A rough sketch of modern Paris

by J. G. Lemaistre

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.