Travels in France during the years 1814-1815 by Patrick Fraser Tytler (beach read book .txt) 📖

turn, which would be little relished in England. The tragedies acted at the Theatre Français are generally modelled on the Greek; those of Racine and Voltaire are common. The comedies have seldom any low life or buffoonery, or vulgar ribaldry in them; The after pieces, and the ballets at the Academie de Musique, and at the Opera Comique, are often beautiful representations of rural innocence and enjoyments.

It appears at first difficult to reconcile this taste in theatrical entertainments with the well-known immorality of the Parisians; but the fact is, that as they are in the daily habit of speaking of virtues which they do not practise, so it never appears to enter their heads; that the sentiments which they delight in hearing at the theatres ought to regulate their conduct to one another. They applaud them only for their adaptation to the situation of the fictitious personages; whereas in England they are applauded, for speaking home to the business and bosoms of the audience.

The conduct and style of the French tragedies, in particular, appear to be very characteristic of a nation among whom noble and virtuous feelings are no sooner experienced than they are proclaimed to the world; and are there valued, rather for the selfish pleasure they produce, in the mind, than for their influence on conduct. The French will not admit, in their tragedies, the representation of all the variety of character and situation that can throw an air of truth and reality over dramatic fiction; they can admire such incidents and characters only, as accord with the sentiments and emotions which it is the peculiar province of tragedy to excite. They are not satisfied with the indication, in a few energetic words,—valuable only as an index to the state of the mind, and an earnest of the actions of the speaker,—of feelings too strong to find vent at the moment, in words capable of fully expressing them; they must have the full developement, the long detailed exposition of all the thoughts which crowd into the mind of the actor or sufferer, expanded, as it were, to prolong the enjoyment of those who are to sympathise with them, and expressed in select and appropriate terms, with the pomp and stateliness of heroic verse. An English tragedy is valued as a representation of life and character; a French tragedy as a display of eloquence and feeling: and the reason is, that in France eloquence and feeling are valued for their own sake, and in England they are valued for the sake of the corresponding character and conduct.

It is perhaps one of the strongest arguments in favour of the general plan of the English drama, and one of the best proofs that dramatic poetry ought to be judged by very different principles from those by which other kinds of poetry are criticised, that one of the principal merits of the French actors consists in hiding the chief peculiarities of their own dramatic school. The personages in a French tragedy are represented by the authors as it were a degree above human nature; but the actors study to present themselves before the audience as simple men and women: the speeches are generally such as appear to be delivered by persons who are superior to the overwhelming influence of strong passions, and who can calmly enter into an analysis of their own feelings; but the actors labour to give you the impression, that they are agitated by present, violent, and sudden emotions; the tragedies are composed with as much regularity as epic poems in heroic verse, but the best actors do all in their power, by varied intonation, by irregular pauses, and frequent bursts of passion, to conceal the rhymes, and break the uniformity of the measure.

The effect of the rhymes and regular versification, in the mouths of the inferior actors, who have not the art to conceal them, is, to an English ear at least, very unpleasing, and indeed almost destructive of theatrical illusion; and as a number of such actors must necessarily appear in every tragedy, it may be doubted whether a tragedy is ever acted throughout on the French stage in so pleasing a manner, at least to an English taste, as some of our English tragedies are at present in the London theatres—as Venice preserved, for example, is now acted at Covent Garden. If such be our superiority, however, it must be ascribed, not to the tragic genius of the people being greater, but to there being fewer difficulties to be overcome on the English stage than on the French.

We think it is pretty clear, likewise, that the style of the best English tragedies affords a better field for the display of genius in the actors, than that of the French. Where the sentiments of the characters introduced are fully expressed in their words—where their whole thoughts are detailed for the edification of the audience, however grand or touching these may be, it is obvious, that the actor who is to represent them is in trammels; the poet has done so much, that little remains for him; his art is confined to the display of emotions or passions, all the variations of which are set down for him, and which he is not permitted to alter. But when the expression of intense feeling is confined to few words, to broken sentences, and sudden transitions of thought, which let you, indeed, into the inmost recesses of the soul of the sufferer, but do not lay it open before you, it is permitted for the genius of the actor to co-operate with that of the poet in producing an effect, for which neither was singly competent. Those who have witnessed the representation of the heart-rendings of jealousy in Kean's Othello, or of the agonies of "love and sorrow joined" in Miss O'Neil's Belvidera, will, we are persuaded, acknowledge the truth of this observation.

The ideas which we had formed of the French stage, from reading their tragedies, had prepared us to expect, in their principal actor, a figure, countenance, and manner, resembling those of Kemble, fitted to give full effect to the declamations in which they abound, and to the representation of characters of heroic virtue, elevated above the influence of earthly passions. The appearance of Talma is very different from this, and certainly has by no means the uniform dignity and majestic elevation of Kemble.

Difficult as it must always be to convey, by any general description, a distinct or adequate notion of the excellence of any actor, there are some circumstances which it is common to mention, and some expressions which must be understood wherever the theatre is an object of interest, and the power of acting appreciated. Talma appears to us to unite more of the advantages of figure, and countenance, and voice, than any actor that we have ever seen: it is not that his person is large and graceful, or even well proportioned; on the contrary, he is rather a short man, and is certainly not without defects in the shape of his limbs. But these disadvantages are wholly overlooked in admiration of his dignified and imposing carriage—of his majestic head—and of his full and finely-proportioned chest, which expresses so nobly the resolution, and manliness, and independence of the human character.

There is one circumstance in which Talma has every perfection which it is possible to conceive—in the power, and richness, and beauty of his voice. It is one of those commanding and pathetic voices which can never, at any distance of time, be forgotten by any one who has once heard it: every variety of tone and expression of which the human voice is capable, is perfectly at his command, and succeed each other with a rapidity and power which it is not possible to conceive. It makes its way to the heart the instant it is heard, and at the moment he begins to speak, you feel not only your attention fixed, and your admiration excited, but the mind wholly subdued by its resistless influence, and disposed to enter at once into every emotion which he may wish to produce. The beauty and feeling of his under tones, the affection, tenderness, and pity which they so exquisitely express, are so perfect, that no one could foresee in such perfections, the fierce, hurried, and overhearing tones of Nero—the voice of deep and exhausting suffering, which in Hamlet shews so profound an impression of the misery he had undergone, and of the hopelessness of the situation in which he is placed,—or still more the shriek of agony in Orestes, when he finds the horrors of madness again assailing him, and when, in that utter prostration of soul which the belief of inevitable and merciless destiny alone could produce in his mind, he abandons himself in dark despair to the misery which seems to close around him for ever.

We have heard several English people describe Talma's countenance, as by no means powerful enough for a great actor; it appeared to us, that in no one respect was he so decidedly superior to any actor on the English stage, as in the truth and variety of expression which it displays. There is one observation indeed regarding the acting of Talma, which often suggested itself, and which may, in some degree, prepare us to expect, that English people in general could not be much struck with the expression of his countenance. On the English stage, it appears commonly to be the object of the actors, to give to every sentiment the whole effect of which the words of the part will admit, as fully as if that sentiment were the only one which could occupy the mind of the character at the time; and any person who will attend to the manner in which Macbeth and Hamlet are performed, even by that great actor whose genius has secured at once the pre-eminence which the reputation of Garrick had left so long uncontested, may observe, that many of the parts, which are applauded as the strongest proofs of the abilities of the actor, consist in the expression given to sentiments, undoubtedly of subordinate importance in the situation of these characters, and which probably could never occupy so exclusively the mind of any one really placed in the circumstances represented in the play, and under the influence of the feelings which such circumstances are calculated to produce. In the character of Hamlet, in particular, there are several passages, in which it is the custom to express minor and passing sentiments with a keenness little suitable to the profound grief in which Hamlet ought to be absorbed at the commencement of the play, and which can be natural only when the mind is free from other more powerful emotions. It appears to us, that the consistency of character is much more judiciously and naturally preserved in the acting of Talma; that he is more careful to maintain invariably that unity of expression which ought to be given to the character, and is more uniformly under the influence of those predominating feelings, which the circumstances of the situation in which the part has placed him seem fitted to excite. Under this impression apparently of the object which an actor ought to keep in view, Talma omits many opportunities, which would be eagerly employed on the English stage, to display the power of the actor, though the natural consistency of character might be violated; and never seems to think it proper to express, on all occasions, every sentiment with that effect which should be given to it, only when it becomes the predominant feeling of the moment. Much, no doubt, is lost for stage effect by this notion of acting. Many opportunities are passed over, which might have been employed to shew the manner in which the actor can represent a variety of feelings, which the language of the play may seem to admit; and we lose much of the art and skill of acting, when