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.”
Besides these numerous play-houses, there are several exhibitions of horsemanship, on the plan of Astley; and there is likewise a very curious optical deception, called, “la Phantasmagorie de Robertson.” The latter is very well worth seeing. After viewing in the outward room various electrical machines, mechanical inventions, and other curiosities, you are led into a dark apartment, in which the ghosts of distinguished characters are supposed to appear. This is extremely well managed; and the principle of optical deceptions is exemplified, and clearly explained. A man of the name of Fitzjames also appears as a ventriloquist; and after he has thrown his voice into different parts of the room, he declares, that the power of doing so is not a natural gift, but simply a habit acquired, of varying the sound of the voice. The same man gives a most admirable imitation of the meeting of a jacobinical club; and in hearing him, you really imagine, that the demagogues of those bloody days are still haranguing with all the absurdity and madness, which characterised them. In addition to the amusements which I have specified, there are innumerable puppet-shows, théâtres de société, mountebanks, tumblers, fights of wild beasts, jugglers, rope-dancers, and quack-doctors.
Having given you this general sketch of the spectacles of Paris, I shall, in my future letters, only mention such particular performances, as by their merit or their popularity, may deserve your attention.
I am, &c.