just taste than
that of London; that the one could be amused and delighted with poetry
and sentiment, while the other could not be kept awake without bustle,
guards, processions, trumpets, fighting, and murder.
For my own part, I admire the French Melpomene more in the closet than on
the stage. I cannot be reconciled to the French actors of tragedy. Their
pompous manner of declaiming seems to me very unnatural. The strut, and
superb gestures, and what they call la manière noble, of their boasted Le
Kain, appear, in my eyes, a little outrè.
The justness, the dignified simplicity, the energy of Garrick’s
action, have destroyed my relish for any manner different from his.
That exquisite, but concealed art, that magic power, by which he could
melt, freeze, terrify the soul, and command the obedient passions as he
pleased, we look for in vain, upon our own, or any other stage.
What Horace said of Nature, may be applied with equal justice to that
unrivalled actor:
——Juvat, aut impellit ad iram,
Aut ad humum mœrore gravi deducit, et angit.
One of the most difficult things in acting is the player’s concealing
himself behind the character he assumes: The instant the spectator gets a
peep of him, the whole illusion vanishes, and the pleasure is succeeded
by disgust. In Oedipus, Mahomet, and Orosmane, I have always detected
Le Kain; but I have seen the English Roscius represent Hamlet, Lear,
Richard, without recollecting that there was such a person as David
Garrick in the world.
The French tragedians are apt in my opinion _to overstep the modesty
of nature_. Nature is not the criterion by which their merit is to be
tried.—The audience measures them by a more sublime standard, and if they
come not up to that, they cannot pass muster.
Natural action, and a natural elocution, they seem to think incompatible
with dignity, and imagine that the hero must announce the greatness
of his soul by supercilious looks, haughty gestures, and a hollow
sounding voice. Such easy familiar dialogue as Hamlet holds with his old
school-fellow Horatio, appears to them low, vulgar, and inconsistent with
the dignity of tragedy.
But if simplicity of manners be not inconsistent in real life, with
genius, and the most exalted greatness of mind, I do not see why the
actor who represents a hero, should assume gestures which we have no
reason to think were ever in use in any age, or among any rank of men.
Simplicity of manners, however, is so far from being inconsistent with
magnanimity, that the one for the most part accompanies the other. The
French have some reason to lean to this opinion; for two of the greatest
men their nation ever produced were remarkable for the simplicity of
their manners. Henry IV. and Maréchal Turenne were distinguished by that,
as well as by their magnanimity and other heroic virtues.
How infinitely superior in real greatness and intrinsic merit, were
those men to the strutting ostentatious Lewis, who was always affecting
a greatness he never possessed,—till misfortune humbled his mind to
the standard of humanity? Then indeed, throwing away his pageantry and
bluster, he assumed true dignity, and for the first time obtained the
admiration of the judicious. In the correspondence with de Torcy, Lewis’s
letters, which it is now certain were written and composed by himself,
prove this, and display a soundness of judgement and real greatness of
mind which seldom appeared in the meridian of what they call his glory.
What Lewis was (in the height of his prosperity) to Henry in the
essential qualities of a King and Hero, such is Le Kain to Garrick as an
actor.
The French stage can boast at present of more than one actress who may
dispute the laurel of tragedy with Mrs. Yates, or Mrs. Barry.
In comedy, the French actors excel, and can produce at all times a
greater number far above mediocrity, than are to be found on the English
stage.
The national character and manners of the French give them perhaps
advantages in this line; and besides, they have more numerous resources
to supply them with actors of every kind. In all the large trading
and manufacturing towns, of which there are a great number in France,
there are playhouses established. The same thing takes place in most of
the frontier towns, and wherever there is a garrison of two or three
regiments.
There are companies of French comedians also at the northern courts, in
all the large towns of Germany, and at some of the courts of Italy. All
of these are academies which educate actors for the Paris stage.
In genteel comedy particularly, I imagine the French actors excel ours.
They have in general more the appearance of people of fashion.
There is not such a difference between the manners and behaviour of the
people of the first rank, and those of the middle and lower ranks, in
France as in England. Players therefore, who wish to catch the manners
of people of high rank and fashion, do not undertake so great a task in
the one country as in the other.
You very seldom meet with an English servant who could pass for a man of
quality or fashion; and accordingly very few people who have been in that
situation ever appear on the English stage: But there are many _valets de
place_ in Paris so very polite, so completely possessed of all the little
etiquettes, fashionable phrases, and usual airs of the _beau monde_, that
if they were set off by the ornaments of dress and equipage, they would
pass in many of the courts of Europe for men of fashion, très polis,—bien
aimables,—tout-à-fait comme il faut, et avec infiniment d’esprit; and
could be detected only at the court of France, or by such foreigners as
have had opportunities of observing, and penetration to distinguish, the
genuine ease, and natural politeness, which prevail among the people of
rank in this country.
In the character of a lively, petulant, genteel petit-maître of fashion,
Mollé excels any actor in London.
The superiority of the French in genteel comedy is still more evident
with regard to the actresses. Very few English actresses have appeared
equal to the parts of Lady Betty Modish, in The Careless Husband, or
of Millamant, in The Way of the World. Gross absurdity, extravagant
folly and affectation are easily imitated; but the elegant coquetry,
the lively, playful, agreeable affectation of these two finely imagined
characters, require greater powers. I imagine, however, from the
execution I have observed in similar parts, that there are several
actresses on the French stage at present who could do them ample justice.
Except Mrs. Barry and Mrs. Abington, I know no actress in England who
could give an adequate idea of all that Congreve meant in Millamant.
It is remarkable, that the latter also excels in a character the most
perfectly opposite to this, that of an ill taught, aukward, country girl.
Perhaps there is no such young lady in France as Congreve’s Miss Prue:
but if there were many such originals, no actress in that kingdom could
give a copy more exquisite than Mrs. Abington’s.
In low comedy the French are delightful. I can form no notion of any
thing superior to Preville in many of his parts.
The little French operas which are given at the Comedie Italienne are
executed in a much more agreeable manner than any thing of the same
kind at London. Their ballettes also are more beautiful:—There is a
gentillesse and legèreté in their manner of representing these little
fanciful pieces, which make our singers and dancers appear somewhat
aukward and clumsy in the companion.
As for the Italian pieces, they are now performed only thrice a week, and
the French seem to have lost in a great measure their relish for them.
Carlin, the celebrated Harlequin, is the only support of these pieces.
You are acquainted with the wonderful naïveté and comic powers of this
man, which make us forget the extravagance of the Italian drama, and
which can create objects of unbounded mirth, from a chaos of the most
incoherent and absurd materials.
An advantageous figure, a graceful manner, a good voice, a strong memory,
an accurate judgment, are all required in a player: Sensibility, and the
power of expressing the emotions of the heart by the voice and features,
are indispensable. It seems therefore unreasonable, not to consider that
profession as creditable, in which we expect so many qualities united;
while many others are thought respectable, in which we daily see people
arrive at eminence without common sense.
This prejudice is still stronger in France than in England. In a company
where Mons. le Kain was, mention happened to be made, that the King of
France had just granted a pension to a certain superannuated actor. An
officer present, fixing his eyes on Le Kain, expressed his indignation
at so much being bestowed on a rascally player, while he himself had got
nothing. Eh, Monsieur! retorted the actor, comptez-vous pour rien la
liberté de me parler ainsi?