A rough sketch of modern Paris

by J. G. Lemaistre

Paris, feb. 21, 1802 (2 ventose.)

MY DEAR SIR,

I went three evenings ago to see the first representation of a new play, called “Edouard en Ecosse[49].” The subject was of course the arrival in the isle of Sky of the english pretender, and his escape thence. The applications which were likely to be made to the present situation of France, drew an immense crowd. I went early to “le théâtre françois,” and was fortunate enough to obtain a seat. If before the curtain drew up I was struck with the singularity of my situation as a british subject, about to see on the stage of the French Republic a play founded on such a topic, my surprise increased when the performance began. I soon perceived that the whole merit of the piece depended on the interest which an unfortunate prince, banished from the throne of his ancestors, was calculated to produce on the minds of the audience; and if such was the design of the author, he was more than commonly successful. The passages in favour of royalty, and particularly those which expressed pity for the proscribed, were applauded with inexpressible warmth. The dialogue was well written, and so artfully worded, that it was difficult for any man, whatever his political sentiments might be, not to join in commiserating the fate of Edward. The story was simple, and as well as I can trace it from memory, I will give it to you.

The young pretender, after being defeated by his enemies, and abandoned by his friends, takes refuge, disguised as a peasant, in the isle of Sky. Having passed three days without food, he is driven by want into a house, the door of which he finds open. Here exhausted with fatigue and hunger, he falls asleep. In this situation he is discovered by lady Athol, (the mistress of the mansion) wife of the governor of the island, and the particular favourite of king George. He wakes, and, after an interesting dialogue, confesses who he is. He then asks of lady Athol “a little bread for the son of him who once was her sovereign.” Long divided between the sentiments of humanity and those of duty and gratitude, lady Athol cannot resist this last pathetic appeal, and having supplied him with some refreshment, she determines to protect him. In the midst of this scene Argyle, who is commissioned by the british government to take the pretender, arrives, and seeing Edward, expresses some suspicion. To remove this, lady Athol, with that presence of mind which women often possess on such trying occasions, declares, that the person he now sees in the dress of a peasant is her husband, Lord Athol, (whom Argyle had never seen) and who, having been shipwrecked, was just arrived in this pitiful plight. Argyle believes the story, and having paid his compliments to the supposed governor, leaves him to take that repose, of which he concludes he must stand in need, after the accident which he had experienced.

Edward afterwards appears in the dress of lord Athol, and in that character is obliged to preside at a supper, to which Argyle and some other english officers had been previously invited. One of the latter, a violent partisan and rough soldier, proposes, as a toast, “death to all the enemies of George.” Edward, after a violent struggle, throws down his glass, and rising from the table, exclaims, “I will not drink the death of any man.”

After this scene, which was rendered very interesting to the English, by our “God save the king” being played on the french stage, and to the whole audience by the last phrase, which was received with unbounded applause, the real lord Athol arrives. In this dilemma the courage of lady Athol does not desert her. She makes signs to her husband, who discovers the truth, and recollecting that Edward had once saved his life at Rome from the hand of an assassin, he determines to rescue him from the danger of his present situation. He accordingly pretends to confess to Argyle, that in assuming the name of Athol, he (Athol) had deceived him, and that he is the pretender after whom he is seeking. In this character, therefore, Athol is arrested, and in the mean time Edward, conducted by the faithful steward of lady Athol, makes his escape in a boat. The whole then is disclosed, and on the arrival of the duke of Cumberland, Athol is pardoned for this pious fraud, the duke declaring that he is convinced that the king himself, would, under similar circumstances, have acted in the same manner.

There is a kind of counterplot or episode, in which the celebrated miss Murray appears as the sister of Athol, but her character is not material to the general story of the play. Argyle, who is in love with her, asks her of her Edward (while he appears as Lord Athol) and this puts him into another dilemma, from which he is also saved by the presence of mind of lady Athol. Mademoiselle Contat played lady Athol most admirably, and the part of Edward was performed in a very interesting and natural manner by St. Fall, who rose infinitely above himself in the character assigned him.

From this imperfect account you will at least be able to observe what occasions were given both in the scenes and in the dialogue, for such applications, as the friends of royalty took care to make, and which were applauded with a degree of ardour, which I never saw equalled either in England or France.

What a strange people are the French? Do I see the same nation who put Louis XVI to death, and who have, with such daring courage, opposed the return of the house of Bourbon, shed tears at a similar story, and enthusiastically support the sentiments of this play, founded not only on an attachment to monarchy, but on principles of indefeasible right? Again, do I see the same people, who a few years back permitted their best and worthiest citizens, however guiltless, to fall in crowds under the axe of the guillotine, and at the nod of a contemptible petty tyrant; I say, do I see the same people commiserate the sufferings of an abdicated prince, and loudly applaud a sentiment which justly declares, that to wish the death of any one is a base, an unmanly, and an unnatural action? But I am going out of my element. I return to the play. It was received with more and more admiration at every line, and when the curtain at last dropped, the applause increased, and continued for several minutes uninterruptedly.

The author was called for, and proved to be one of the actors of the house, who, as if inconsistencies of all kinds were to be reconciled on this occasion, was formerly a violent jacobin.