CORNELL . UNIVERSITY LIBRARY BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE SAGE ENDOWJvIENT FUND GIVEN IN 189I BY HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE Date Due ^N LIBRARY - CIRCULATION DATE DUE i^ij^^ifgi atc^^PHoee^ PRINTED IN U.S A Cornell University Library PN 2061.D55 1883 Paradox of actini 3 1924 027 175 961 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027175961 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME FROM THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND THE GIFT OF Henrg W. Sage 1891 Ajii^'^/ g/^/f, ao THE PARADOX OF ACTING. Nq-po Readyy Price One Shillings Talma on the AEior s Art. WITH A PREFACE BY HENRY IRVING. Any proceeds of thei^ah of this Effay tpUI be gi'uen to the ABors* Benc'volent Fund. BICKERS & SON, LEICESTER SQUARE. THE PARADOX OF ACTING Tranjlated with Annotations ■ s'- FROM Diderot's ' paradoxe sur le comedien' /I — ^ BY WALTER HERRIES POLLOCK WITH A PREFACE BY HENRY IRVING. LONDON CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 1883 {All rights rejirvedl London : Printed by Strangeways & Sons, Tmer Street, St. Martin's Lane. Infcribed by the Tranjlator TO ALFRED EGMONT HAKE. TRANSLATOR'S NOTE. TV/TY Thanks to Mr. Henry Irving will, I thin\, be underjiood without my giving them fpecial exprejjion. I have alfo to than\ Mr. W. E. Henley for the invaluable aid he has given me in the anno- tations to Diderot's wor\. W. H. P PREFACE. IT is the nature of a paradox that it fliould deal with extremes. Diderot's entertaining work is an apt illuftration of this truth. Having perfuaded himfelf that Jenfibility fhould have no part in an aftor's fundlions, he goes on to prove that it is one of the misfortunes, and even one of the vices, of the human mind. He is almoft as angry with it as Sir Peter Teazle is with every- thing that founds like a fentiment. ' Senfibility cripples the intelligence at the very jundlure when a man needs all his felf-pofTefljon.' Senfi- bility is the * difpofition which accompanies or- ganic weaknefs.' It ' inclines one to being com- paffionate, to being horrified, to admiration, to fear, to being upfet, to tears, to faintings, to refcues, to flights, to exclamations, to lofs of felf-control, to being contemptuous, difdainful. ^refc ace. to having no clear notion of what is true, good, and fine, to being unjuft, to going mad.' A number of illuftrations, real or imaginary, drawn oftenfibly from his own experience, enable the philofopher to fhow that whenever he was un- equal to an emergency, whenever a repartee was not ready on his tongue, he was the viftim of fenfibility. On one occafion he did not lofe his head, but was able to reproach a man for re- fufing help to a ftarving brother ; and this he fets down to the habit of cool refledtion, and not to the impulfe of indignant humanity. In a word, it is_imgoflible, according to Diderot's theory, for fudden feeling of any kin'd to find juft_and adequate expreflion. Even th.e orator can never be fwayed by real emotion, but muft produce his fineft efFedts, muft move the multi- tude at his will, by a fimulated fervour which is the outcome of care and calculation. This is a paradox, indeed ; but it is no bufi- nefs of mine to vindicate human nature againft the philofopher's fantafy. The bafis of his fpeculation is the charafter of aftors, and as he is fufiiciently inaccurate in painting this, there 'Freface. xi is no neceflity to follow him through all the variations of his theme. Diderot had the higheft opinion of afting^as an art. The great adtor, he faid, was even a more remarkable being than the great poet. Yet the aftor was in fome refpedts a worthlefs creature, without charafter or even individuality, and wholly lacking in moral fenfe. The adors of Diderot's day were not only devoid of fenfibihty on the ftage ; they had not a particle of fentiment in private life. They were often feen to laugh, never to weep. They were 'ifolated, vagabonds, at the command of the great,' and had ' little condudt, no friends, fcarce any of thofe holy and tender ties which aflbciate us in the pains and pleafures of another, who in turn Ihares our own.' This pidture may have had fome truth then ; nobody will pretend that it is true now. The ftage in Diderot's time did not enjoy that focial efteem which makes public fpirit and pri- vate independence, Adtors were the hangers- on of the Court ; adlreffes were, in too many cafes, worfe than hangers-on. ' Want of educa- tion, poverty, a libertine fpirit,' fays Diderot, xii Preface. 'made adlors flip on the fock or the bufliin ;' and to the libertine fpirit he frankly confefTes when fpeaking of his own early defire to enter the theatrical profeffion. ' The flage is a re- fource, never a choice. Never did adlor become fo from love of virtue, from defire to be ufeful in the world, or to ferve his country or family 4 never from any of the honourable motives which might incline a right mind, a feeling heart, a fenfitive foul, to fo fine a profeffion.' When fuch an aflumption is efTential to a paradox, it is plain that ingenuity and plaufi- bility are at their moft audacious climax. For, Diderot's pofition is nothing fhort of this — that,' though wholly deftitute of moral qualities^ the; accompliflied adlor muft, by fheer force of imita- tion, abforb into himfelf for the purpofes of his art the moral qualities he fees in others. This is not with him an affair of feeling, but of argu- ment. He ' mufl: have penetration and no fen- fibility ; the art of mimicking everything, or, which comes to the fame thing, the fame apti- tude for every fort of charadter amd part.' The obvious anfwer to this is, that an aftor's apti- 'Preface. xiii tude, however great may be his verfatility, muft have limits. He cannot, any more than another man, be born without a temperament, and though his talent may be many-fided, his natural idiofyncrafy will impel him more ftrongly in one dire6tion than in another. It was neceflary for the purpofe of his paradox that Diderot fhould aflume that fenfibility muft be a wild, ungovernable emotion, abfolutely fatal to the nerve of all who are afflidted by it. The one example Diderot gives of a dramatic artift guided by fenfibility leaves no doubt of this. Mile. Dumefnil, he tells us, 'comes on the ftage not knowing what fhe is going to fay; half, the time fhe does not know what fhe is faying : but fhe has one fublime moment.' Therefore Mile. Dumefnil was not a great aftrefs. But Talma thought fhe was. It is of this adtrefs, as well as of Le Kain, Mole, and Monvel, that he fays, 'It was only by a faithful imitation of truth and nature that they fucceeded in creating thofe powerful emotions in an enlightened nation which ftill exift in the recolledions of thofe who heard them.' For an xiv 'Preface. adrefs to come on the ftage not knowing what fhe is going to fay is not the way to give a faithful imitation of truth and nature. ' The extravagant creature who lofes her felf-control has no hold on us ; that is gained by the man who is felf-controlled.' But is there no fuch thing as infpiration ? ' Certainly there is,' re- plies the philofopher. ' You may have your fublime moments, but they muft come when the man of genius is hovering between nature and his fketch of it, and keeping a watchful eye on • both. Cool refledtion muft bring the fury of enthufiafm to its bearings.' Exadlly ; but this is fcarcely the bearing of the paradox, for why ftiould not the man of fenfibility exercife cool refledtion and a watchful eye when the ideas fuggefted by his emotions are fubjefted to the teft of his judgment ? When Macready played Virginius after burying his loved daughter he confefled that his real experience gave a new force to his ading in the moft pathetic fitua- tions of the play. Are we to fuppofe that this was a delufion, or that the fenfibility of the man was a genuine aid to the aftor ? Bannifter 'Preface. xv faid of John Kemble that he was never pathetic, becaufe he had no children. From this I infer, that Bannifter found that the moral quality de- rived from his domeftic aflbciations had much to do with his own afting. And John Bannifter was a great ad:or. Talma fays, that when deeply moved he found himfelf making 'a rapid and fugitive obfervation on the alteration of his voice, and on a certain fpafmodic vibration it contradted in tears.' Has not the adtor who can thus make his own feelings part of his art an advantage over the adtor who never feels, but makes his obfervations folely from the fen- fibility of others ? Untrained adtors, yielding to excitement on the ftage, have been known to ftumble againft the wings in impaffioned exit. But it is quite poffible to feel all the excitement of the fituation and yet be perfectly felf-poflefled. This is art which the adbor who lofes his head has not maftered. It is rieceflary to this art that the mind fhould have, as it were, a double confcioufnefs, in which all the emotions proper to the occafion may have full fway, while the adlor is all xvi 'Preface. the time on the alert for every detail of his method. ■^ I call fenfibllity,' fays Talma, ' that faculty of exaltation which agitates an adtor, takes pos- feffion of his fenfes, fliakes even his very foul, and enables him to enter into the moft tragic fituations, and the moft terrible of the pafTions, as if they were his own. The intelligence which accompanies fenfibility judges the impreffions which the latter has made us feel ; it feledts, arranges them, and fubjefts them to calculation. It aids us to diredt the employment of our phyfical and intelleftual forces — to judge be- tween the relations which are between the poet and the Situation or the charader of the per- fonages, and fometimes to add the ftiades that are wanting, or that language cann,ot exprefs: to complete, in fine, their expreffion by adion and phyfiognomy.' That, in a fmall compafs, is the whole matter. It would be impoffible to give a more perfeft defcription of the art of afting in a few words. Talma does not afTume that the intelligent adlor who does not feel cannot be an admirable artift. ' The infpired "Preface. xvii ador will fo aflbciate you with the emotions he feels that he will not leave you the liberty of judgment ; the other, by his prudent and irreproachable adhing, will leave your faculties at liberty to reafon on the matter at your cafe.' Nor need it be contended that the adlor of fenfibility muft always feel — that, as Diderot fuggefts, he muft wear himfelf out by excefs of foul. It may be that his playing will be more fpirited one night than another. It is poflible to fee in the writings of the greateft novelifts where the pen has flagged, and where the deftnefs of the workman is more confpicuous than the infpiration of the man of genius. But the aftor who combines the eledtric force of a ftrong perfonality with a maftery of the refources of his art, muft have a greater power over his audiences tKan the paffionlefs acftor who gives a moft artiftic fimulation of the emotions he never experiences. It will be obferved that Diderot lays great ftrefs upon the divorce between Nature and the Stage. He wasThinking of the ftage of Racine, and not of the fl:age of Shakfpeare. He quotes xviii 'Preface. Garrick to the eiFed that 'an acftor who will play you a fcene of Shakfpeare to perfedtlon is ignorant of the firft principles of declamation needed by Racine.' Garrick made a revolution in Englifh declamation by fhowing that Hamlet's advice to the players might be literally obeyed.; But to French critics of that day this was rank herefy. They would not admit that it was the function of tragic poets and adtors to hold the mirror up to Nature. Diderot points out that people do not fpeak on the ftage as they do in the ftreet. Every jealous man does not utter laments as pathetic and eloquent as Othello's, but thefe are none the lefs human becaufe they are couched in fplendid didbion. They move the hearer becaufe they are the utterance of a man's agony. But to Diderot the creations of Racine were out of this fphere of human emo- tion. They were grand Ideal types, which could not exprefs themfelves in fimple language ; they required an artificial declamation. In which any- thing like a natural tone would have been a facrilege. So the chances that the fenfibillty of the aftor would be in keeping with the ftilted 'Preface. xix method he was expedted to adopt were neceflarily few. If a(5tors feel, how is it, aflcs our author, that they can quarrel or make love on the ftage all the while they are conducing fome fcene of great pith and moment, by which the audience is deeply moved? Diderot illuftrates this difficulty with much wit. It is fufficient to reply, that the experience of the adtor is often fuperior to the perceptions of his audi- ence ; and that to feel love or averfion for a charadter in a play it is not neceflary to enter- tain one fentiment or the other for the a<5tor or aftrefs who reprefents that charadler. The whole foul of an adtor may be engaged in Hamlet's revenge upon Claudius, but he need not on that account feel any defire to flay the excellent gentleman who enadts the king. Perhaps it will always be an open queftion how far fenfibility and art can be fufed in the fame mind. Every adlor has his fecret. He might write volumes of explanation, and the matter would ftill remain a paradox to many. It is often faid that adtors fhould not flied XX 'Preface. tears, that real tears are bad art. Tfiis is not fo. If tears be produced at the aftor's will and under his control, they are true art ; and happy is the adbor who numbers them amongft his gifts. The exaltation of fenfibility in art may be difficult to define, but it is none the lefs real to all who have felt its power. Henry Irving. THE PARADOX OF ACTING. The First Speaker. Let us talk no more of that. The Second Speaker. Why? The First. It is the work of a friend of yours.* * The work referred to was Garrick, ou ks ABeurs Anglais, a tranflation by Antonio Fabio Sticotti of an Englifli pamphlet. The tranflation appeared in Paris in 1769. Sticotti was one of the Com'edien^ du Rot de la Troupe Italienne, was famous in the parts both of Pierrot and of Pantalon, and was popular in private life. A moft interefling account of the Italian company in Paris, and of how by degrees they came to aft in French and to play French pieces, will be found in M. Cam- pardon's book, Les Comkdiens du Roi de la Troupe Italienne. (Paris : Berger-Levrault et Cie.) I have, with confiderable trouble, procured a copy of Sticotti's work in a fecond edition publiflied, without his name on the title-page, in Paris by 'J. P. Coftard, Libraire, Rue Saint J ean-de-Beauvais. M.DCC.LXX.' It is a free veriion, with many additions, of The ASor, or a Treatije on the Art of Playing. (London : Printed for R. GriiHths, at the Dunciad in Pater-nofter Row. MDCCLV.) B 2 'The 'Paradox of iASling. The Second. What does that matter ? The First. A good deal. What is gained by accepting the alternatives of holding his talent or my judgment cheap, of going back on the good opinion you hold either of him or of me ? The Second. That will not be the refult ; and were it fo it would make no hole in my friendfhip for both of vou, founded as it is on firmer grounds. The First. May be. The Second. It is fo. Do you know of what you juft now remind me ? Of an author I know who fell on his knees to a woman he loved to beg her not to go to the firft night of a piece of his. The First. A modeft man, and a prudent. The Second. He was afraid that her affeftion might hang on the amount of his literary fame. The First. Like enough. The '•Paradox of t/iBing. The Second. That a public check might leflen him fomewhat in •- his miftrefs's eyes. The First. That lofs of love would follow on lofs of reputation. That ftrikes you as abfurd ? The Second. It was thought to be fo. The box was taken ; he had a complete fuccefs ; and you may guefs how he was embraced, made much of^ careffed. The First. He would have been made all the more of if the piece had been hiffed. The Second. I am fure I am right. The First. And I hold to my view. The Second. Hold to it by all means ; but remember that I at leaft am not a woman, and that I am anxious you fliould explain yourfelf. The First. Abfolutely ? The Second. Abfolutely. T^he Paradox of (tASling. The First. I fhould find it much eafier to fay nothing than to veil what I really think. The Second. Of courfe. The First. I fhall be uncompromifing. The Second. That is juft what my friend would like you to be. The First. Well then, as I mufl: fpeak — his work, crabbed, obfcure, complicated, bombaflic as it is in ftyle, is'yet full of commonplace. A great dramatic artift will not be a bit the better, a poor a£tor not a bit the lefs inefficient, for reading it. It is Nature who befl:ows perfonal gifts — appearance, voice, judgment, taft. It is the fludy of the great models, the knowledge of the human heart, the habit of fociety, earneft work, ex- perience, clofe acquaintance with the boards, which perfefl: Nature's gifts. The acJtor who is merely a mimic can count upon being always tolerable ; his playing will call neither for praife nor for blame. The Second. Or elfe for nothing but blame. i The First. Granted. The acStor who goes by Nature alone is The 'Paradox of aASiing. often ^eteftable, fometimes excellent. But in whatever line, beware of a level mediocrity. No matter how harfhly a beginner is treated, one may eafily foretell his future fuccefs. It is only the incapables who are ftifled by cries of 'OiF! off!'* IHow fliould Nature without Art make a great aftor when nothing happens on the ftage exa£tly as it happens in nature, and when dramatic poems are all compofed after a fixed fyftem of principles ? r And how can a part be played in the fame way by two different actors when, even with the cleareft, the moft precife, the moft forceful of writers, words are no more, and never can be more, than fymbols, indicating a thought, a feeling, or an idea ; fym- bols which need a£tion, gefture, intonation, expreflion, and a whole context of circumflance, to give them their full fignificance ?^ When you have heard thefe words — ' Que fait la votre main ? Je tate votre habit, I'etoiFe en eft moelleufe,' what do you know of their meaning ? Nothing. Weigh well what follows, and remember how often and how eafily it happens that two fpeakers riiay ufe the fame words to exprefs entirely different thoughts and matters. The inftance I am going to cite is a very fingular one ; it is the very work of your friend that we have been difcufling. Afk a French adior * Cf. Lord Beaconsfield's ' You fiall hear me one day,' at the end of his firft unfuccefsful and derided Ipeech in the Houfe of Commons. 'The '■Paradox of zABing. what he thinks of it ; he will tell you that every word of it is true. Afk an Englifh aftor, and he will fwear that, ' By God^ there's not a fentence to change ! It is the very gofpel of the ftage ! ' However, fince there is nothing in common between the way of writing comedy and tragedy in England, and the way of writing ftage poems in France ; fince, ac- cording to Garrick himfelf, an adlor who will play you a fcene of Shakfpeare to perfedtion is ignorant of the firft principles of declamation needed for Racine; fince, entwined by Racine's mufical lines as if by fo many ferpents whofe folds comprefs his head, his feet, his hands, his legs, and his arms, he would, in attempting thefe lines, lofe all liberty of aftion ; it follows obvioufly that the French and the Englifh adlors, entirely at one as to the foundnefs of your author's principles, are yet at variance, and that the technical terms of the ftage are fo broad and fo vague that men of judgment, and of diametrically oppofite views, yet find in them the light of convi£tion. Now hold clofer than ever to your maxim, '•Avoid explanation if what you want is a mutual under/landing.'* The Second. You think that in every work, and efpeciallyin this, * This was a favourite aphorifm of Grimm, to whom the firft fketch of the Paradoxe was addrefled a propos of Garrick, ou les ABeurs Anglais. It is given in vol. viii. of M. Affezat's edition. (Paris : Garnier freres.) The 'Paradox of aASfing. therearetwo diflinft meanings, both expreffedinthefame terms, one underftood in London, the other in Paris ? \ The First. Yes ; and that thefe terms exprefs fo clearly the two meanings that your friend himfelf has fallen into a trap. In aflbciating the names of Englifli with thofe of French aftors, applying to both the fame precepts, giving to both the fame praife and the fame reproofs, he has doubtlefs imagined that what he faid of the one fet was equally true of the other. The Second. According to this, never before was author fo wrong-headed. The First. I am forry to admit that this is fo, fince he ufes the fame words to exprefs one thing at the Crofs-roads of Bufly and another thing at Drury Lane. Of courfe I may be wrong. But the important point on which your author and I are entirely at variance concerns the qualities above all neceffary to a great adlor. In ' my view he mufl: have a deal of judgment. He muftj have in himfelf an unmoved and difinterefl:ed on-i looker. He muft have, confequently, penetration and no fenfibility ; the art of mimicking everything, or, " which comes to the fame thing, the fame aptitude for every fort of charadter and part. The Second. No fenfibility ? 8 The '■Paradox of lASiing. ■%-■/- ^ />' ! ^" ' The First. None. I have not yet arranged my ideas logically, and you muft let me tell them to you as .they come to me, with the fame want of order that marks your friend's book. If the aiSor were full, really full, of feeling, how could he play the fame part twice running with the fame fpirit and fuccefs ? Full of fire at the firft performance, he would be worn out and cold as marble &r the third. But take it that he is'^n attentive mimic and thoughtful difciple of Nature, then the firfl time he comes on the ftage as Auguftus, Cmna, Orofmanes, Agamemnon, or JVIahomet, faithful copying of himfelf and the efFedts he has arrived at, and con- ftantly obferving human nature, will fo prevail that his adling, far from lofing in force, will gather ftrength with the new obfervations he will make from time to time. He will increafe or moderate his effefts, and you will be more and more pleafed with him. If he is himfelf while he is playing, how is he to flop being himfelf.? If he wants to flop being himfelf, how is he to catch jufl: the point where he is to ftay his hand \ 1 What confirms me in this view is the unequal f a6ting of players who play from the heart. From them you muft expeiSi: no unity. Their playing is alternately ftrong and feeble, fiery and cold, dull and fublime. To-morrow^ they will mifs the point they have excelled in to-day ; and to make up for it will excel in fome paffage where laft time they T^he 'Paradox of zASling. failed.* On- the- other hand, the aftor who plays from thought, from ftudy of human nature, from conflant imitation of fome ideal type, from imagin- ation, from memory, -will— be- one and -the -fame at all perfoHBances^ will be always at his befl: mark; he has confidered, combined, learnt and arranged"^ the whole thing in his head ; his diiStion is neither monotonous nor diffonant. His paflion has a definite courfe — it has burfts, and it has rtctftions ; it has a beginning, a middle, and an end. The accents are the fame, the pofitions are the fame, the move- ments are the fame ; if there is any difference be- tween two performances, the latter is generally the better. He will be invariable ; a looking-glafs, as it were, ready to refledl realities, and to refleft them ever with the fame precifion, the fame flrength, and the fame truth. Like the poet] he will dip for everl into the inexhauftible treafure-houfe of Nature, inftead of coming very foon to an end of his own poor refources. What a£i:ingwas ever more perfeft than Clairon's?-]- * This was, according to good authority, the cafe with ' Talma in his earlier days ; and was certainly fo with M. Mounet Sully in his earlier days. Both adlors learnt by experience the unwifdom of relying upon infpiration alone. f Mile. Clairon was born in Conde in 1723, and received her firft impulfe to go on the ftage from feeing Mile. Dan- geville taking a dancing lefTon in a room of which the windows were oppofite to thofe of the attic in which Clairon's ill- lo T^he Paradox of sASling. Think over this, ftudy it ; and you will find that at the fixth performance of a given part fhe has every detail of her afling by heart, juft as much as every word of her part. Doubtlefs fhe has imagined a type, and to conform to this type has been her firft thought ; doubtlefs fhe has chofen for her pur- pofe the higheft, the greateft, the mofl: perfeft type her imagination could corapafs. This type, however, which fhe has borrowed from hiftorj^, or created as who fhould create fome vaft fpeftre in her own mind, is not herfelf. Were it indeed bounded by her own dimenfions, how paltry, how feeble would be her playing ! When, by dint of hard work, fhe has got as near as fhe can to this idea, the thing is done ; to preferve the fame near- nefs is a mere matter of memory and practice. If you were with her while fhe fludied her part how many times you would cry out. That is right I and how many times fhe would anfw^er, 7ba are wrong ! natured mother had locked her up. She made her firft appearance with the Italian company at the age of thirteen ; then made a great fuccefs in comedy parts in the provinces ; and at the age of eighteen came back to Paris, Here fhe appeared firft at the Opera; then, in September 1743, at the Franjais, where fhe took every one by furprife by choofing to play Phedre, and playing it with complete fuccels. For twenty years from this time onwards fhe remained queen of the French ftage. She left the ftage in 1788 and died in 1 803. The 'Paradox of oASling. 1 1 Juft fo a friend of Le Quefnoy's* once cried, catching him by the arm, ' Stop ! you will make it worfe by bettering it — you will fpoil the whole thing!' 'What I have done,' replied the artift, panting with exertion, ' you have feen ; what I have got hold of and what I mean to carry out to the very end you cannot fee.' I have no doubt that Clairon goes through juft the fame ftruggles as Le Quefnoy in her firft attempts at a part ; but once the ftruggle is' over, once fhe has reached the height fhe has given to her fpeftre, fhe has herfelf well in hand, fhe repeats her efforts without emotion. As it will happen in dreams, her head touches the clouds, her hands ftretch to grafp the horizon on both fides ; fhe is the informing foul of a huge figure, which is her outward cafing, and in which her efforts have enclofed her. As fhe lies carelefs and ftill on a fofa with folded arms and clofed eyes fhe can, following her memory's dream, hear herfelf, fee herfelfj judge herfelf, and judge alfo the effe6ls fhe will produce. In fuch a vifion fhe has a double per- fonality ; that of the little Clairon and of the great Agrippina. The Second. According to you the likefl thing to an aed, mean ftyle, is to play one's owii _chaca^er. You are, ^ let us fay, a tartufe, a mifer, a mifanthrope ; you may play your part well enough, but you will not come near what the poet has done. He has created the Tartufe, the Mifer, the Mifanthrope. The Second. And how do you make out the difference between a tartufe and the Tartufe ? The First. Billard, the clerk, is a tartufe; Grizel, the abbe, is a tartufe, but he is not the Tartufe. Toinard, the banker, was a mifer, but he was not the Mifer. The Mifer, the Tartufe, were drawn from the Toinards and Grizels in the world ; th ey contain their broadef and mof l- mark ed^eaturf S) h^t thprp is jn them , nc ex afl portrait of a given individual ; and .thaLis__wh;J t he real people don't reco gnife themfelxes in the^ ty^gs— The comedy that d epends o n ' go,' even the comedy of character, is afTexaggeratio^j. The fun of fociety is a light froth, wntch evaporates on the ftage ; the fun of the ftage is an edged tool whic h would cu t deep in focietyr !~I''or imafrinarv beings we have not the confideration we are bound to have for real beings. .^Saiii£_dfiali.with_gtartu|e ; comedy with the Tar- E 50 T^he T'aradox of aASiing. tufe. S atire a tta&ks- the—Kicious ; CQrpedy attacks a vice^ If there had been only one or two Precieufes ridicules in the world they would have aiForded matter for a fatire, but not for a comedy. Go to La Grenee,* and afk him for a picSture of Painting; he will think he has done what you want when he has put on his canvas a woman before an eafel with her thumb through a palette and a brufh in her hand. Afk him for Philofophy ; he will think he has given it you by producing a woman in carelefs attire refting her elbow on a defk by lamplight, dis- hevelled and thoughtful, reading or meditating. Afk him for Poetry ; he will paint the fame woman with a laurel-wreath round her brows and a roll of manufcript in her hand. For Mufic^ you fhall fee the fame woman with a lyre inflread of the roll. Afk him for Beauty ; aflc the fame from a cleverer man than him ; and, unlei's I am much miflaken, he will be perfuaded that all you want from his art is a pifture of a hand- fome woman. The fame fault is common to your aftor and to this painter ; and I would fay to them, ' Your pifture, your a ? He, then, who beft knows and beft renders., after th e beft conceived ideal type, thefe outward fig ns. is the great^ft ae-^ya»-feee- to -face with you ; between you there was, go model foi_B!EpQfesjafxoiii.papi-fofr;-7tr(rwerefatisfied with her v oice, her jgefture, her-expreflioiu-her-beanag-; -aU was in proportion to,-th£-a.ttd4en-ee-and^the^pace ; there was nothingthatcalled for exaltatiom On the boards all the conditions were changed : there a different imper- fonation was needed, fince all the furroundings were enlarged. In private theatricals, in a drawing-room, where the fpeftator is almoft on a level with the ailor, th^ true dramati c imperfonation would have ft xuck you as/ being on an enormous, a giganticfrale , and at- fhe e. nfi of tneTSeri'ormance"you would Have faid confidentially to a friend, ' She will not fucceed ; fhe is too extravagant ; ' and her fuccefs on the ftage would have aftonifhed you,. Let me repeat it, whether for good or ill, the aftor fays nothing and does nothing in private life in the famey way as on the ftage : jtis a different world. But there is a decifive fatt, which was "told me by G 82 The Paradox of zAEling. ,in accurate perfon of an original and attractive turn of mind, the Abbe Galiani, and which I have fince heard confirmed by another accurate perfon, alfo of an original and attraftive turn of mind, the Marquis de Caraccioli, ambaffador of Naples at Paris. This is, that at Naples, the native place of both, there is a dramatic poetwhofe chief care is not given to compofing his piece. The Second. Yours, the P'ere. de Famille, had a great fuccefs there. The First. Four reprefentations running were given before the King. This was contrary to court etiquette, which lays down that there fhall be as many plays as days of performance. The people were delighted. However, ■^the Neapolitan poet's care is to find in fociety perfons . of the age, face, voice, and characEler fitted to fill his parts. People dare not refufe him, becaufe the Sovereign's amufement is concerned. And when, think you, do the company begin really to a£t, to underftand each other, to advance towards the point of perfedtion / he demands ? I t_is when th e a£tors are worn out ' w ith conftant rehearfals, a re what we call '■ ufed upT*^" From this moment their progrefs is furprifing ; each identifi es himfelf v vijhjhis pjirtj and it is at tjT£ end of thjsJiard_ssawJt-thatJii£_4>erforj^ begin and go on~ for^Jix-months- on endjj while the_ Sovereign anTBis"' T^he Paradox of zASling. 83 fubjecfts enjoy the higheft pleafure that can be obtained^ from a ftage illufion. And can this illufion, as fi:rong,\ as perfeit at the laft as at the firft performance, be due ) in your opinion to fenfibility ? For the reft, the ques- tion I am diving into was once before ftarted between a middling man of letters, Remond de Sainte-Albine,* and a great a£lor, Riccoboni.f ■ The man of letters pleaded the caufe of fenfibility ; the adtor took up my cafe. The ftory is one which has only juft come to my knowledge. I have fpoken, you have heard me, and now I afk you what you think of it. The Second. I think that that arrogant, decided, dry, hard little man, to whom one would attribute a large allowance of contemptuoufnefs if he had only a quarter as much as prodigal Nature has given him of felf-fufRciency, * Author oi Le Comedien. 171^7. f Riccoboni was born at Mantua in 1707, and came to France with his parents in 1716. In 1726 he made his firft appearance, with fuccefs, at the ComMe Italienne,'as the lover in Marivaux's Surfrife de I'Jmour. He twice left and twice rtjoined the company. In 1749 he made what feemed a third and definitive retreat ; but in 1 7 5 9 he reappeared again , as a member of the Troupe Italienne. , He died in 1772. Baron Grimm defcribes him as a cold and pretentious aftor. He was the author of various pieces, alone and in collabora- tion, and publiflied a work called Penfees fur la Declamation. 84 The 'Paradox of o not people taiK in lociety of a man being a great aflor ? They do not mean by that that he feels , but that he e xcels in firaulating, though he feels nothing — a part much more ditfacult than that ot the a6to r; for the man of the world has to find dialogue befides, and to fulfil two functions, the poet's and the aftor's. The poet on the ftage may be more clever than the a£tot% of private life, but is it to be believed that an adlor on] the ftage can be deeper, cleverer in feigning joy, fadnefsV fenfibility, admiration, hate, tendernefs, than an olfl courtier ? But it is late. Let us go fup. 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