AS the Italian theatre, as it always has been called, will hereafter make up a conſiderable part of French dramatic exhibitions, it will be extremely proper in in this place to give ſome account of it, and alſo of all thoſe inferior dramatic objects which branched out from that ſtrange heterogeneous amuſement which, like our opera, was originally performed in a language the natives did not underſtand. Nay till very lately the love ſcenes, in ſome of thoſe comedies, have been occaſionally performed in Italian. In 1577, a troop of Italian comedians called Le Geloſi, performed at the Hotel de Bourbon, but they had no fixed eſtabliſhment, and after ſome years they were replaced by another, who, in their turn, were ſuppreſſed in 1662. It was after this that an Italian troop were permitted to perform alternately with the troop of MOLIERE au petit Bourbon, where they continued till 1697, when the king thought proper to ſhut up their theatre.

The variety of difficulties the Italian comedians laboured under to procure leave for their performances, obliged them to exhauſt invention for expedients to combat the laws then in force. The firſt of theſe expedients was an attempt to evade an accuſation of performing regular pieces. This they effected by taking an outline of the plot of the piece, together with all the nicer immediate circumſtances; and having got this perfectly by heart, to ſupply the dialogue extempore. By this means the ſame ſcene was never literally performed twice alike, eſpecially as they frequently changed parts with each otherTheſe pieces were the invention of the two RICOBONIES, father and ſon, and, to ſay truth, they poſſeſſed one very extraordinary merit. The words coming from the actors extemporaneouſly, they had a vivacity, a glow, a fire, unknown to thoſe dialogues which are ſtudied. This however was not new for it had been done in Spain. The comedians who compoſed this troop were almoſt all authors, and through a lively and fertile imagination, they filled their parts with uncommon eclat. The contrary, however, was too often the caſe, for it is eaſily ſeen that a ſingle novice might diſconcert the moſt ingenious eſſuſions of imagination..

Notwithſtanding this and other expedients, the Italian theatre was ſhut up for nineteen years, and after this they were ſo diſperſed that it was not expected they would ever again rally in FRANCE. The Duc D'ORLEANS, however, at that time Regent, ſent for others, who arrived in PARIS in 1716. He gave inſtructions to M. ROUILLE, Counſeiller d'Etat, to procure the beſt performers from ITALY. It will eaſily be believed the taſk was not difficult. Indeed with ſuch alacrity did they pour in from all quarters, that the company was very ſoon complete, and the regent, till the Hotel de Bourgogne could be got ready, permitted them to perform at the Palais Royal on ſuch days as there was no opera.

On the eighteenth of May, 1716, they opened their theatre with a piece called L'Heureuſe Surprize, and on the twentieth of the ſame month their eſtabliſhment was announced by an order from the king. The firſt day of the following June they took poſſeſſion of the theatre of the Hotel de Bourgogne, under the title of the comedians in ordinary to his Royal Highneſs Monſieigneur le Duc D'ORLEANS, Regent, and that prince dying, on the ſecond of December, 1723, the company obtained the title of the KING's Italian comedians in ordinary, with a penſion of fifteen thouſand livres. This obtained, they put the king's arms upon the Hotel de Bourgogne, and above it, in black marble, this inſcription in letters of gold.

HOTEL des comediens Italiens ordinaires du Roi, entretenus par ſa Majéſté rétablis a Paris en l'annee M,DCC,XVI.

The theatres that were erected at the Fairs, St. Germain, and St. Laurent, though an inferior kind, were nevertheleſs productive of great improvement in dramatic humour; and alſo bringing forward actors and actreſſes of great and particular merit. Engliſh travellers at that time flocked with pleaſure to ſee the buffoon and groteſque acting of DOMINIQUE in Harlequin, the ſimple and naive deportment of BELLONI in Pierrot, the humour and fineſſe of Madamoiſelle de LISLE in the waiting maids, the pleaſant awkwardneſs of DESGRANGES in Scaramouch, the ſingular figure of PAGHETTI, in old men, and the noble and modeſt air of Madamoiſelle MOLIN, in the characters of wards and daughters.

In all countries the beſt writers have been, at different times, ill treated by managers. LE SAGE, D'ORNEVAL, PANNARD, PIRON, and BOISSY led the way for almoſt a total deſertion of the theatre, in favour of the fair; which boaſted at length the added names of FAVARD, ANSEAUME, DOMINIQUE, LE GRAND, FAGAN, DELAFOND, PONTAU, VADE, and SEDAINE. The trifles they produced being excellent in their kind, and in a ſtyle perfectly different from the general run of dramatic entertainments, and alſo produced by ſome of the beſt writers, made the fairs, for forty years, the firſt object of amuſement in FRANCE.

The theatres feeling ſeverely the effect of their own inferiority, were obliged to have recourſe to a number of expedients, if not to ſuppreſs the pieces performed at the fair, at leaſt to leſſen their value. For this purpoſe they were perpetually teaſing the magiſtrates, who, at different times, upon being properly applied to, iſſued ſeveral mandates to forbid ſuch parts of the performances as were moſt likely to be applaudedUpon one of theſe occaſions muſic was abſolutely forbidden; in conſequence of this they were obliged to ſupply what they could, in which they were generally, by implication, pretty ſevere on their oppreſſors. One night in the middle of a ſcene an aſs was heard to bray—"Hold your tongue," ſaid Harlequin, "you'll bring us into a ſcrape. Don't you know we are forbid to have muſic." .

This only ſerved to ſtimulate their exertions, and to rouſe them to freſh ingenuity. Being forbidden to perform in dialogue, they were, for ſome ſhort time, reduced to exhibit every thing by geſture, through which they ſeverely and ſucceſsfully ridiculed their enemies. They could not hope, however, to perform long in this manner to any great advantage; and, therefore, applied to the ſydnies and the doctors of the royal academy of muſicians, who permitted them to perform ſhort pieces, partly dialogue, and partly ſongs, and occaſionally aſſiſted by dances.—Theſe ſpectacles were called the Comic Opera, of which ſpecies of amuſement the admirable author of Gil Blas may be conſidered as the father.

Flattered with the great ſucceſs he had met with on the ſtage, and irritated with the avarice and folly of the managers, he devoted himſelf entirely to this ſlighter ſpecies of dramatic employment. Many of his pieces were in great meaſure written from motives of revenge, and ſuch were generally parodies of the new tragedies, which no ſooner appeared on the theatre, than they were humourouſly and ſucceſsfully ridiculed at the fair. The beſt authors ſmarted, and moſt ſeverely too, under this teaſing rod of criticiſm. Among the reſt, Mr. VOLTAIRE, in the buſineſs of his Semiramis, certainly felt it with the greateſt keenneſs

VOLTAIRE was diſtreſſed beyond meaſure leſt his Semiramis ſhould be parodied. He wrote a letter to the queen, where he ſays, "as he is ſure ſhe has no farther intention in ſanctioning the ſtage by her auguſt preſence than to countenance only decency and decorum, he conjures her, with the moſt lively grief, not to ſuffer a violation of decency, in permitting a ſatire againſt him. That the tragedy of Semiramis is founded from one end to the other upon a ſubject the moſt pure and moral, and from that circumſtance it demands her protection. Deign," ſays he, "to conſider that I am the king's domeſtic, and conſequently yours. My colleagues, who are gentlemen in ordinary to the king, of whom many are employed in other courts, and many poſſeſs the moſt honourable ſituations, will find themſelves diſgraced by this inſult, and will deprive me of my charge, and humble me in the eyes of the royal family, if I am forced to ſubmit to this cruel humiliation. I conjure your majeſty, by your goodneſs of heart, by the greatneſs and liberality of your mind, by your piety, not to deliver me thus to my hidden and overt enemies, who after loading me with a thouſand opprobrious outrages, would deſtroy me, by making me a public laughing ſtock.

"Deign to conſider that theſe parodies have been long ſince legally forbidden. Muſt they then be revived ſolely to my inj •• y? and will your majeſty ſuffer it? No, Madam; your heart is two juſt not to be moved by my wretchedneſs and my prayers, not will you ſuffer an old ſervant to die with grief and ſhame. 〈…〉 hope then your humanity will be touched with my ſorrowful caſe, and as in painting you I paint virtue itſelf, let me hope that v • rtue will be my protection."

Without a comment, I give this as genuine from VOLTAIRE, who pretended to laugh at the malice of all the world.

Theſe comic writers, however, drew on themſelves, by the ſeverity of their ſatires, a hoſt of enemies, and were forbid to perform any pieces in which there was either ſpeaking or ſinging. This only convinced the world that they were complete adepts in their buſineſs; for, immediately ſetting their wits to work, they invented a ſpecies of amuſement which, from its extraordinary novelty, had the greateſt ſucceſs. It was written in the ſtrongeſt manner, and thus performed:

Two actors came on the ſtage with as many rolls of parchment as there were ſpeeches in the ſcene they were to perform. Theſe rolls were numbered, and on each, written in large characters, what they had to ſay. Theſe they alternately diſplayed, which, being read by the audience, exhibited, in very laconic terms, ſome witty colloquy, eſpecially as theſe writings in great meaſure conſiſted of humorous apologies for their being under the neceſſity of having recourſe to ſo incomplete an expedient.

When the audience had ſeen enough of this viſual dialogue, large rolls of canvas were ſo diſplayed by two figures of boys, who ſeemed playing in the air, that the ſpectators could completely read the words of a ſong, As ſoon as it became completely viſible, the orcheſtra began a well known air, which ſome actor, placed either in the parterre, or the boxes, began to ſing. The audience ſoon took the hint, and after a time it was no uncommon thing for the whole of the ſpectators to join in every chorus.

The matter was, in proportion to the ſingularity of the exigence, moſt wonderfully managed; but, after all, it is very evident that they laboured under the greateſt diſadvantages; and, at length, by the e ••••• iſhment of the regular Italian comedians in 17 •• , who were joined by ſome of the beſt perfo • mers at the fair, this memorable era of humour and pleaſantry on the French ſtage, became apparently extract; but it, however, left ſuch traces of real humour, fertile imagination and happy ſatire, that there has been ſcarcely a comic opera written ſince in FRANCE, that has not kept in view the ſpecies of intrigue invented by this extraordinary ſet of ingenious menEven after the Italian theatre had been eſtabliſhed in 1716, it laboured under difficulties; for, growing into faſhion, the French actors complained that the Italians ſhould perform in any other than their own language. This complaint was carried to the king, who deſired to hear both parties. BARON, in the name of the French actors, ſpoke firſt. This done the king made a ſign to DOMINIQUE, the Harlequin, to ſpeak in his turn. "In what language may it pleaſe your majeſty am I to ſpeak?" ſaid DOMINIQUE. "In any language you will," ſaid the king. "Oh!" ſaid the Harlequin, "if that's the caſe I have won my cauſe." The king would not recal his word, and after that time the Italians continued to perform without interruption..

Before we quit the ſubject of the fair, it is proper to ſay it began with puppets. After this appeared wild beaſts, but it is curious to remark that a lion or a tiger was not conſidered as the ſmalleſt rarity, if he could not perform ſome comical tricks. After theſe came giants who muſt alſo be buffoons, otherwiſe they had no attention paid them. On this account, the common animals which we ſee every day were the greateſt favourites. Dogs, cats, and monkies, did more than the beſt actors and actreſſes that ever appeared, and theſe for a time were put out of countenance by ſlight-of-hand men, tumblers, and rope-dancers.

It muſt, however, be remembered, to the honour of the fair, that it gave birth to the moſt elegant dancing in FRANCE. Madmoiſelle de LISLE, who joined the moſt refined taſte and execution in ſerious dancing to the moſt charming ſprightlineſs in demi-character, and the ſtrongeſt conception and diſcrimination in dances of character and expreſſion, may be reckoned among the earlieſt proofs that the French were born eminently to rival all other nations in that accompliſhed—I will not, however, here ſay how far uſeful—art.

Madmoiſelle SALLE, who cauſed ſo long the admiration of PARIS, and at length retired with the applauſe of her country, was alſo an Eleve at the fair. Madmoiſelle RABON, that very celebrated dancer, was alſo bred up at the fair; and as for ſingers, it was the nurſery of the theatre.

Among other dancers who performed with great celebrity at the fair, was the father of our famous GRIMALDI. He had then juſt fled from ITALY. He was called, for diſtinction, Iron Legs; and ſuppoſed to be the beſt jumper in the world: for even the taſte of FRANCE, in its own proper profeſſion has been at times vitiated. He once jumped ſo high that he broke a chandelier; a piece of which hitting the Turkiſh ambaſſador, who was in the ſtage box, he conſidered this conduct as a premeditated affront, and complained to the French court of the outrage. But the moſt extraordinary circumſtance concerning him was his being put in priſon for indecency on the FRENCH STAGE, which is a circumſtance, when we conſider the licence uſed there, moſt peculiarly extraordinary.

The French were certainly for a time inſatuated with GRIMALDI, but after the unlucky buſineſs of his impriſonment for indecencyI copy the following circumſtance from a French author. "Iron Legs had for a partner either his wife, his ſiſter, or his daughter; for ſo equivocal was the lady's character that no one has been able to aſcertain the preciſe degree of relationſhip. This nymph was thought to be his ſiſter or daughter, for ſhe was remarkably like him; being a ſquat, thick, ſtrong figure, and endowed with ſo much agility and ſtrength that ſhe could break chandeliers almoſt as well as himſelf. Thus, as it was well known ſhe cohabited with him as his wife, the remainder of the conjecture—his character being pretty well authenticated—became more probable." , he began to loſe ground, and at length was obliged to ſtroll into FLANDERS, where, however, he proved a ſource of riches to his confederates, for the Flanderkins, as he added legerdemain and other tricks to his jumping, thought him ſome ſupernatural beingWhen GRIMALDI was obliged to decamp into FLANDERS, he and his troop were attacked near BRUSSELS by a banditti. The baggage waggon was ranſacked, their pockets turned inſide out, and, according to their uſual cuſtom, the thieves were about to diſpatch their prey. It ſhould be known that GRIMALDI wanting money for his expedition, enticed one FLAHAUT, a bookſeller, to follow his fortunes. FLAHAUT, having learnt Latin, took it into his head that it would be a good thing to introduce the ancient chorus on the ſtage, by way of explaining GRIMALDI's dances. GRIMALDI appeared to approve the ſcheme, but told him as it was a kind of improvement that could only be brought about by degrees, he had better learn to dance firſt, which would make him immediately uſeful. FLAHAUT ſet to work, and GRIMALDI promiſed to make him a capital dancer. In the end, he got as much money together as he could, left his family, and, as I ſaid, followed GRIMALDI. When the fabres of the banditti were drawn to diſpatch the troop of dancers, GRIMALDI, who at the danger of his life would have his joke, whiſpered FLAHAUT to talk Latin to them.—The enthuſiaſt, FLAHAUT, began; and for a few ſeconds the ſabres were ſuſpended. Preſently loudly vociferating dixi, one of them aiming a blow at his head, cried feci; which blow, had it taken place, muſt have ſilenced the orator for ever. But the moſt extraordinary part of the adventure remains to be told. GRIMALDI's partner, the lady before commemorated, in all the furor of romantic heroiſm, juſt as the word diſpatch had been uttered, ſtept forward, and, in a ſcream of deſpair, implored the banditti to have pity on her comrades; offering that if they would be merciful, ſhe would yield herſelf up a ſacrifice, and devote herſelf to their pleaſure. She deſcribed how many ways ſhe could be uſeful to them; that ſhe could dance to amuſe them, ſhe could cook for them, and, to be brief, intimated, in the language of DEBORAH WOODCOCK, that ſhe had no objection to any work they could put her to. In ſhort, the thieves were appeaſed, and carried off the lady in triumph, but not till they had ſtript the whole troop ſtark naked, leaving them nothing but the refuſe of what they had pillaged from baggage waggon, conſiſting of a few odds and ends of pantomime dreſſes. GRIMALDI put on an old Harlequin's jacket, poor FLAHAUT contented himſelf with the trowſers of Scaramouch, and in this plight they begged their way to BRUSSELS..

I have ſaid that the regular Italian comedy was re-eſtabliſhed in 1716. Such an impreſſion. however, the performances at the fair made, that the Italians on their return were, for a time, obliged to perform on that very ſpot, in order to give an original colour to their repreſentations; and thus, by degrees, they ſtole on the notice of the public, who, ſuch is the force of cuſtom, reliſhed thoſe amuſements no where but at the place they were originally given.

The circumſtance of performing the pieces of the fair aroſe from this: When firſt this troop began to be eſtabliſhed at PARIS, they performed nothing but pieces entirely Italian. The ladies who did not underſtand that language, no longer frequented the theatre. The gentlemen finding themſelves deſerted by the ladies, and thus the great channel of gallantry ſtagnated, alſo kept away. Seeing this, the Italians had recourſe to the pieces anciently performed at the Italian theatre, which were a jumble of half Italian and half French. What had formerly pleaſed, however, was no longer reliſhed, and they were, at one time, upon the point of returning to ITALY. What follows is the ſubſtance of a ſpeech ſpoken by Harlequin to the audience.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, they make me play all ſorts of parts, and I know many of them ought to diſguſt you. I hope, however, that which I attempt at preſent will have the contrary effect; though I confeſs a Harlequin may be expected to move your laughter rather than your pity. But novelty does much on the ſtage, and I truſt, when you ſee a kneeling Scaramouch, a weeping Colombine, and an imploring Pantaloon, you will forget their aſſumed characters, and conſider them as ſo many ſtrangers appealing to your compaſſion.

"You will be pleaſed to take into your conſideration that, in coming to FRANCE, we had to combat new manners, a new language, and a new ſpecies of entertainment. In ſhort, we have only yet been at ſchool, and the public have very properly kept away from us, till we made ourſelves perfect. The ladies, without whom the beſt eloquence languiſhes and dies, have withdrawn from us their ſupport, and how can we expect any men of gallantry to attend us?

"The pieces we have performed were taſted formerly; but it was folly to ſuppoſe that what delighted a barbarous age ſhould pleaſe an enlightened one. We mean, therefore, to abandon them, to ſubſtitute others more to your taſte, and, as the public are always equitable, we fear not your indulgence ſo much as our own inability. What little merit we have ſhall be ſtrenuouſly exerted to give you pleaſure; in the mean time, we are producing every day in our children young actors and actreſſes, who, though they inherit Italian abilities, are yet natives of FRANCE, and may perfect the celebrity of the theatre; all which advantages would be loſt if we were compelled to go to our own country.

"Deign, therefore, to conſider, at preſent, our intentions, that hereafter you may applaud our merits. Hitherto you have been indulgent at the expence of your juſtice; hereafter we ſlatter ourſelves that applauſe will be ſanctioned by propriety."

This ſpeech had the deſired effect; the public intereſted themſelves in the affairs of the comedians, and ſome of the beſt authors having adviſed them to perform the moſt celebrated among the pieces given at the fair, they very ſoon got into reputation. At length, many writers of eminence lent their aſſiſtance, and their children, as they had predicted, grew up, and were moſt accompliſhed actors. Indeed the reputation of the Italian theatre eclipſed that of the French. to which St. FOIX, MARIVAUX, and other eminent authors did not a little contribute.

A circumſtance which happened about this time went a great way towards eſtabliſhing the reputation of the Italian theatre at PARIS. The convaleſcence of the king after a dangerous illneſs, gave occaſion for every exertion of loyalty throughout the kingdom; but the ſpirit of the Italians was very remarkable; they erected a moſt magnificent tranſparency before the Facade of their theatre; they built up a temporary ſtage on the balcony over it, whence their band did not ceaſe to play, or their troop to dance, during the greateſt part of the night; and as the whole tendency of their performance was to compliment the king, and congratulate the people on his recovery, as many as could be collected on the ſpot joined their ſhouts of Vive le Roi in time to the muſic, as often as it was introduced; and that their mirth might not want an incentive, ciſterns of wine were placed in a convenient manner, to ſupply the populace.

On the day that Te Deum was ſung at Notre Dame, the Italians recommenced the rejoicings. The tranſparency erected before their theatre was ſo maſterly both in conception and execution, that it is really worthy of particular deſcription:—Within a circular decoration, conſiſting of ſymbolical ornaments, was painted the temple of IRIS, ſurrounded with a beautiful rainbow, on which appeared the goddeſs with all her attributes.

The illuminations which accompanied this grand picture formed three arcades, ſupported by pilaſters, all of the ruſtic order. Between the arcades Vive le Roi was ſuſpended in large characters. Above the pilaſters were placed four pyramids, ornamented with ſtreams of fireThis was effected by rows of lamps placed before reverberators., which gave an unſpeakable effect. The inſide of the temple was entirely tranſparent, and nobly deſigned, as well as the rainbow and the figure of IRIS.

In the middle of the temple was placed a portrait of the king, under a figure of APOLLO, ſurrounded with his ordinary ſymbols. Over his head the words POST NUBILA PHOEBUS, and on the two ſides of APOLLO were the figures of Peace and Plenty. From the extremity of the erection were carried two pyramids, which completed the grandeur of the whole to a degree of wonder; they were of themſelves fifty-two feet high, and at the baſe fifty feet wide, tapering, as they aſcended, to a point.

To enumerate all the prodigious variety of devices which were contained in the paintings on the pyramids would take up much more room than I ought to allow. It is enough to ſay that they were all tranſparent, and diſtributed about in the moſt fanciful and charming order, being interlaced with innumerable lamps, placed before reverberators. To the BRUNETTIS, father and ſon, famous Italian painters, was confided the execution of the whole, who had now brought ſcenery in FRANCE to that perfection which has ever ſince made it the admiration of all other nations.

Theſe comedians alſo gave upon theſe occaſions three new pieces, called the Illumination, the Village Wedding, and the Sincere Revels. They were written by PANNARD, and performed with all the ſucceſs that could be expected from an event ſo naturally intereſting. From this circumſtance it happened that the king was ever after called LOUIS le bien aime, thoſe words being a quotation from a ſpeech in one of the pieces.

ANCIENTLY in FRANCE we have ſeen that all the authors were actors. The Trouverres, the Troubadours, the Pilgrims, and even the Prieſts peſonated different characters; and we find them at the head of their reſpective companies acting, ſinging, or poſturing, according to the nature of the ſpectacle they undertook to exhibit. In the Myſteries, the Confraternity of the Paſſion, were all actors. When the Myſteries had yielded to the Moraliſts, the performers were partly the prieſts and partly the laiety. By the time the Children of Sans Souci joined this confedracy, and they were forbid to perform any other than profane ſubjects that had a moral tendency, the prieſts retired from the ſtage, and the laiety had excluſive poſſeſſion of it.

The retirement of the prieſts ſeemed to be the ſignal for improvement. The tragedies of JODELLE and the reſt muſt have boaſted much more regular actors than the rhapſodies that preceded them; declamation, however, was all that yet could be expected. It ſhould ſeem, indeed, that till then the employment of an actor had never been conſidered as a profeſſion of itſelf, for we are told, and particularly by MAROT, who died before JODELLE, that a man, whoſe epitaph he had written, of the name of SERRE, was the firſt regular actorJODELLE did for MAROT what MAROT had done for SERRE. He alſo publiſhed his works on a variety of ſubjects, in 1 • 42. The epitaph written by JODELLE on MAROT is ſo neat that I ſhall tranſcribe it. Quercy, La Cour, Le Piemont, L'Univers, Me fit, me tint, m'enterra, me connut. Quercy mon los, la Cour tout mon temps cut, Piemont a mes os, L'Univers mes vers. .

As to women, we have ſeen JODELLE obliged to perſonate his own Cleopatra; and, if credit can be given to the beſt French authorities, a woman of the name of BEAUPRE was the firſt actreſs in FRANCE, who might certainly have performed in the pieces written by HARDY, but not earlier, for ſhe was very old and had retired from the ſtage before CORNEILLE brought out Melite. She is reported to have ſaid to CORNEILLE that times were changed; for that before he wrote the pieces were miſerable, and the performers excellent, but that ſince he had written, the pieces were excellent, and the performers miſerable.

We have the names of PONT ALAIS, GRINGORE, and others who muſt have been cotemporaries of SERRE, for they are reported to have aſſiſted in the Myſteries, and being excellent buffoons, they were perpetually quarrelling with the prieſts. Inſtead of announcing their amuſements by bills it was then the cuſtom, as we have formerly ſeen it in ENGLAND, to beat a drum about the ſtreets; and theſe men having done ſo one day to the great annoyance of a prieſt, who was preaching, and who had a grudge againſt them, he came out of the church and demanded how they came to be ſo audacious as to beat a drum while he was preaching. "I may as well aſk you," ſaid PONT ALAIS, "how you came to be ſo audacious as to preach while I was beating my drum; we are both following our occupations." The prieſt, however, to ſhew who had the upper hand, complained to the magiſtrates, and the actor was impriſoned for ſix monthsPONT ALAIS was hunch-backed; and ſeeing a Cardinal one day in the ſtreet, who was built upon the ſame principle, he ran againſt him as if by accident. After he had very humbly apologiſed for his careleſſneſs, "I beg pardon of your excellence," ſaid he, "but you ſee two mountains may meet notwithſtanding the proverb." .

We have the names of other actors before HARDY, but we know little of their merit. During his time, however, at the head of a numerous company we find TURLUPIN, GAUTHIER, GARGUILLE, HAUDOIN, BONIFACE, CAPITAINE, and others, who are ſaid to have been very celebrated; but it ſhould ſeem by this that the productions of HARDY, which were generally called tragedies, muſt have been full of buffoonery; for TURLUPIN, who, from 1583 to 1634, was a principal performer in that company, was a mere buffoon, The word turlupinade taken from his name, having been from that time to this incorporated into the French language as a term implying a filly jeſt.

GARGUILLE ſucceeded TURLUPIN, and HAUDOIN, GARGUILLE, exactly in the ſame ſteps. The latter is ſaid to have learnt ſo much of the jargon of phyſicians by performing doctors and apothecaries on the ſtage, that he retired to MELUN without the ſmalleſt knowledge of phyſic but technical terms, and there made a fortune in quality of phyſician.

All this, however, ſeems to have been reformed when CORNEILLE began to write for the ſtage; for, notwithſtanding the handſome compliment of Madame BEAUPRE, and her predelection for the buffoonery juſt deſcribed, which ſhe was pleaſed facetiouſly to call good acting, BELLEROSE, the hero for whom CORNEILLE wrote, and who, about 1685, became manager of the company at the Hotel de Bourgogne, gave ſo new and ſo natural a turn to dramatic repreſentation, both in tragedy and comedy, that, followed up by CHEVALIER, GUERON, BRECOURT, and others, mummery and buffoonery ſoon gave way to truth and nature, BRECOURT had the misfortune to kill a coachman. He retired into HOLLAND, where he became an actor in a company belonging to the Prince of ORANGE; but being informed that the court of FRANCE had applied to the court of HOLLAND to give up ſome perſon who had taken refuge in that country, he ſuſpected he might be the perſon meant, and therefore returned and threw himſelf at the feet of the king, reminding him that upon a former occaſion he had probably ſaved his life by killing a wild boar that they had hunted. Your majeſty ſaid he even did me the honour to aſk if I was wounded. The king ſmiled, aſſured him he was not the man whoſe life he ſought, pardoned him, and ordered MOLIERE to take him again into his company.

To theſe ſucceeded MONTFLEURY, LA FLEUR, LA THUILLERIE, MONDORY, LA THORRILLIERE, JODELET, DU PARC, and his wife, CHAMPMELE, and his wife, RAISIN, BEJART, and his wife and daughter, Madmoiſelle DESCEILLETS, BEAUCHATEAU, and at length the great BARON, who was called the French Roſcius. Theſe and others of inferior rank made up the companies Au Marais, at the Hotel de Bourgogne, and the Palais Royal.

MONTFLEURY was a man of family and page to the Duke of GUISE. He was held in great conſideration by perſons of rank. The Cardinal de RICHELIEU in particular undertook the care and expence of his wedding, He had very brilliant abilities as an actor, and we have already ſeen that his exertions coſt him his lifeMONTFLEURY conſidered his profeſſion of an actor ſo honourable, that when his marriage articles were preparing, and he was deſired, being a man of family, to deſcribe in what manner he choſe to be diſtinguiſhed, he anſwered that it was not in the power of anceſtors to confer talents, and that the moſt honourable title he deſired to be known by was that of actor to the king..

LA FLEUR, who took the ſituation of MONTFLEURY after his death, was an admirable actor, and in a more extenſive way than his predeceſſor. He is reported to have been the firſt who poſſeſſed what the French call des entrailles; that is to ſay, the art of feeling to make others feel. He married the daughter of an actor called GROS GUILLAUME, and left a ſon who became a celebrated performer under the name of LA THUILLERIE.

MONDORY, a performer in tragedy, ſuſtained a reſpectable ſituation, au Marais. He was ſeized with an apoplexy, as he was performing the part of Herod in the Mariamne of TRISTAN, and ſurvived but a few days.

LA THORILLIERE was a man of family, and was a captain in the cavalry, but thought proper to leave every other occupation to follow the profeſſion of an actor. He was remarkable for performing equally well the parts of kings and peaſants. He left behind him a ſon and a grandſon, both of whom were actors.

JODELET was an admirable comic actor. His features were ſo marked and ſo groteſque, that whenever he appeared he excited loud burſts of laughter, of which he ſeemed perfectly unconſcious. His humour was very peculiar, and the authors, to give force to their characters, accommodated themſelves to it. Hence ſeveral of the pieces of that time were named after this actor; witneſs, Jodelet Maitre et Valet, Jodelet Souffleté, and others.

DU PARC ſucceeded JODELET. His ſucceſs was at firſt doubtful, though his merit was acknowledged; but, having performed an original part, a kind of utterer of bon mots, he hit upon a humour ſo whimfical that he became a great favourite. He died the ſame year in which the world loſt MOLIERE. He had long, however, left the Palais Royal, having followed his wife to the Hotel de Bourgogne, as we have ſeen, through the connivance of BOILEAU and RACINE.

CHAMPMELE was a very mediocre performer, but he is celebrated, if celebrity may be that way acquired, for fathering other people's pieces, and other people's children. There were five or ſix pieces given to him, which appeared in the works of others, in particular La Coupe Enchantee, and Je vous prends ſans Verd, both of which are among the productions of LA FONTAINE, and Delie, which was undoubtedly written by VISE; but for the merit of theſe pieces, FONTAINE might have been aſhamed of his part; and, as to VISE, it is no great matter whether he wrote Delie or not, for he was as dull as CHAMPMELE.

As to the other accommodating part of his character, winking at his wife's infidelity, who was an incomparable actreſs, and a beautiful woman, I can only ſay he deſerves no pity, for every man of that convenient deſcription, ought to have an unfaithful wife. The lady is ſaid to have dealt her favours pretty liberally. We have ſeen RACINE in love with her, and we are told that he was ſucceeded in her affections by the Count de CLERMONT TONNERRE. This gave riſe to an epigram, which, as it is impoſſible on account of the names, to render with any effect into Engliſh, I ſhall tranſcribe as it is. A la plus tendre amour elle fut deſtinee, Qui prit long tems RACINE duns ſon coeur; Mais par un inſigne malheur, Le TONNERRE eſt venu, qui l' • deracince. Madame CHAMPMELE is ſaid to have been endowed with very extraordinary talents, together with a moſt conſummate knowledge of the world. Her manners were uncommonly elegant, and her converſation ſweet and amiable. Her houſe was the rendezvous for men of diſtinguiſhed merit; but it has been ſaid by way of pleaſantry, that notwithſtanding ſo much temptation, except in the inſtance of her little ſlip with TONNERRE, ſhe was conſtant to DESPREAUX, RACINE, LA CHAPELLE, VALINCOUR, LA FONTAINE, and—her huſband.

It is ſaid that CHAMPMELE meditated a ſingular revenge on his rivals, which induced BOILEAU to write the following epigram: De ſix amans contens et non jaloux, Qui tour a tour ſervoient Madame CLAUDE, Le moins volage etoit JEAN ſon epoux: Un jour pourtant d'humeur un pen trop chaude, Serroit de pres ſa ſervante aux yeux doux, Loſqu'un des ſix lui dit, que faites vous? Le jeu n'eſt ſur avec cette Ribande; Ah! voulez-vous, JEAN, JEAN, nous gater tous! CHAMPMELE, we are told, outlived his mother and his wife, and ſoon afterwards died in the following extraordinary manner. Coming out of the church of the Cordeliers, where he had been to put up two requiems for his departed mother and wife, the prieſt demanded the money. CHAMPMELE gave him a piece of thirty ſols, the requiems being ten ſols a piece, "No," ſaid he, "keep that to pay for my requiem and inſtantly dropped down and expired."

RAISIN was an actor of infinite merit. He was equal to any ſtyle of comedy. He was called PROTEUS, not more for his facility of changing from part to part than for the variety he threw, into the part itſelf. To theſe ſuperior talents he united an excellent underſtanding, and inexhauſtible gaiety and good humour. He was an admirable teller of a ſtory, and his company was coveted by all ranks; a circumſtance proving in him that talents are as dangerous as they are enviable, for the pleaſures he courted were the cauſe of his death.

BEJART was himſelf but an indifferent actor, but his wife was a woman of great theatrical talents, and ſhrewd and penetrating judgement. We have ſeen that MOLIERE, when he left the Illuſtrious theatre to go into PROVINCE, choſe her for his guide in his theatrical conduct. She, having before been accuſtomed to regulate a country company. Her attention to him and his intereſt was ſo much to his ſatisfaction that he married her daughter; who, under their inſtructions became a celebrated actreſs, and an excellent ſinger.

Some have endeavoured to ſully her character, and I am the more particular in mentioning this on account of having read an Engliſh hiſtory of MOLIERE, where calumny is unſparingly dealt out on the head of this poor woman. The French, however do her juſtice, not one of whom, at leaſt that I have ſeen, and my perquiſitions have been pretty induſtrious, have hinted at any thing againſt her reputation. It is true ſhe married four or five years after the death of MOLIERE, but her general conduct in his life time, and the noble trait of duty, tenderneſs, and reſpect to his memory, which we witneſſed at the time of his funeral, muſt in every candid mind acquit her of any infidelity towards a man whoſe alliance with her was a proud and enviable diſtinction, and whoſe affectionate and friendly attention to her and her family was warm and unremitting throughout his life.

Madmoiſelle DESOEILLETS was an actreſs of conſiderable merit. She was the original Hermione in RACINE's tragedy of Andromache, and performed the part with wonderful force and energy. CHAMPMELE, however, who came after her, and who had more pathos and feeling, ſucceeded ſo greatly that DESOEILLETS confeſſed herſelf conquered, which being told to the king he ſaid it was a miſtake, for that they both performed the part admirably; but to repreſent it to perfection, DESOEILLETS ought to play the two firſt acts and CHAMPMELE the three laſt.

BEAUCHATEAU was a reſpectable actor, and had a ſon who gave promiſe of uncommon talents both as an author and a performer; but at the age of fourteen he came to ENGLAND, where he abjured the Roman Catholic religion, and afterwards travelled into PERSIA, and was never after heard of.

It will be proper here to ſpeak of BARON, but to follow him through his career would lay me under the premature neceſſity of introducing POISSON, D'ANCOURT, and a number of other actors, an account of whom had better come when we have examined thoſe pieces in which they performed. As BARON, however, was cotemporary with many of thoſe who are mentioned in this chapter, I ſhall ſpeak of him previous to his quitting the theatre in 1691, when he retired with a penſion of a thouſand crowns.

This performer is allowed infinitely to have ſurpaſſed all who had gone before him. To ſtrong natural conception he added a ſolid and deciſive underſtanding; his figure was noble, his voice clear and powerful, his deportment was graceful and majeſtic, his manner varied and accommodating, and he never violated art unleſs to adorn nature. "The rules," ſaid he, "forbid us to liſt the hands above the head, but if paſſion carries them there it is right; nature knows better than the rules." ROUSSEAU ſays that BARON gave new luſtre to the beauties of RACINE, and threw a veil over the defects of PRADON.

BARON was certainly an actor of moſt extraordinary talents, which he availed himſelf of every opportunity to ripen and perfect. Bred up under the eye of MOLIERE, it was impoſſible not to benefit materially by the admirable precepts of ſo excellent a maſter. This added to thoſe gifts, with which by nature he had been abundantly endowed, qualified him for every ſtile of acting; and, except in what we call low comedy, a line he never attempted, he was allowed eminently to excel all others.

BARON wrote ſeveral pieces for the theatre, which have a ſmartneſs and ſomething very paſſable, but nothing more. His dialogue is lively, and his ſcenes are varied; and having mixed a good deal in ſociety, his characters are generally natural; but they are rather ſketches than plays, traits than ſcenes; and though taken abſtractly they produced ſtage effect, yet their flimſyneſs and want of conſequence rendered their ſucceſs weak, and their duration tranſitory.

A French author ſays that the public never allow a man merit more than in one way, and that though the writings of BARON ought to have enſured him reputation, yet theſe meaner pretenſions are ſo loſt in the ſplendour of his talents as an actor that, rather than be obliged to admire them, they don't chuſe to acknowledge them at all. For my part I cannot ſee this, though I muſt confeſs it is a doctrine that ever has been held; for the more a man variouſly ſucceeds the more he muſt naturally be an object of public admiration; and this is particularly noticeable in MOLIERE, whoſe ſplendid talents as a writer, have never leſſened his reputation as an actor.

I am afraid the friends of BARON have attempted to give him an overſtrained reputation more ſuitable to his vanity, which was inſufferable, than proportioned to his talents. It was his common obſervation that every hundred years produces a CAESAR, but that it takes two thouſand to produce a ROSCIUSBARON's coachman and laquais one day being very ill treated by the ſervants of the Marquis de BIRON, he was determined to demand juſtice, and for this purpoſe ſought out the Marquis, to whom he preferred his complaint. "Monſeigneur," ſaid he, "vos gens ont battu les miens; je vous en demande juſtice." The Marquis a little piqued, perhaps, at the familiarity of vos gens and les miens, anſwered him dryly. "Mon pauvre Baron que veux-tu que je te diſe? Pourqoui as-tu des gens?" . BARON's father was an actor, and his mother an actreſs; he had alſo a ſon of promiſing talents, who died very young; and though from the intermarriages of this family, as will hereafter be ſeen, many members of the theatre were produced, he deſervedly ſtood at the head of it, and will ever be conſidered as a man of wonderful talents.

AT the time of MOLIERE's death, and ſoon after of CORNEILLE's final ſeceſſion from the ſtage, RACINE ruled with almoſt undiſputed ſway in tragedy, having no competitors worthy conſideration, except T. CORNEILLE, CAMPISTRON, and BOURSAULT; except we ſhould mention FONTENELLE, whoſe works for the theatre, like thoſe of LA FONTAINE, were written more for amuſement than profeſſionly. The vapid PRADON muſt be noticed merely for the ſake of form.

Comedy after the death of MOLIERE was almoſt wholly ſuſtained by T. CORNEILLE and BOURSAULT; till, in 1686, D'ANCOURT brought out his Fonds Predues D'ANCOURT, whoſe name both as an author and an actor will by and by merit reſpectable notice, was ſuppoſed to have injured his reputation by bringing out this piece. RACINE called it, in deriſion, the ſcaffold of D'ANCOURT. He, however, ſpoke truth by accident, for it happened to be the ſcaffold on which he roſe to build his reputation., ſo extremely difficult was it to attain any thing like the ſtandard MOLIERE had ſet up.

As to the rincings of BOISROBERT's muddy hypocrene, they had evaporated long before; and long before had ceaſed the drolls of SCARRON; which, though admirable in their way, were in common with a multitude of other mixed productions cruſhed by the powerful genius of MOLIERE. BENSERADE had ſo injured himſelf by his diſputes with this truly celebrated man, that he thought it more prudent to write ſonnets and epigrams, and obtain patronage among the great, than bring out plays and riſk the deciſion of the public; and as to BOYER's left handed fame, it ought to be conſigned to oblivion with the impertinent prattling of VISE, who only made himſelf celebrated by cenſuring what he could not imitate. CHAPELLE was juſt as much of a writer as a muſical amateur is of a leader of a band, and even LA FONTAINE, deſervedly celebrated as he ever will be, and particularly for thoſe writings which he ſo ſolemnly abjuredIt is for the world to decide whether the conduct of LULLY or LA FONTAINE was in this inſtance replete with the groſſeſt folly. The intentions of the two men are out of the queſtion, and it is almoſt an inſult to the memory of LA FONTAINE to couple his name with that muſical buffoon. LULLY's conduct in burning his opera in compliaiſnce to the prieſt, when he had a copy in his cloſet, was full of knavery and impiety; but LA FONTAINE could have no motive in abjuring the ſentiments contained in his Tales, but to expiate what he felt as a crime of no leſs magnitude than having corrupted the morals of youth; and, taken in that point of view, ſurely nothing could be more meritorious. He aſſembled the academy, of which body he was a member; and in their hearing, and in that of a prieſt, at the time he conceived himſelf near his end, he execrated this incomparable book as an abominable work. He begged pardon of GOD, of the church, of the academy, and of all mankind for having publiſhed it, and in particular for having a ſhort time before retouched a new edition, which had ſold rapidly throughout EUROPE. LA FONTAINE ſhould have conſidered, or if he was too modeſt, the academy ſhould have conſidered for him, that neither the ſentiments nor the circumſtances were his own, but that he had merely clothed old Tales from BOCACE and others in poetry, ſo rare, ſo neat, and ſo winning, that the French language had attained nothing equal to it before, nor had it been to the time of this abjuration ſucceſsfully imitated. Query, therefore, though I hope I am no ſtickler for immorality, whether reviving theſe old ſtories which had been ſo many years in the mouths of every nurſe and midwife, and, I am afraid, of every abbeſs and nun throughout the kingdom, might not have been pardoned in favour of the advantage on the ſide of literature in general, and poetry in particular; eſpecially as the French, and above all, the ladies, have been ever remarkable, not only for conſidering that wit as the moſt palatable, as moſt calculated for the tierceneſs and poignancy of their language, and that it would be prudery not openly to encourage, which is the moſt highly ſeaſoned with double entendre. The fact is, LA FONTAINE was in the ſeaſon of ſickneſs, and M. POUJET, his confeſſor, thought it the intereſt of the church that he ſhould abjure, not what had made the morals of the country worſe than they were before, for heaven knows that would have been at any time a difficult taſk, but what had expoſed the intrigues of religious profeſſors., would render the indiſpenſible neceſſity of mentioning him here an irkſome duty did it not give opportunity of acknowledging his incomparable merit in every part of his productions except thoſe written for the ſtage.

I have already ſaid of BOURSAULT that his comedies, during the time of MOLIERE, having been the offspring of feuds and controverſies, in which he was always conquered, poſſeſſed conſiderable merit, but were ſeldom intereſting, becauſe they ſpent their force againſt the reſiſtance oppoſed by this powerful competitor. Le Medecin Volant, Le Mort Vivant, and Les Cadenats, were of a deſcription too weak to cope with thoſe pieces of MOLIERE, to which they were oppoſed; but, as if the exiſtence of that father of comedy had been the enchantment which held the genius of BOURSAULT ſpell-bound, no ſooner did that exiſtence ceaſe, but, like a ſpirit emancipated from confinement, this author's merit began to be acknowledged; of which truth, as in many other inſtances, it will be impoſſible for me, in conſequence of ſo much matter, which will now preſs on me, to mention more than ſome leading particulars.

In 1679, BOURSAULT brought out Le Mercure Galant, and Germanicus, which laſt had before appeared under the title of La Princeſſe des Cleves. The firſt of theſe pieces abounded with true comic humour, and the other with harmony, pathos, and ſtrength. VISE, the author of a Journal called Le Mercure Galant, who was triumphantly ridiculed in this comedy, notwithſtanding we have ſeen him formerly join BOURSAULT in ridiculing MOLIERE, complained to the court againſt his old friend. The court referred him to the General of the Police, who ſaid he could not find in his conſcience to ſuppreſs the piece, it was ſo entertaining; but that, to meet the matter half way, he would iſſue a beheſt to call it La Comedie ſans Titre, in order that, if it was not a juſt ſatire, nobody might find it out.

As to Germanicus, it had prodigious ſucceſs. CORNEILLE in the academy ſpoke of it in the higheſt terms, and ſaid, among other things, that it wanted nothing but the name of RACINE to be conſidered as one of the beſt tragedies on the theatre. This RACINE conſidered as a ſarcaſm, and he, therefore, was never afterwards cordial with CORNEILLE.

Marié Stuart, Phaeton, Meleagre, Mots a la Mode, Eſope a la Ville, and Eſope a la Cour, make up the remainder of BOURSAULT's works, which being written upon different occaſions, and for different purpoſes, had of courſe various ſucceſs. The two Aeſops are certainly not calculated for intereſting effect, being thronged with fabulous applications; the Fables, however, are written with great beauty, point, truth, and intereſt; and have ever been held in admiration, though they have been over and over again attempted both here and in other countries with but indifferent effect on the ſtage.

Eſope a la Ville nevertheleſs ſucceeded greatly during its firſt run; which, indeed, in ſome meaſure, was owing to the preſence of mind of the celebrated RAISIN, who performed the part of AESOP. Finding that the audience began to tire at this perpetual repetition of fables, though they greatly admired the fables themſelves, he came forward and told them that he plainly perceived, among them tokens of diſcontent; but the fact was that the author, determined to bring AESOP on the ſtage, would have failed in portraying the truth of his character if he had made him do any thing but repeat fables. "This character," ſaid he, "as all characters ſhould be, is drawn naturally; and I can only tell you that if good fables, which are generally conſidered as the eſſence of dramatic pieces, ſhould be deemed an imperfection in the piece before you, we had better ſtop here, for I have yet eleven or twelve fables to repeat and all as good as thoſe you have heard." The loudeſt and moſt univerſal applauſe ſucceeded, and the piece from that moment was conſidered as a work of great genius and a brilliant ornament to the theatre.

Let us look after T. CORNEILLE. Darius, brought out in 1655, Le Geolier de ſoi-meme, in 1659, Le Galant Double in 1660, and Stilicon in the ſame year, had none of them more than paſſable ſucceſs; but in 1661, Camma, which ſubject was ſuggeſted by FOUQUET, and recommended by the great CORNEILLE to his brother when he returned to the theatre, ſhews that fortune with T. CORNEILLE was always in extremes; for the Hotel de Bourgogne, where it was repreſented, was ſo thronged and that repeatedly both in the front and behind the ſcenes, that there was ſcarcely room for the actors to perform their parts.

The concourſe of people who came to this tragedy induced the actors, who had exhibited till then only on Sundays, Tueſdays, and Fridays, to add Thurſday to their nights of performance; and this afterwards became a cuſtom during the run of any piece that had extraordinary ſucceſs.

Pyrrhus performed in 1661, Maximien in 1662, Perſée et Demetrius in 1662, Antiochus in 1666, and Le Baron D'Albikrac in 1668, had each a creditable degree of ſucceſs. Laodice, brought out the ſame year, did not ſuccced ſo wellT. CORNEILLE could not help expreſſing his aſtoniſhment that this play had ſo little ſucceſs. "Why," ſaid he to a friend, "the ſcene lies in CAPPADOCIA, and the manners of that people are pictured to the life." "That's the reaſon, perhaps," anſwered the friend, "that it is not reliſhed in FRANCE. I'll tell you how to do. Send it to CAPPADOCIA to be performed." . Annibal in 1669, La Comteſſe D'Orgueil in 1670, and Theodat in 1672, ſhared that ſort of fate uſually experienced by this author, when fortune was not in her moſt generous mood. Ariane, produced in the ſame year, though an indifferent piece was well received on account of the admirable acting of Madame CHAMPMELE, and has frequently been revived ſince. This is the play that induced BOILEAU to give T. CORNEILLE the name of the Younger Brother. CORNEILLE is ſaid to have written this tragedy in ſeventeen days.

Achille in 1673, and Don Caeſar D'Avalos in 1674, did tolerably well, but this author determined to rouſe the public, had recourſe in his next piece, Circe, which he brought forward in 1675, to machines and decorations. This anſwered his expectations for the performance ran forty nights in ſucceſſion, and was freqently afterwards repeated during the ſeaſon; and CORNEILLE, determined to ſtrike while the iron was hot, in the ſame year produced L'Inconnu, a piece upon the ſame principle, which had a prodigious number of repreſentations, of which the firſt thirty were at double price.

Le Feſtin de Pierre, brought out in 1677, was nothing more than MOLIERE's comedy under that title put into verſe, and of courſe rendered more unnatural. Le Comte D'Eſſex, produced in 1678, was performed with ſucceſs, and has been often repeated.

La Devinèreſſe, performed in 1679, and Bradamante in 1695, are all that now remain of the dramatic pieces written by T. CORNEILLE. He is ſaid, in La Devinèreſſe, to have called in the aſſiſtance of VISE; this is not very probable. It was performed forty-ſeven ſucceſſive times to prodigious houſesThe ſubject of this comedy ſeems to have created its ſucceſs. It aroſe from a report that a woman of diſtinction had poiſoned ſome of her relations to poſſeſs their fortune; and Madam JOBIN, the principal character in the piece, recommends ludicrouſly this method of getting rich, and for that purpoſe expoſes to ſale a medicine which the calls La Pondre de Succeſſion. .

This laſt was not one of thoſe meteors which now and then burſt forth to irradiate the reputation of this author; not that it ought to be taken for granted that his productions of that deſcription were his beſt; on the contrary they ſeem to have owed their fame principally to capriciouſneſs, a quality very apt to cheriſh what is ſuperficial and paſs over ſterling merit.

T. CORNEILLE alſo wrote for the theatre two operas under the titles of Pſyche, and Medee; neither of which had great ſucceſs, probably owing to LULLY. Having loſt QUINAULT, the only poet who knew how to give advantage to his muſic, the cloven foot appeared; for with all his vaunting that his muſic had made QUINAULT a poet, it fairly proved by his ill ſucceſs after that writer's retirement, that the beauty of QUINAULT's poetry had made LULLY a muſician.

I have been the more particular in this account of the works of T. CORNEILLE, becauſe they are very frequently confounded with thoſe of his brother; an error that ought clearly to be pointed out. There certainly was a wide diſtinction between the two men; cauſed by the ſimple fact that the genius of the elder brother was infinitely ſuperior to that of the younger, If, however, the works of one may truly be called great, thoſe of the other may fairly claim the title of reſpectable; and nothing can prove this more fully than his making head in the extraordinary way we have ſometimes ſeen at the time when his brother's brilliant ſucceſs muſt have been a great obſtacle to his reputation.

Some of the beauties of the great CORNEILLE were ſtrong conception, grandeur of mind, and true delineation of character, T. CORNEILLE could only boaſt conduct, regularity, and theatrical effect. Hence the cauſe ſometimes of ſudden and unexpected ſucceſs. In other reſpects his pictures, which were admirable on the ſide of deſign, were faint on the ſide of colouring. His diction is unequal and weak, and only confirms the facility with which he laboured; always a dangerous circumſtance, and that ſeldom permits an author to attain any thing beyond mediocrity, unleſs, through impulſive genius, the mind be inſpired with ideas ſo replete with truth and force, that it may be ſaid they are rather tranſmitted than written.

CAMPISTRON, a writer of reſpectable conſideration, next claims our attention. He was born at TOULOUSE, in 1659, and died of an apoplexy in 1723. CAMPISTRON was a nobleman by birth; and to the happieſt diſpoſitions for a purſuit of literature, received a moſt perfect and correct education. His taſte for poetry led him to PARIS, where RACINE became his guide in his dramatic career. CAMPISTRON became the imitator of his preceptor; but, though he equalled him, and ſometimes excelled him in the conduct of his pieces, he always fell ſhort of the beauty of his verſification.

Owing to his birth, his talent for poetry, and the protection of the Duke de VENDÔME, he poſſeſſed ſeveral conſiderable employments, and was called on to fill a ſeat in the French AcademyIt is extremely remarkable, and very proper to be mentioned here, that a ſingle trait of private gratitude in CAMPISTRON laid the foundation of the elevated rank and ſplendid fortune of Cardinal ALBERONI. CAMPISTRON, as he made a tour through ITALY, was wounded, robbed, and ſtripped near PARMA, in an obſcure village where ALBERONI was curate. The charitable prieſt gave CAMPISTRON an aſylum; fed him, cured him of his wounds, cloathed him, and did what he could to ſet him forward on his journey. When CAMPISTRON ſometime after attended the Duke of VENDOME to the wars in ITALY, he drew his maſter inſenſibly towards the retreat of his preſerver ALBERONI; and, knowing that he could materially ſerve the Duke by informing him where the country people concealed their corn, of which article the army was in great need, he had no doubt but the generoſity of VENDOME would induce him liberally to reward ALBERONI; and thus, by being the inſtrument of his good fortune, he ſhould not only have an opportunity, of reſcuing a man of talents from obſcurity, but of giving a noble proof of his own gratitude by making ſuch an ample return for the hoſpitality he had formerly received at his hands. The ſequel every body knows. ALBERONI followed VENDOME to SPAIN, and was there ſo uſeful that he was very ſoon entruſted with ſecrets of ſtate, and at length became firſt miniſter to the king of SPAIN..

In 1683 he brought out his tragedy of Virginie, which gave his name the ſtamp of reputation. He cloſely allied himſelf with RAISIN, the actor, at whoſe houſe he lived in the continual ſociety of all the men of talents and genius of that day; ſo that he had the advantage of their united opinions before he produced any thing to the public.

Arminius came forward in 1684. At this time the French taſte was guided by the caprice of Madame de BOUILLON, who was conſidered as the arbiter of the public judgment, She had taken a whim to patronize a very indifferent tragedy, called Teléphonte, written by CHAPELLE. In conſequence of this Arminius was thruſt into a corner; CAMPISTRON, therefore, withdrew his piece under the idea of improving it, and having made a few immaterial alterations, he dedicated it to Madame de BOUILLON, after which time it was univerſally followed.

Andronic was brought out in the following year, and had ſuch prodigious ſucceſs that for the firſt twenty nights the prices of admittance were doubled; and, when after that they had reduced them to their uſual ſtandard, they were again obliged to double them for a conſiderable time; and even then they could ſcarcely keep the theatre clear enough to give the actors place for their performance.

Alcibiade, performed alſo in 1685, had not the ſucceſs of any of thoſe pieces which preceded it. CAMPISTRON was accuſed of having borrowed the ſubject from the Themiſtocle of DU RYER, but this was not the truth; or, if it had been ſo, it was not a ſufficient reaſon for the coolneſs with which the public received it, for the moſt celebrated authors have at all times taken the ſame liberties; and whenever this has been done to advantage, thoſe productions have been uniformly conſidered as an additional value to the public ſtock of literature. The real fact was that CAMPISTRON not having had ſufficient time to prepare his play, it came out in a more unfiniſhed ſtate than any of thoſe the public had before ſeen.

Phraate produced in 1686, was ſo bold a picture of the times that CAMPISTRON rouſed all PARIS againſt him. It was performed but three times, and afterwards ſuppreſſed with all poſſible haſte leſt the incenſed party ſhould have had influence enough to ſend the author to the Baſtile.

Phocion performed in 1688, had very indifferent ſucceſs. The public had not forgot Phraate. This induced CAMPISTRON to turn his mind to a ſubject which he thought would conciliate all parties. He, therefore, in 1690, brought forward Adrien, taken from the Hiſtory of the Church; but the public, as little deſirous of ſeeing religion on the ſtage as polities, gave this chriſtian tragedy, as it was called, a very heretical reception.

CAMPISTRON, however, was determined to ſtick to ſcripture; and, therefore, in his tragedy of Tiridate, which was exhibited in 1691, the very delicate ſubject, from the Second Book of SAMUEL, of the amour of AMNON and his ſiſter TAMER, was introduced on the theatre, under the veil of profane hiſtory. This tragedy had but little ſucceſs; and, though it has been at different times revived, its reception was always ſo little in its favour, that it would have been better for the author and the public if it had been at once conſigned to oblivion.

Actius, brought out in 1693, is ſo little known, and its ſate ſo little remembered, that a French author ſays it is entirely loſt to the world except the following line: " Ce grand ACTIUS, fous qui l'univers tremble."

Pompeia. This tragedy was publiſhed in the works of CAMPISTRON, but its original ſucceſs is not known. His comedies will come more properly hereafter; we have, therefore, nothing now to prevent our leaving the courſe fairly open to RACINE, expect the neceſſity of noticing PRADON, who was the ſame ſort of thorn in RACINE's ſide that BOURSAULT had been in the ſide of MOLIERE; with very diſtinct and different pretenſions, however, BOURSAULT having poſſeſſed great genius, and every literary requiſite, except a claſſical education, and PRADON having boaſted very little from nature without any education at allThe Prince de CONTI meeting PRADON after the firſt repreſentation of his tragedy of Tamerlaine, "Why you have tranſported in your play," ſaid the Prince, "a town from ASIA to EUROPE." "I humbly beg your Royal Highneſs's pardon," ſaid PRADON, "but I don't underſtand chronology." .

But there were ſo many authors of that time of the ſame deſcription in PARIS, that PRADON, if he had relied on mere patronage without ſetting himſelf up as the rival of RACINE, might have quietly enjoyed ſome partial reputation, and a good deal of profit; but his conduct in ſociety was like that of a fool in company: He was perpetually betraying his ignorance in his loquacity, inſtead of prudently concealing it by remaining ſilent. The conſequence was, that he drew on his head all the vengeance of RACINE's admirers, and particularly that of BOILEAU; by which means he was perpetually loaded with literary diſgrace. In ſhort, had he not vainly and ridiculouſly compared himſelf to RACINE, his name would not have been held in ſuch contempt; or in other words, had he been modeſt as a man, he would have been conſidered paſſable as poet; but to ſpeak of RACINE.

We have ſeen in what manner the Mithridate BEAUBOURG, who was remarkably ugly, performed the part of MITHRIDATE. When Madmoiſelle LECOUVREUR, who performed MONIMIA, ſaid, "Signor you changed countenance?" "Let him, let him," ſaid a man in the pit, "he can't change for the worſe." , and the Iphigene of RACINE, conquered the Pulcherie, and the Surene of CORNEILLE. It will now be proper to ſpeak of the remaining pieces of RACINE, which are Phedre et Hypolite, Eſther, and Athalie.

Againſt Phedre et Hypolite, which came out in 1677, the whole force of PRADON's friends was drawn up in martial array; not only with a determination to ſuppreſs this play of RACINE, but to eſtabliſh another under the ſame title written by PRADON. Among this party Madame DESHOULIERES, a celebrated writer, was ſupported by the Ducheſs of BOUILLON, the Duke of NEVERS her brother, and many other perſons of diſtinction. The conſequence was that RACINE's play had but very indifferent ſucceſs, and that of PRADON was lifted to the ſkies.

Every induſtry was uſed to humiliate RACINE and exalt PRADON. The boxes, to PRADON's play, were taken for ſeveral nights together; ſo were thoſe to the play of RACINE, and paid; but they were locked up and left empty, that the houſe might appear as if it were deſerted. At the ſame time parties were hired to line the two parterres and to applaud one play and hiſs the other. But the moſt curious inſtance of their caprice was, that RACINE was execrated for bringing out a piece upon ſo indecent a ſubject, when the ſame circumſtances, equally reprehenſible in PRADON, was, in his favour, not only paſſed by but commended. It was ſaid that to raiſe this cabal it coſt this illuſtrious party fifteen thouſand livres.

This buſineſs at laſt became very ſerious. Madame DESHOULIERES wrote a ſonnet with a view to humiliate RACINE and BOILLAU. They ſuſpecting this ſonnet to have come from the pen of the Duke of NEVERS, anſwered it by another, conſerving the ſame rhimes, in which they treated the Duke with great ſeverity. He replied by a third, ſtill keeping the ſame rhimes, and finiſhed by a declaration that he would cane them both in the theatre before the public. However the protection of PRADON might be unworthy the illuſtrious cabal who lent him their countenance, and in particular Madame DESHOULIERES, it muſt not be diſſembled that RACINE drew it all on his head by the envious, the unworthy, the bitter, the indecent criticiſms which he threw out himſelf, and encouraged in his partizans, againſt the venerable CORNEILLE. Madame de BOUILLON and her party, however wrong their means of revenge, meant only to ſupport the cauſe of that great writer againſt all the coxcombs in literature, who at that time ſought every occaſion in their power to humiliate him; at the head of which very reſpectable ſet, RACINE ought to have been aſhamed of placing himſelf. In protecting PRADON they avenged the author of Cinna; and it cannot be denied but employing one dunce in a good cauſe, was a thouſand times more worthy in them than it was in RACINE to countenance twenty dunces in the ſupport of a bad one.

This, however, upon reflection he thought proper to decline; for, his cauſe not being a very good one, and RACINE and BOILEAU having been that year choſen by the king to write the hiſtory of his reign, he was apprehenſive by this vindictive ſpirit he might incur the king's diſpleaſure; which conjecture turned out to be well ſounded, for the king having noticed this unhandſome treatment to RACINE from firſt to laſt, ſent for the Duke himſelf and repreſented to him that he not only injured the cauſe of literature, an object of conſequence in all civilized ſtates, by protecting dunces to the prejudice of men of talents, but that in this particular inſtance he had inſulted two men of merit, whom he himſelf had taken under his royal protection, and to whom it was his reſolution to ſhew every poſſible countenance and attention.

Notwithſtanding this ample juſtice done to the reputation of RACINE, the humiliation of having ſo deſpicable a competitor as PRADON, and that it ſhould be poſſible that the public could heſitate a moment between their different merits, determined RACINE, at all times exceſſively vain, and feelingly irritable, inſtead of exulting in his triumph, and treating the whole buſineſs with the ineffable contempt it deſerved, to retire at once from the theatre. In vain did BOILEAU, that kind friend, whoſe malignant ſpirit had led RACINE into all ſorts of ſcrapes, entreat him, in his ſeventh epiſtle, to reenter on his dramatic career. He perſiſted ſtubbornly till twelve years afterwards, when he brought out Eſther from motives of piety.

Madame de MAINTENON, diſguſted with the pieces which were performed by her young ſcholars at her convent of St. CYR, prevailed, with ſome difficulty, on RACINE to undertake ſome religious ſubject to be repreſented by theſe young ladies. RACINE, after raiſing many difficulties, conſented at laſt, and wrote the tragedy of Eſther, which was performed, during the Carnaval at St. CYR, and afterwards at VERSAILLES before the king.

Madame de SEVIGNE calls this RACINE's chef d'oeuvre. "This poet," ſays ſhe, "has here ſurpaſſed himſelf. He loves his GOD as he loved his miſtreſſes. He is as warm on holy ſubjects as he was on profane. All is beautiful, grand, written with dignity." VOLTAIRE, however, does not happen to be of this opinion. "It ſeems to be," ſays he, "very extraordinary that Eſther had univerſal ſucceſs, and that Athalie, though performed but two years afterwards, by the ſame perſons, had none at all. The caſe was entirely the reverſe when theſe pieces were performed at PARIS long after the author's death, and when prejudice and partiality had alſo died away. Athalie was repreſented then, as it ought to be, with tranſport; and Eſther was received with coldneſs, and ſoon forgotten. The fact was; that, at this latter period, there were no ſervile courtiers who complaiſantly acknowledged Eſther in Madame de MAINTENON, or malignantly ſaw Vaſhti in Madame de MONTESPAN, or Hamon in DE LOUVOIS; or, above all, the perſecution of the Huguenots in the proſcription of the Hebrews. The impartial public ſaw nothing in it but a ſtupid and improbable ſtory. A ridiculous prince, who had lived ſix months with his wife without knowing what ſhe was, who commanded a whole nation to be murdered without the leaſt pretenceWhatever RACINE might intend, this is certainly, with M. VOLTAIRE's leave, a ſtriking picture of the proſcription and perſecution of the Huguenots., and who afterwards hanged his favourite with as little reaſon."

Eſther again rouſed RACINE's enemies; whoſe malignity, in revenge for the ſatire thrown out againſt them by BOILEAU, was ſo indeſatigably exerciſed, that from a variety of repreſentations of the circumſtance to Madame de MAINTENON, ſhe was taught to believe that ſhe relaxed the morals of her young penſioners by ſuffering them to exhibit any thing dramatic, even though on religious ſubjects. Deſirious, however, to hear Athalie, eſpecially after RACINE had taken ſo much pains to pleaſe her, ſhe conſented that the young ladies ſhould repeat the play in the preſence of the king in a plain antichamber, and without theatrical dreſſes. A piece, thus deprived of the advantages of dreſſes, ſcenery, and decorations, and upon ſuch a ſerious ſubject, could not poſſibly ſucceed to any extraordinary degree; which circumſtance, perhaps, eſcaped VOLTAIRE. The king, however, was ſo well content that he conferred on RACINE the charge of one of his gentlemen in ordinary.

I ſhall now go as ſhortly as poſſible into an examination of RACINE, of whom more, perhaps, has been ſaid by the French than of any other poet that ever had exiſtence, and certainly more, infinitely more, than his merit will bear out.

VOLTAIRE, who know as well that he was unable to write verſe with the ſame tenderneſs, the ſame beauty, and the ſame harmony as RACINE, as he did that in eloquence, force, and animation, he could greatly excel him, riſked nothing in thoſe rapturous declarations which the world have taken for honeſt candour, and ſelf denying impartiality. Theſe are his words, on the delineation of RACINE's character of Phedre. "This," ſays he, "is the chef d'oeuvre of the human mind, and the eternal but inimitable model for the labours of all thoſe who would write verſe." This, in Mr. VOLTAIRE's opinion, ſeems to ſtamp RACINE as the firſt of poets; but does it ſtamp him as the firſt of dramatic writers? At another time, when he was ſpeaking with great enthuſiaſm of the poetry of RACINE, he was aſked by a friend why he had not given the world the eulogium of that poet as well as of the great CORNEILLE. "It is already done," ſaid VOLTAIRE, "we have nothing to do but to write under every page, fine, pathetic, harmonious, ſublime!"

Why did not VOLTAIRE add touching, characteriſtic, important, philoſophic? Becauſe theſe are always to be found in CORNEILLE, often in VOLTAIRE, and ſeldom in RACINE.

The baſis of enthuſiaſtic admiration has ſeldom much ſolidity. The harmony of numbers, the enchantment of language, a happy preciſion, a finiſhed elocution; all theſe captivate and entrance the mind; but when we are told by reflection, or if we are too far gone to reflect, by a candid and finiſhed critic, that all theſe qualities are no more than a felicitous variation of the idiom of a particular tongue, it is impoſſible not to confeſs that, in all this ſuperficial deception, ſimplicity, nature, and the heart have been egregiouſly outraged; and, if this is not the caſe, how comes it that RACINE has never been tranſlated? I anſwer, becauſe it would take a poet, ay, and a great poet, to tranſlate RACINE; whereas a common linguiſt might tranſlate SHAKESPEAR, or even CORNEILLE, into any of the living languages.

What does all this ſay, but that, ſeduced by this inimitable elegance, we ſhut our eyes to faults much more material and important than the beauties we have been able to diſcover. There is a wide diſtinction between a great poet and a great author; between RACINE, for inſtance, and CORNEILLE. Where is there in RACINE the painting, the variety, the depth, the grandeur, the elevation, the force, the majeſty that pervade the writings of CORNEILLE? Theſe are not to be found in ſtudy, and unfortunately RACINE had no other communication with the Muſes. I own that CORNEILLE fails in ſtyle and taſte; but ſtyle and taſte are weak and effeminate literary requiſites. How ſuch ſuperficial expreſſions fade away at thoſe more ſubſtantial epithets, truth, and nature. I own the writing of CORNEILLE is ſometimes hard, incorrect, perplexed, and rude; but I ſtrip off this rind and inſtantly flows a nouriſhing juice that warms my heart and cheers and exhilerates my ſpirits.

The fact is that we find in CORNEILLE a moraliſt, a philoſopher, a legiſlator, and yet a poet. Love, pity, pride, ambition, cruelty, remorſe, repentance, mercy, clemency, are only ſo many ſhades which, with the aſſiſtance of a thouſand intermediate tints, he colours the picture of human nature. RACINE, only a poet, depicts nothing but love in all its various viciſſitudes. To love all the other paſſions are ſubſervient; and, as if this were not enough, his Cupid is now and then a petit maitre and apes all the manners of the French courtCORNEILLE ſaid to SEGRAIS, who ſat near him on the firſt repreſentation of Bajazet, "the perſonages of this tragedy wear Turkiſh habits but they utter French ſentiments. I ſhall, however, ſay this only to you, otherwiſe it will be taken for jealouſy, which I as much diſdain as I love to commend the beautiful poetry of RACINE." .

Whenever CORNEILLE has availed himſelf of hiſtory, he has taken the circumſtances and invented appropriate language for his perſonages. If RACINE wrote Phedre, Britannicus, and Athalie, he contented himſelf with verſifying EURIPIDES, TACITUS, and the Scriptures. But the great fault of RACINE, and that which ſhews he was by no means a maſter of dramatic conſtruction, is his having given to love the firſt rank in his tragedies; whereas religion, general honour, patriotiſm, and other important public duties, though confirmed, conciliated, and endeared by love, to render the conſtruction of a play grand and intereſting, ought always to be the primary conſideration.

The very eulogiſts of RACINE loſe themſelves in attempting to draw a compariſon between him and CORNEILLE, They tell you that CORNEILLE is like a ſtatue that ſtrikes you by the grandeur, the pride, the force, and the vigour of its form; that RACINE is a picture, ſweet, tender, delicate, natural, and animated, which through the eyes touches the heart. CORNEILLE a torrent that riſes up with violence and precipitates itſelf with impetuoſity; RACINE a majeſtic river whoſe grand and peaceable courſe conveys delight and expands fertility. CORNEILLE an audacious eagle that loſes itſelf in the clouds and ſeizes the thunder of JUPITER; RACINE a tender dove that ſails beautifully through the air to the groves of IDALIA, from whence it returns training the car of VENUS.

That firmneſs of mind, that conſciouſneſs of excellence, that certainty of ſuperiority neceſſary to form a great author, upon all occaſions failed RACINE. He flew, but he did not ſoar; he always pleaſed the ear, but he ſeldom reached the heart; he every where delighted the imagination, but no where touched the ſoul. That which cheated you into an idea of perfection often flattened into dull monotony, and fancied ſublimity, perpetually dwindled into meaſured numbers.

This mental weakneſs was manifeſt in all his conduct as a man. He was not contented with fancying himſelf the greateſt writer that ever had exiſted, but he fancied he knew every thing better than every body. When he found himſelf ſo greatly favoured by Madame de MAINTENON, who, by the way, had only encouraged his muſe to humiliate her rival Madame MONTESPAN, he actualty projected a plan of finance, which he thought would work a complete reformation in the legiſlature. This plan was put on paper and confided to his patroneſs, in whoſe hands LOUIS the fourteenth found it; who not only ſoundly rated the lady for her officiouſneſs, but warmly inveighed againſt the temerity of the poet. "How," ſaid he, "becauſe this man can write harmonious verſe, does he think he knows every thing? and becauſe he is a good poet does he fancy himſelf a great miniſter?"

It was the great misfortune of RACINE that he conſidered the perfection of verſifying the perfection of writing; to which BOILEAU, who ſeemed like one of thoſe evil genuiſes that under the maſk of kindneſs lure men to a precipice and then laugh at them as they are precipitated down, did not a little contribute. Thus when he thought he had immortalized himſelf by any work which the public received coldly, the ſhock was too much for his ſpirits. "Though I own," ſaid he to BOILEAU, "nothing delights me ſo much as public applauſe, the leaſt, the moſt contemptible criticiſm, always gives me more pain than the warmeſt praiſe ever gave me pleaſure." Is this a great man, a ſublime genuis!

Many traits in the life of RACINE, his epigrams, and above all, his preface to Britannicus, where with a heart ſwelling and a mind ſtung with envy, he endeavoured with the moſt bitter irony to turn the greateſt part of CORNEILLE's pieces into ridicule, diſcover in RACINE that pityful littleneſs of mind, that cauſtic and iraſcible ſpirit which HORACE attributes to all poets, whom he pleaſantly calls the choleric race.

This perpetual diſcontent and eternal irritability abridged his life. After the buſineſs of his improving the finance, Madame de MAINTENON gave him to underſtand that the king was ſo little ſatisfied with him that he had better not appear at court till the ſtorm was blown over; determined, however, to be convinced, he appeared before the king, who took no notice of him. This ſevere humiliation he could not brook; he, therefore, retired to his native country, where he is ſaid to have lingered a twelve-month in a moſt, diſtracted ſtate of mind, and then to have died on the twenty-firſt of April, in 1699, of a broken heart.

Faithful to the immutable dictates of ſacred truth, let us not withhold a fair tribute of praiſe to RACINE. As a poet he has been unfortunately ſpoken of to the excluſion of all others. If his friends had not been ſo warm in his praiſe, his works would not have demanded ſo critical an inveſtigation, and he would have been accorded his own fair legitimate portion of commendation, without the neceſſity of ſhewing by compariſon how inferior he was to thoſe he is ſaid to have excelled.

In its general ſenſe, RACINE certainly did not belong to the firſt claſs of writers, which muſt be indiſpenſibly compoſed of men of original genius; nor did he more in its particular ſenſe; the art he exerciſed being of a ſecondary nature.

The claſſes of writers, particularly conſidered, may be divided into a large number; at the head of which ſtands firſt, the epic, ſecond, the dramatic, and ſoon after the lyric poet; but any number of any one of theſe particular claſſes may belong to the firſt claſs of writers, taken generally, if poſſeſſed of original geniusIt will be my buſineſs hereafter to enlarge upon this..

Thus RACINE, having neither poſſeſſed original genius, nor written epic poetry, cannot generally, nor particularly, be claſſed otherwiſe than as a ſecondary writer. His labours, however, are both ingenious, and meritorious; and will enſure him a large portion of fame with all thoſe who conſider taſte and ſtyle as the ſtandard of literature; but, I believe, they are few writers who would not rather, like CORNEILLE, be eſteemed by the wiſe, admired by the judicious, and emulated by men of genius; than, like RACINE, be the criterion of the faſhionable, the wonder of the inexperienced, and the idol of the ladies.

HAVING principally ſpoken of tragedy in the laſt chapter, in order that RACINE might be more properly before the reader, I ſhall now return to the time when DANCOURT gave a new turn to comedy; certainly an imitation of MOLIERE, but beyond all queſtion, as far as it went, in every reſpect an improvement; for, by aiming at leſs of the ARISTOPHANES, his ſatire is more general and leſs offenſive.

DANCOURT was born at FONTAINBLEAU, in 1661, he was educated under Father DE LA RUE, a Jeſuit; who finding him a young man of excellent underſtanding, did all in his power to retain him as a member of that fraternity. He, however, declared for the bar; but, finding that ſtudy too ſtraitened and dry for the vivacity and penetration of a genius like his, he finally determined for the ſtage, where he made ſo great a progreſs, that like MOLIERE, he became director of the theatre.

Though DANCOURT brought out no leſs than fifty-two pieces, beſides ſix or eight others attributed to him, his ſubjects lie in a ſmall circle, round, which he perpetually turned. Trickſters of every deſcription he had a moſt happy knack of expoſing; and, to employ this talent, he found an inexhauſtible ſource of materials in painting the manners of middling life, and the cunning of thoſe who are kind friends and good neighbours, except upon thoſe occaſions when intereſt renders them callous to generoſity and inſenſible to good fellowſhip.

Theſe ordinary feelings and actions of mankind which pervade every order of ſociety, he moſt happily purſued even to the loweſt peaſants. If his ſcene was a village, or even a mill, the ſubtilty, with which intereſt teaches men to betray thoſe they appear to love, was no leſs refined than if his characters had been financiers, or procureurs; and, indeed, in painting ruſtic manners no man ever was ſo happy. His clowns are ſo ſimple, and ſo natural, yet ſo fine and ſo cunning, and manage their intrigues with ſuch keen dexterity, that in intereſt, a ſtateſman might envy the art and adroitneſs of BLAISE, and in love a woman of faſhion might be proud to emulate the coquettry and capriciouſneſs of BABET.

The lighteſt circumſtance furniſhed him with an idea for an entertainment. An adventure, a faſhion, a proverb, became a ſubject of moment, dramatiſed by DANCOURT. His pieces are all light, but they are ingenious, regular, managed adroitly, and without embarraſſment. His dialogue is natural, lively, rapid, full of gaiety, and ſparkling with wit; written, five plays exceptedThree of theſe pieces are Le Trabiſon Puni, Madame Artus, and Sancho Panco Gouverneur. The firſt, which is from the Spaniſh, was afterwards ſucceſsfully brought forward by LE SAGE, in proſe. The ſecond was a bad imitation of Le Tartuffe; and Sanco had no effect till it was, in 1762, reduced into one act by POINSINIT, and aſſiſted by the muſic of PHILIDOR. The other two, Caphale et Pro •• is, and La Metempſicoſe, are certainly inferior to all the reſt of his works., which are by no means the beſt of his works, in proſe, a ſtrong proof of his good ſenſe. Not that he was unequal to the taſk of writing poetry; for his pieces are ſometimes interſperſed with little ſongs, maſques, and divertiſements, which are written very neatly, and which, upon the whole, rank his genius ſomewhere between PRIOR and VANBRUGH; which laſt, whatever his obligations were to nature, was, as I ſhall hereafter particularize, alſo highly obliged to DANCOURT.

The pieces of DANCOURT which have beſt eſtabliſhed his reputation, are La Femme D'intrigue, Le Chevalier a la Mode, Les Bourgeoiſes a la Mode, and the Agioteurs. Theſe, except the laſt, are pieces of five acts, and for conduct, truth, colouring and ſpirit, no comedies can be better managed, nor characters drawn. His ſecondary claſs are La Maiſon de Campaigne, La Pariſienne, Le Tuteur, La Foire de Bezons, Le Galant Jardinier, and five or ſix others; in all which the circumſtances are ſtrong, the characters natural, and the dialogue lively and unaffected.

A third ſort are thoſe pictureſque trifles, admirable in their way, where he has availed himſelf of any temporary circumſtance. Such are La Loterie In this piece he ridicules all PARIS for having run after a man of the name of FAGNANI. He was a kind of a picture broker, and dealer in curioſities; and having a large ſtock of fanciful articles by him, he obtained permiſſion to ſell them by a lottery in which there were to be no blanks. This bait induced the public to take all his tickets off his hands; but it was at laſt found that nine-tenths of the prizes were inconſiderable trifles, and that every thing of value reverted to him through the channel of friends, employed for the purpoſe, and who were rewarded by him for thus playing booty., Les curieux de Compeigne This piece was written in conſequence of a camp being formed near the town of COMPEIGNE, which was reviewed by LOUIS the fourteenth; before whom a ſiege, and other military manoeuvres were repreſented. The jet of the plot is to throw ſome citizens and their families into ſituations of whimſical diſtreſs, which it muſt be confeſſed DANCOURT has managed very adroitly., Le Mari Retrouvé A very whimſical and extraordinary circumſtance, at that time the town talk of PARIS, induced DANCOURT to write this comedy. A perſon of the name of PIVARDIERE, having abſconded, his relations inſtituted an enquiry into the ſituation of his affairs; and, in order to poſſeſs his property, accuſed his wife of procuring perſons to aſſaſinate him. The matter was going very hard againſt her when PIVARDIERE, who had merely gone from his family upon a party of pleaſure, came back to ſet every thing to rights. The lawyers, however, determined to make a good profit of it, ſtrained every nerve to prove that PIVARDIERE was an impoſtor; and they ſo far ſucceeded, that his identity was not allowed till he had, at a great expence, brought the buſineſs before the parliament; when, having gained their point by filling their pockets, they acknowledged their error, and made a parade of doing both PIVARDIERE and his wife every poſſible juſtice., Le Vert Galant This piece was alſo a repreſentation of a whimſical fact. A certain Abbe made warm love to a dyer's wife; who, offended at his importunities, without heſitation informed her huſband of the honour deſigned him. It was upon this concerted between them that the huſband, in the Abbe's hearing, ſhould inform his wife that he was obliged, through buſineſs, to leave her for ſome time. The Abbe, of courſe, profitting by this good fortune, no ſooner ſaw the huſband ſet out on his journey but he redoubled his ſolicitations; and, after a great deal of affected coyneſs on her part, he prevailed on the wife to let him viſit her at ſupper. He had, however, no ſooner ſat down than the huſband thundered at the door; when, in making his eſcape, by the lady's direction, through a paſſage which led to the dyehouſe, he fell into a vat, where he floundered for a long time, and at length came out completely green from head to foot., and ſeveral others. His fourth claſs, but by no means his worſt, are pieces generally of one act, containing a neat unaffected plot, ſpiritedly begun, well followed, and roundly finiſhed. Among theſe we find La Gazette, L'Opera de Village, Les Vendanges, Le Moulin de Javelle, Les eaux de Bourbon, Les Vacances, Colin Maillard, and about eight more.

It has been ſaid that what REGNARD was to MOLIERE in the higher ſtyle of comedy, DANCOURT was to the ſame degree in farce. Nothing can more clearly prove his good ſenſe than this remark, for that part of MOLIERE's works which approaches neareſt to farce, is by infinite degrees his beſt; and it would have ill ſuited the bent of DANCOURT's genuis to have attempted any thing of a grander kind. As it is, by diverſifying, extending, and, indeed, improving this lighter ſpecies of dramatic amuſement, his pieces have ever been deſervedly celebrated; had he attempted any thing more he might have been reſpectable, but he never would have been popular.

It has been laid to DANCOURT's charge, that he foiſted on the public the works of other people as his own; but the ſame thing has been ſaid of every author of merit that ever exiſted. In ſupport of theſe accuſations againſt DANCOURT it is inſiſted that, being a manager of a theatre, and conſtantly in poſſeſſion of a variety of new pieces, he appropriated ſuch as he thought proper to his own uſe, and having kept copies of them, returned them to their different authors as improper for repreſentation.

This aſſertion, however, ſtands upon very feeble ground indeed, and ſeems to have originated from that envy which, the poet tells us, purſues merit as its ſhadow. There is no piece of DANCOURT, let the materials be ever ſo ſlight, that is not touched with the hand of a maſter. How could he then reap advantage from the eſſays of novices? For he is not accuſed of robbing a ſingle adept. Indeed the beſt name they can produce, and almoſt the only one, to corroborate this improbable aſſertion, is that of SAINTYON, who is ſuſpected to be the author of Le Chevalier a la Mode, and Les Bourge • iſis a la Mode—two comedies of conſiderable merit in point of conſtruction the latter being almoſt, word for word, our admirable play of The Confederacy—and known to be the author of Les Facons du Temps, and Danae, two pieces which, though touched up by RICCOBONI and DOMINIQUE, and puſſed by BOURSAULT's celebrated VISE, who was paid for his pains, were conſidered by the public as moſt contemptible productions.

Thoſe who can read with judgement will very eaſily ſee that the works of DANCOURT are uniformly written by the ſame perſon. They are collected into nine volumes with the greateſt care by his friends, who one ſhould ſuppoſe would have made theſe diſtinctions had they been neceſſary; and they bear the ſignature of DE LA MOTTE, whoſe duty it was to ſign the privilege of the king, and whoſe advice, both for the ſake of truth and out of care for the reputation of DANCOURT, whom he admired, would of courſe have been to publiſh no more than was legitimately his. I ſhall hereafter reſume DANCOURT as an actor and a manager.

REGNARD, a reſpectable writer, who is ſaid to have divided the genuis of MOLIERE with DANCOURT, certainly not only choſe the worſt and the moſt difficult part, but that to which he was unequal. The higher ſtyle of MOLIERE's comedy is in verſe, and unfortunately for REGNARD in ſuch verſe as he was incapable of writing. He did right, however, for had he choſen that part which DANCOURT improved, he would have been worſe off. VOLTAIRE, who loves to afford left handed praiſe, ſays that he who is not pleaſed with REGNARD is not worthy to admire MOLIERE. The truth is, that had REGNARD never heard of ſuch a writer as MOLIERE, he would have been a better writer himſelf. Every man ſhould uſe his own faculties ſuch as they are, and ſcorn the ſervility of imitationWhen I call imitation ſervility, I mean that imitation by which a writer condeſcends to ape a man's ſtyle and manner; ſuch was REGNARD's imitation of MOLIERE. That broad principal upon which DANCOURT imitated MOLIERE is a very different thing, for DANCOURT had nothing of MOLIERE in his ſtyle but its general vivacity and brilliancy, dreſſed in expreſſions of his own. Beſides the characteriſtic of this imitation was that chaſte repreſentation of mind and manners, which MOLIERE imitated from the ancients, and the ancients from nature. This is what VOLTAIRE moſt admirably likens to l • ghting your candle by the candle of your neighbour; which candle, while it lends fire to be fed by the ſubſtance of yours, loſes nothing of its own. This remark, however, is to be found in CHAUCER..

REGNARD, who was born of rich parents in 1657, in the early part of his life viſited many of the courts of EUROPE. In one of his voyages in the MEDITERANEAN, he was taken by a Corſair and ſold afterwards for fifteen hundred livres. His maſter carried him to CONSTANTINOPLE, where he was a long time a ſlave; finding means, however, to inform his friends of his ſituation, they paid his ranſom, and he returned to FRANCE, bringing with him his chains; which, in imitation of AESOP, and other great men, he preſerved to remind him of his former adverſity.

REGNARD, between 1688 and 1695, brought out ſix pieces at the ancient Italian theatreIt will be neceſſary once more to remind the reader that, before the regular eſtabliſhment of the Italian theatre in 1716, at the Hotel de Bourgogne, a company of Italians performed au petit Bourbon alternately with MOLIERE, and continued there, after he had removed to the Palais Royal, till 1697, when the theatre was pull • d down to build the entrance to the Louvre, and the Italians were entirely diſperſed; though they might, it is ſaid, have rall • ed again but for a very ſingular circumſtance. G •• RARDI, who was at that time the Harlequin, in one of thoſe pieces, of which he collected a large number, deſcribed the character of a prude in ſuch a manner as ſeemed to point at Madame de MAINTENON. This his enemies in ••••… ouſly repreſented to his diſadvantage, and his diſgrace followed of courſe.. Theſe were none of thoſe in which he copied MOLIERE, but if they had been any of them they would have done him but little credit, for they were flunzy enough, and their ſucceſs was ſo little to the reputation of their author, or DOMINIQUE, who produced them, that there is an anecdote of his eraſing ſome of them from his ſtock catalogue.

His pieces for the French theatre, amounting to eight, have more pretenſions to merit, particularly Le Joueur de Bal, Le Diſtrait, Democrite, and Les Menechmes; but even theſe are full of defects; having but little original in them, and being written in dull monotonous verſe, with little energy and leſs intereſt. The Diſtrait makes a better figure in BRUYERE, Democrite is a ſtrange jumble of improbability, and Les Menechmes, originally from PLAUTUS, is altered very little for the better from ROTROU. Upon the whole Le Joueur is his beſt comedy, which has intereſt, ſituation, and character enough to give it conſequence, were it not for the negligent, heavy, and proſaic verſe in which it is written.

DUFRESNY was an author of conſiderable merit. His pieces, upwards of thirty in number, are generally an irregular jumble, careleſs, and negligent, and yet they are not without ingenuity, ſprightlineſs, and nature. Their grand fault is indecency, which, however, in FRANCE, has ſeldom impeded the ſucceſs of dramatic repreſentations of the ligher kind, nay, ſome of thoſe which have been performed on the Boulevards, have, if I may ſo expreſs myſelf, no other merit.

It is very well known that DUFRESNY was deſcended from HENRY the fourth. That king having had an amour with a woman who was called LA BELLE JARDINIERE, the conſequence of which was the birth of DUFRESNY's grandfather. LOUIS fourteenth did not diſſemble the fact; but, on that account, afforded him his particular countenance and protection.

It is aſtoniſhing how variouſly gifted this man was, and yet how little he knew. He had a taſte for poetry, painting, ſculpture, architecture, and agriculture; but his great delight was muſic; and, though nothing could beat into him the ſmalleſt comprehenſion of its theoretical principles, yet he made many melodies, which are printed at the end of his works, and which evince a muſical mind if he had known how to have put it into action. His method was when he had invented his tune to ſing it to GRANDVAL, who as well as an actor was a muſician, after which GRANDVAL wrote it down and added the accompanyments.

As extraordinary things are ſaid of his knowledge of deſign; in which he uſed no pencil, nor crayon, but a pair of ſciſſars, faſhioning every kind of animate and inanimate object with the moſt critical ſymetry and taſte. Models for ſculpture he formed in the ſame extemporaneous manner with clay and wax; and his knowledge of agriculture, which he is very gravely ſaid to have inherited from 〈1 page duplicate〉 〈1 page duplicate〉 his great grandmother, was, both as to ornament and utility, uncommonly great and extenſive.

The gardens of MIGNAUX, near POISSY, thoſe in the FAUXBOURG, SAINT ANTOINE, called Du Moulin and Le Chemin Creux, thoſe of the Abbe PAJOT, near DE VINCENNES, are proofs of his ſuperior taſte and judgement in this ſtudy. LOUIS the fourteenth, determined to make the gardens at VERSAILLES ſurpaſs in grandeur and magnificence every thing of that kind ſeen before, ſubmitted his plan to DUFRESNY, who ſuggeſted many material alterations with which the king was greatly pleaſed; but objected to them on account of the prodigious expence that would be incurred had the plan been carried into execution. He, however, to ſhew DUFRESNY how much he admired his ſpirit and taſte, made him controller of his gardens.

This projector afterwards was at the head of a glaſs manufactory which had prodigious ſucceſs. With all theſe fortunate advantages, however, DUFRESNY was always behind hand. This induced him, when he had brought this manufactory to perfection, to ſell his concern in it for a very moderate ſum, which circumſtance coming to the ears of the king, he obliged thoſe who had taken advantage of his neceſſity and ingenuity to allow him three thouſand livres a year. His extravagance, however, knew no bounds, and it was not long before he agreed with his partners to give up the annuity for a given ſum, on which the king was heard to ſay, "that the public treaſury would not content DUFRESNYIt is DUFRESNY at whom LE SAGE points the following paſſage in the Diable Boiteux. "I'll ſend you alſo," ſays the Devil, "an old bachelor of a good family, who the moment he has a ducat ſpends it, and who rather than be without one is capable of doing any thing to obtain it. A fortnight ago his waſherwoman, to whom he was indebted thirty piſtoles, came to dun him for the money, and told him that ſhe was going to be married to a Valet de Chambre, and wanted that ſum to make up her portion. What then you are rich, ſaid he; it muſt be ſo, for where the devil is the valet de chambre who would take you with thirty piſtoles? Rich • ay, to be ſure, ſaid ſhe, beſides your thirty piſtoles I have two hundred ducats. Two hundred ducats! cried he, with emotion, a good round ſum. I'll tell you what, ſend the valet de chambre to the devil, marry me, and we ſhall be quit all round. Would you believe it? Tempted by the ducats, he has made his waſher, woman his wife." ."

Many of his dramatic pieces, only two of which L'eſprit de Contradiction, and Le Lot Suppoſè, ſucceeded in his life time, have been revived at different times either at the Italian theatre, or the Fairs; but though the major part of them are printed in his works, they have now been baniſhed the theatre for many years.

POISSON, whom I ſhall ſpeak of here only as an author, brought forward, between 1661 and 1680, nine pieces, ſeven of which are each in one act, one is in five acts, and the other in three. It is not ſo much the number of pieces, or their eſtimation, in point of weight and conſequence, that entitles the performances of POISSON to particular mention here, as the ſimplicity and nature in their ſtyle by which they are diſtinguiſhed.

His perſonages are, like thoſe of DANCOURT, choſen from the middle order of ſociety, whoſe tone and language he has happily caught; and, though it muſt be confeſſed that his pieces are feeble, on the ſide of invention, they are deſigned with that intelligence, and executed with that facility, which evince judgement and experience in their author.

He is conſidered as the inventor of the character of CRISPIN, and theſe pieces are evidently written to ſupport that character, which he always performed himſelf. Its outline is light pleaſantry, inſinuating flattery, perpetual importunity, one who meddles with every thing, is attached to nothing, and who ſeems more intereſted in proportion as the circumſtance is contemptible. Theſe qualities he has woven into his pieces and characterized by innumerable tints and ſhades to ſhew off the fineſſe of his acting, in which he was ſuppoſed to excel all other performers. La Fou de Qualité, which he dedicated to LANGELY, the fool of LOUIS the fourteenth, Les Faux Muſcovites This piece was written upon a particular occaſion. After POTEMSKIN, and ROMANZOFF, ambaſſadors from MUSCOVY, had made their entrance into PARIS, being the firſt of their nation that ever viſited FRANCE in that capacity, every public place of courſe made grand preparations for their reception; and, among the reſt, the theatres. The Hotel de Bourgogne, however, had not the honour of their preſence, for, after a variety of promiſes and appointments, they had their audience of leave without viſiting that place of amuſement. POISSON in revenge ſaid, that as they could not have the real Muſcovites, he would introduce falſe ones. The idea tickled the public, and the piece had great ſucceſs., and two or three others, may rank fairly by the ſide of thoſe pieces written by DANCOURT. I ſhall hereafter ſpeak of POISSON as an actor.

The pieces of LE NOBLE are of ſo little celebrity that I ſhould paſs over that author entirely but for the rank in literature he otherwiſe held, and for thoſe ſtrange adventures which aroſe out of his ſingular conduct.

LE NOBLE was born at TROYES, in 1643, of a family of diſtinction, and was given, entirely through his merit, a charge of procureur general of the parliament of METZ. He enjoyed for ſome years a brilliant reputation and a large fortune, when he was all of a ſudden accuſed of forgery, conveyed to the Chatelet, and condemned to make amende honorable, and to be baniſhed for nine years. He appealed againſt the ſentence, merely to gain time, and in the mean while he was committed to the Conçergerie.

GABRIELLE PERREAU, known by the name of LA BELLE EPICIERE, was at that time in the ſame priſon, where ſhe had been ſent by her huſband for infidelity and other ill conduct. She was handſome, and LE NOBLE, not inſenſible of her charms, undertook to be her advocate. She in return was not ungrateful. A handſome man, with a lively and ſenſible imagination, and who ſpoke and wrote to admiration, was the very object to her mind. They lived together upon the moſt familiar terms till an apprehenſion of a living witneſs of their intercourſe obliged them to take meaſures to prevent a diſcovery.

LE NOBLE bad prolonged the proceedings with great addreſs both againſt her and himſelf; and, upon this emergency, he managed that ſhe ſhould be received into a convent to lie in as a penſioner. In this ſituation he concerted his meaſures ſo cunningly that when ſhe was able to go out, he evaded the vigilence of his keepers and retired to an obſcure part of PARIS, where ſhe ſoon joined him, firſt leaving the child behind her as a preſent to the holy ſiſters of the convent. They were ſoon routed, obliged to leave PARIS, and lived for ſome years an errant and a vagrant life, during which time the lady brought him two more children.

At length he was taken, again put into priſon, and immediately condemned to make the amende honorable in the chamber of the Chatelet, and to be baniſhed the kingdom for nine years, and at the ſame time his lady's cauſe was determined, which deciſion releaſed her huſband from all charge upon her account, and obliged LE NOBLE to provide for her and her three children. What degree of ignominious puniſhment he ſuſtained we are not told, but one ſhould ſuppoſe it was as ſlight as the nature of the circumſtance would admit, for he was permitted after a ſhort baniſhment to return to FRANCE, where he figured away with incredible reputation as a writer.

His troubles, however, had no power to reſtrain his irregularities. He continued incorrigible the whole of his life, and, at length, died in conſequence of his diſſipation, at the age of ſixty eight, and was buried at the expence of the pariſh, after having gained the bookſellers a hundred thouſand crowns. His works, which are publiſhed in twenty volumes, are upon various ſubjects, and generally well written. Among them are to be found four dramatic pieces; which, like thoſe of FONTENELLE, and LA FONTAINE, ſeem to have been more the fruits of leiſure hours than the employment of that time which he devoted to the aſſiſtance of his literary reputation. Their titles are Eſope, Les Deux Arlequins, Thaleſtris, and Le Fourbe.

The ſwarm of inferior authors who infeſted the theatres and inundated the public about this period, every one a MOLIERE in imagination, I ſhall neither have room, nor have I inclination to introduce. I cannot, however, paſs by BRUEYS and PALAPRAT, who wrote in conjunction ſeveral pieces for the theatre. BRUEYS was born in PROVENCE, in 1640, and was bred up a Calvaniſt. He made himſelf remarkable early in life by writing againſt BOSSUET's Expoſition de la Foi. That prelate in combating his reaſons converted him, and when he had become a Roman Catholic he was altogether as zealous againſt the Proteſtants as he had been formerly ſtrenuous in their favour. He was, however, ill calculated for diſputes of this kind, and, therefore, left theology for the theatre.

PALAPRAT was born at TOULOUSE, in 1650. As a poet he had a lively and pleaſant imagination, and as a man he was candid, ingenuous, and unoffending. Alike unconſcious of his philanthropy, or his wit, he was kind to others for his own gratification, and he delighted the world while he thought he was inſtructing himſelf; thus if THEMISTOCLES aſked, when his hearers laughed, if he had ſaid a fooliſh thing, PALAPRAT might have aſked with the ſame ſimplicity as his hearers admired him, "What have I ſaid worthy of attention."

The ſimilitude of diſpoſitions and merit in BRUEYS and PALAPRAT pointed them out to each other as proper aſſociates in literature. They brought out, in conjunction, a great number of pieces. Le Grondeur is ſaid to be ſuperior to any thing in MOLIERE. This, however, is ſaying too much of it, though it cannot be denied that it is full of whimſical pleaſantry and well conducted intrigue. Le Muet is imitated from the Eunuch of TERENCE, but certainly written with much more warmth than its model. L'Important de Cour, which neither wants fire nor humour, is however wrongly named; for the principal character is not by any means a perſon of importance, but a pityful provincial pretender, who awkwardly apes courtly manners without underſtanding them.

Le Force du Sang, L'Opiniatre, Les Empyriques, Les Quiproquo, and Les Embarras du derriere du Theatre, have all ſome pleaſant paſſages. L'Opiniatre is in verſe, and, therefore, hard and dry, and though full of action, it has no humour. The principal character is a mere chalk drawing. Upon the whole L'avocat Patelin is the beſt piece produced by theſe aſſociates, and is a meritorious attempt to reſtore the ancient farce originally invented by the Children of Sans Souci, and greatly encouraged at the time of FRANCIS the firſt, and which, without doubt, MOLIERE had frequently in his eyeThe ancient French farces, having a diſtinct character of their own, and being unlike thoſe of any other nation, will hereafter demand particular notice, eſpecially as they involve a variety of ſingular and whimſical circumſtances. L'avocat Patelin is no more than one of thoſe farces modernized. It is a ſort of dramatic proverb, and meant to expreſs in action the ſenſe of the old adage, "the rogue a rogue and a half." It was originally written in the reign of FRANCIS the firſt, by PIERRE PATHELIN, to expoſe on the ſtage that ſtanding diſh the chicanery of lawyers; and, therefore, called by BRUEYS and PALAPRAT, L'avocat Patelin, a term ſignifying a trickſter, and no doubt incorporated into the French language from PATHELIN, exactly as we have ſeen Turlupinade from TURLUPIN..

Theſe are the moſt material of thoſe pieces which were brought out by theſe friends, for friends they ſtrictly were; induced, one would think, by a remarkable parity in their genius, diſpoſitions, habits, and manners, nay, even their bodily infirmities, which rendered them a conſtant prey to doctors, and particularly to the nephew of BRUEYS, a man of medical celebrityThey were both remarkably ſhort-ſighted, and one day when the king, who was very partial to BRUEYS, aſked him how his eyes were; he anſwered, "I humbly thank your majeſty, my nephew, SIDOBRE, ſays that I ſee a little better." . Thus equal in reputation, in ſimplicity, and in credulity, they lived upon the kindeſt terms for many years. At length, not without ſtrong regret on both ſides, they parted. PALAPRAT followed the fortune of VENDÔME into ITALY, and BRUEYS retired to MONTPELIER, where he died at the age of eighty-three, having ſurvived his friend only a year.

CREBILLON, who ſtands at the head of thoſe dramatic writers that immediately ſucceeded RACINE, now claims our attention; he being the only author who knew how to make advantage of the occaſion that then preſented itſelf of emulating the reputation of CORNEILLE and RACINE, without imitating either of them.

CREBILLON was born at DIJON, of an ancient and noble family, in 1674, and died at PARIS in 1762. He was intended by nature to purſue in literature a career of his own, which was the more fortunate for him as CORNEILLE had appropriated to himſelf the majeſty, and RACINE the tenderneſs of tragedy. He diſdained to follow their ſteps, perhaps leſs impelled by choice than compulſion; genius ſeldom balances; it decides. It projects leſs than it executes.

CREBILLON, determined to chuſe a ſure road, ſtruck into the path that AESCHYLUS had trod before him; which he purſued with a ſtrength and a regularity that AESCHYLUS never knew. His ſtyle was all nerve, all force; it had neither the elevation of CORNEILLE, nor the elegance of RACINE. He preferred aſtoniſhment to admiration, ſtrength to harmony, and his male and vigorous pencil ſeldom drew any but terrible objects. It was a tyrant who, while he exacted your obedience, made you tremble in his preſence.

CREBILLON's firſt tragedy, Idoménée, was brought out in 1705. The public balanced at the bold ſtyle in which it was written, and complained againſt the fifth act. It was withdrawn and a new fifth act written, when its ſucceſs was prodigiousBOILEAU, who never could be quiet, ſaid, that this tragedy ſeemed as if written by RACINE when he was drunk..

Atree et Thyeſte, produced in 1707, gave CREBILLON's reputation ſtronger footing. Nevertheleſs the boldneſs of his ſtyle induced the audience on the firſt night to pauſe on its merits. It was impoſſible to blame, but they knew not to what degree to applaud judiciouſlyCREBILLON uſed to relate to his friends, that after the firſt repreſentation of this piece, he encountered an Engliſh gentleman in a coffee houſe, who paid him many compliments on his tragedy, of which he doubted the ſincerity, as the piece was then hanging in a dubious ſtate. "Sir," ſaid CREBILLON, "I am afraid you are premature in your praiſes." "What do you mean?" ſaid the other, "becauſe of your irreſolute audience of laſt night? Entirely in your favour, depend upon it. Your play is written for the meridian of LONDON and not of PARIS. Here they learn patriotiſm, in LONDON they know it by heart." . It grew, however, on the public and became a great favourite.

Electre came out in 1708, with much reputation, but Radamiſte et Zenobie, lifted the ſame of CREBILLON to that height where it has ever ſince deſervedly been placed. It is certainly one of the chef d'oeuvres of the French theatre, and the aſtoniſhing ſucceſs it met with was greatly its dueBOILEAU, who was then on his death bed, could not, nevertheleſs, reſiſt his blended propenſity of ill nature and injuſtice. Having read Radamiſte et Zenobie, "take away this balderdaſh," ſaid he, "the race of the PRADONS were eagles compared to the groveling CREBILLONS. Take it away; it encreaſes my malady." . In his next piece, Xerxes, brought forward in 1714, he was leſs happy. It had but one repreſentation. When it was over he aſked for the parts from the actors and burnt them before their faces, ſaying, "I was in the wrong, the public have undeceived me." There is good writing in this piece, but the author killed almoſt all the characters; a circumſtance at which the French have always with juſtice revolted.

Semiramis came out in 1717. This is the play which, as we ſhall hereafter ſee, VOLTAIRE took for the model of his tragedy under that title, and which induced ſo many ſquibs and epigrams at his expence. It had conſiderable ſucceſs when CREBILLON firſt produced it. Pyrrhus, performed in 1762, was a tragedy written upon a new model; and, therefore, did not greatly ſucceed. CREBILLON had been reproached with introducing ſo much cruelty on the ſtage, that he, therefore, reſolved to try his hand at tenderneſs. We are told he worked for five years at this tragedy, and, at laſt, though it had its particular merits, the audience gave but little credit to them, becauſe written by a man who, inſtead of the pathetic, had been accuſtomed to produce the terrible.

As Catalina, CREBILLON's next piece, was not produced till 1748, at which time he might be conſidered as cotemporary with VOLTAIRE, I remit a further account of him till that time; when, as far as it may be neceſſary, I ſhall alſo notice his ſon.

LONGEPIERRE, who was celebrated for three tragedies under the titles of Medee, Electre, and Seſoſtris, was a proof how extremely difficult authors found it to ſteer, like CREBILLON, wide of CORNEILLIE and RACINE, and yet ſucceed. Searching for the beauties of SOPHOCLES and EURIPIDES, they forgot the age in which they were writing. Medée, which is ſaid to have been ſuperior to CORNEILLE, is full of declamation, cold, unequal, and prolix. Electre, from which piece, however, VOLTAIRE has not diſdained to borrow ſome circumſtances in his Oreſte, is a Greek dreſſed in a French habit, a ſtatue of PRAXITELES disfigured by a modern bungler; and, as for Seſoſtris, it was performed but once, and was never printed

There is a curious anecdote of RACINE relative to this piece. He wrote an epigram—for which the following lines may ſerve as a tranſlation—immediately after the failure of Seſoſtris, which came out three years after his Athalie. EPIGRAM. The famous SESOSTRIS, that valiant chief, Who the fates mighty EGYPT permitted to ſway; Who there lived a round age, and then died for their grief, To the joy of all PARIS, lived here but a day.

It was RACINE's foible now and then to diſtil from his pen a little of BOILEAU's gall; and, having ſancred that he had here made a good hit, he circulated theſe lines as generally as he could; but hearing that LONGEPI • RR • had written a parallel between him and CORNEILLE, and completely given him the victory, he induſtriouſly collected the copies back again, and did every thing in his power to prevent his being known as the author.

LA GRANGE CHANCEL, who wrote with conſiderable celebrity, would have enſured himſelf a more brilliant fame had he not ſervilely followed RACINE, who, indeed, was his preceptor in the art of letters; if it be not a profanation to call that an art which is incapable of being taught by any other preceptor than nature.

LA GRANGE was born near PERIGUEUX, in 1676, and he died at PARIS, in 1760, having rendered himſelf remarkable for employing his pen from nine years old till within two years of his death. Having been puffed up with early ſucceſs, he ventured at ſome indiſcreet ſatires, for which he was confined in the Iſlands of Saint MARGUERITE, whence, after a year, he contrived to eſcape; and, by means of friends which he conjured up wherever he went, he was kindly received by the king of SARDINIA, and afterwards he rendered himſelf uſeful to the king of SPAIN.

The Spaniſh nobles, jealous of this diſtinction, planned his deſtruction, and it was with the utmoſt difficulty he eſcaped aſſaſſination. Finding that SPAIN was no place for him, he embarked for AMSTERDAM. There he procured an introduction to the Ambaſſador of AUGUSTUS, king of POLAND, who finding him full of political intelligence, took him to POLAND at his return, where AUGUSTUS invited him to his court and made him conſiderable preſents.

After the death of thoſe he had ſatirized, who had been his perſecutors in FRANCE, he ventured to return to his native country. The miniſters of ſtate very ſoon courted his alliance, knowing that the intelligence he muſt have gathered by his intimate knowledge of the affairs of foreign courts would render him of infinite ſervice to them in the proſecution of their views. This party he readily embraced and, after that, he lived ſafe, favoured, and opulent.

His writings, which are full of genius and inexperience, are a mixture of temerity and fear. Every thing is ventured, nothing prepared. Love and hatred, fury and moderation, are violently dragged in without motive or management. Inſults are committed and pardoned, anger is kindled and extinguiſhed, nobody knows why. Soaring after the ſublime he ſeizes the bombaſt; and ſtudying for the beautiful he is loſt in the bathos. His grandeur is burleſque, and his ſimplicity puerility.

The ſeverity of theſe truths, however, would not have attached to the writings of LA GRANGE, had he like CREBILLON diſdained imitation. His firſt piece Adherbal, brought out in 1694, and written when he was only fourteen years of age, is ſpoken of as an aſtoniſhing attempt for ſuch a youth, and very probably he might have claimed the merit of an original writer had he not ſuffered his fancy, at that tender ſeaſon when the mind takes and retains impreſſions, to be ſo cramped and lamed as to have little power afterwards to exerciſe its natural functions

"When I had put the finiſhing ſtroke," ſays LA GRANGE, "to this tragedy, I hazarded the liberty of preſenting it to the Princeſſe de CONTI; who in ſpight of all its faults, found ſomething in it ſo worthy her attention that ſhe ſent for the celebrated RACINE and entreated him to read this eſſay, theſe were her words, of a young gentleman who was her page, and to give him his advice without diſguiſe. RACINE kept the piece eight days and then informed the Princeſs that he had read my tragedy with aſtoniſhment; and though it was very defective in many places, if I would permit him to give me a few leſſons, he had no doubt but in a ſhort time it would be in ſuch a ſtate as to appear with ſucceſs. I did not fail to call on him every day for a conſiderable while, and may fairly ſay that I learnt more from him than from all the books I had ever read."

Here it is evident that LA GRANGE took leave of nature to ſtudy art in the ſchool of RACINE; juſt as painters become manneriſts and are never afterwards capable of improvement. Going on he tells you that the piece came out, that he ſat at its firſt repreſentation with the Prince de CONTI who ſaid that the author's age would ſilence the tongue of criticiſm, and that under this influence the piece had wonderful ſucceſs. The circumſtance at any rate is not wonderful, for patronage would at that time do any thing with the public, and we have ſeen the ſilly PRADON atchieve greater feats even againſt RACINE, through influence of a much inferior kind.

Three years afterwards, was produced Oreſte et Pilade, which is ſaid to have been written by LA GRANGE from a plan drawn by RACINE. It was performed a few nights and then kept back on account of the death of the celebrated CHAMPMELE, after which it was wholly withdrawn.

In 1699, appeared Meleagre, which, however, ſucceeded but indifferently, and in the ſame year he brought forward Athenais, which piece was attacked by LE NOBLE and others, and warmly defended by its author; and the little ſucceſs it had ſeems to have ſprung from this controverſy.

Amoſis in 1701, Alceſte in 1703, Ino et Melicerte in 1713, and Sophoniſbe in 1716, are all the remainder of thoſe pieces written by LA GRANGE before VOLTAIRE. Amaſis was violently attacked, and it muſt be confeſſed was very vulnerable; Alceſte was ſaid to be no more than a plan from RACINE filled up by LA GRANGE—indeed we are told that RACINE left in the poſſeſſion of LA GRANGE many of thoſe plans, ſome of which were partly written in proſe, and thoſe fragments which are publiſhed in his works lend probability to the report—Ino et Melicerte had no ſucceſs, and Soprioniſbe is remembered by nothing but four remarkable linesAs theſe lines are ſaid to be worth all the reſt of this author's works, and certainly are uncommonly fine, admitting the ſentiment they contain, I have tranſcribed them. Songez qu'il eſt des tems on tout eſt legitime Et que, ſi la Patrie avoit beſoin d'un crime Qui puis ſeul relever ſon eſpoir abattu, Il ne ſeroit plus crime et deviendroit vertu. .

LA FOSSE attempted what CREBILLON afterwards perfected. Like him he had a ſtrong mind; full of grandeur and dignity; but probably, fearing to attack ſo revolting a ſtyle of writing as terror which requires more ſtrength and ſuror than majeſty and tenderneſs, and is yet ſubordinate to both, he ſtrove in vain to imitate AESCHYLUS; till, finding how difficult it is to be original, he at length contented himſelf with copying CORNEILLE as ſervilely as LA GRANGE had copied RACINE; ſo that, during the interval between CAMPISTRON and CREBILLON, tragedy languiſhed under the feeble ſupport of theſe ſhadows of two men, one of whom had given it life and vigour, and the other poliſh and refinement.

LA FOSSE wrote four tragedies, in which it is plain to be ſeen that CORNEILLE was the Phoebus to whom he condeſcended to become the Phoeton. Theſe tragedies were called Polixene, brought out in 1696, Manlius Capitolinus in 1698, Theſee in 1700, and Coréſus in 1703. Of all which plays it has been ſaid, but of Manlius Capitolinus in particular, that CORNEILLE might not have been aſhamed of being known as the author; but this is going a great deal too far; for, though they contain many paſſages that reflect a reſpectability on the writer, they are upon the whole heavy, dull, and unintereſting; and evince the certain painful, difficult, and unfruitful reſult of their purſuits, who fetter genius, and ſtudy to be natural.

Both LA GRANGE, and LA FOSSE, owe their reputation, ſuch as it was, and conſequently the notice taken of them here, to the adventitious circumſtance of appearing at a time when they could comfortably conſider themſelves reſpectively as repreſentatives of CORNEILLE, and RACINE, merely becauſe they had no formidable opponent. And now, unleſs I were to ſubſtitute writings for literature, and names for merit, I ſee nothing to prevent my coming immediately to that remarkable era in French dramatics when the united abilities of ſo many men of great and extraordinary talents brought the ſtage in that country into decided reputation in all its various branches under the powerful influence of VOLTAIRE.

FLUCTUATING, timid, irreſolute, and unſettled, as the French ſtage was at this period, nothing, perhaps, could have raiſed its reputation to any pitch of excellence but the appearance of the only man who ſeemed born to render his country that ſervice. Tragedy had been thitherto conſidered under three diſtinct heads; the grand, the tender, and the terrible; and theſe had ſeparately been carried as far as poſſible by CORNEILLE, RACINE, and CREBILLON. No man had dreamt that the French had never ſeen a real tragedy, a ſpecies of production which to be perfect muſt involve a union of theſe three great eſſentials, till VOLTAIRE, born with little genius, and leſs intuition, but endowed with a judgment almoſt equal to the happieſt efforts of both, plainly ſhewed not only the practicability but the neceſſity of this meaſure, by fairly ſtepping before his three celebrated countrymen, and building a laſting reputation for himſelf with the valuable materials they had left behind them.

It cannot, however, be denied that his fame is fair, honeſt, and legitimate; for though, had theſe authors never lived, he would have been at a loſs how to have exerciſed thoſe talents which had not been given to inſpire him with invention, though greatly to perfect the inventions of others; as he poſſeſſed himſelf of the eſſence of their reſpective merits, as thoſe merits were rendered more brilliant in his hands, their appropriation more reſpectable, and as thoſe he added gave them a conſequence and a rank they had not been able to ſupport alone, we cannot refuſe him the praiſe due to exertions ſo highly meritorious.

But this is not all the length juſtice obliges us to go. VOLTAIRE added to tragedy a colouring, a harmony, a fire, a variety, till then unknown to it. He did more. The tragic poets had contented themſelves with rendering vice odious; he rendered virtue amiable. His productions are the panegyric of humanity, and his moral appeals to all hearts.

VOLTAIRE was born at PARIS, November 30, 1694. He brought out on the French theatre twenty-eight plays, five of which appeared during the interval that will occupy this chapter. The firſt of theſe, performed in 1718, was Oedipe. The ſucceſs of this tragedy was brilliant beyond all example. He had, however, great difficulty to get it accepted by the actors, and he ſubmitted to alter it out of compliment to their opinion ſeveral times, whether for the better or the worſe cannot now be diſcovered; but it was conſidered very complete in all its requiſites when it did appearMany anecdotes are related of the effect this tragedy had on different perſons. Marſhal VILLARS told VOLTAIRE that he conſidered Oedipe as an obligation he had conferred on his country. "A very inconſiderable one," ſaid VOLTAIRE, "in compariſon with the ſmalleſt of thoſe that you have conferred on your country." Another time, a nobleman, who was handing a lady to her carriage after one of the repreſentations of this piece, ſaid to VOLTAIRE, "ſee what you have done. Do you know that you have drawn a torrent of tears from theſe beautiful eyes?" "They'll have their revenge my lord," ſaid VOLTAIRE. The Duke D'ORLEANS, who had ſent VOLTAIRE to the Baſtile, on ſeeing Oedipe, ſent immediately to releaſe him. The poet went inſtantly to thank the Prince. "Be more prudent for the future VOLTAIRE," ſaid he, "and I'll watch over your fortune." "I humbly thank your Royal Highneſs," ſaid VOLTAIRE, "and ſhall conſider myſelf greatly honoured by your generoſity, provided you don't furniſh me with board and lodging again." .

Artémire produced in 1720, had no ſucceſs, and was withdrawn by its author ſo ſuddenly and ſo completely ſuppreſſed, that ſolicitous as the publiſhers of VOLTAIRE's works have been to collect his whole writings, bad and good, it is not known exactly what ſhape it wore upon its firſt repreſentation. The moſt material parts of it, however, were afterwards taken into Mariamne, which was performed for the firſt time in 1724. This piece did not ſucceed to any great degree the firſt ſeaſon, but when it was altered and brought forward on the following year under the title of Herode et Mariamne, it experienced very ſolid and confirmed ſucceſsThis piece was the ſource of the quarrels between VOLTAIRE and ROUSSEAU. ROUSSEAU wrote a letter to a friend which accidently, or, perhaps, by connivance, fell into VOLTAIRE's hand. This was the ſubſtance of it: "I have at laſt had the pleaſure of conſidering at my eaſe this marvellous dramatic ſuperfetation, this ſecond delivery of an abortion, taken again into the womb of of its mother to receive freſh nouriſhment. The formation, however, does not appear yet to me to be regular, and I can diſcern nothing from the head to the tail but a number of disjointed and monſtrous parts inſtead of a perfect and complete whole. In ſhort it is impoſſible to reconcile this ſarago with common ſenſe. Mariamne is an inanimate doll that does not know what it does, nor what it wants; Varus is a hairbrain, who takes his meaſures as ſtupidly on the Banks of the JORDAN as the DANUBF; Herode, with his politics, is the ſillieſt fellow of the whole troop; Salome, a miſerable raſcal who merits exemplary puniſhment; and Mazael, a clumſy rogue who ſo far from accommodating himſelf to the intentions of his maſter ſo injures and diſappoints them, that Herode, if he was not as mad as the author, ought to confine him within four walls." He thus goes on at great length, minutely taking the play to pieces with great humour and ability, and then finiſhes by ſaying, that when the conſtruction and the writing are fairly eſtimated, it is impoſſible to ſay whether the author has ſinned moſt againſt reaſon or rhime..

The next piece of VOLTAIRE was L'Indiſcret, a comedy in one act and in proſe. Its ſucceſs is not known. It was very probably written from ſome complimentary motive, and with no great view to fame. Nothing more appeared of this author till 1730, when he brought out Brutus It is very material to notice that when VOLTAIRE brought out this tragedy he had juſt returned from England; where—ſpight of his affected indifference for the Engliſh poets, his rank and jealous abuſe of SHAKESPEAR, whoſe genius was beyond his comprehenſion, his unfair judgment of OTWAY, ſinking him below RACINE, than whom he certainly wrote infinitely better—he learnt in what way to riſe in the dramatic art ſuperior to the beſt of his countrymen. This remains for ſubſequent diſcuſſion.. In this tragedy VOLTAIRE completely overſhot his mark. Fired with the ſpirit of Engliſh liberty, which with ſo much adulation he had in ENGLAND defined to be a medium between tyranny and democracy, and which the Romans attempted but never could attain, its eſſence ſo evaporated in his paſſage from DOVER to CALAIS, that in Brutus, written avowedly to promulgate the principles of Britiſh patriotiſm, he introduced all the levelling ſentiments of a republic, and expected the French to tolerate, under a deſpotic monarch, what would have revolted the Engliſh under a limitted one.

The conſequence was that the parterre expreſſed, at the firſt repreſentation of this piece, the loudeſt indignation; and, when they heard the following lines from the mouth of TITUS, Je ſuis fils de BRUTUS. et je porte, en mon coeur, La liberte gravee, et les Rois en horreur, there was a general tumult. The piece, however, had its partizans, and thoſe it offended contented themſelves with barely ſtaying away from it. It, nevertheleſs, ſo injured the reputation of VOLTAIRE that he did not recover it till he brought out Zaire, which might be called the firſt complete tragedy in all its parts ever performed on the French ſtage.

As I mean to draw up the moſt celebrated of thoſe numerous authors who at this time attracted the notice of the public, and make them paſs along in the view of the reader, I ſhall follow up VOLTAIRE with DE LA MOTTE, a man of great genius, and a moſt finiſhed poet.

DE LA MOTTE wrote for the French theatre, the Italian theatre, and for the opera, and always reſpectably; but his poetic works, and particularly his odes, gave his fame the moſt ſubſtantial and permanent confirmation. He was born at PARIS in 1674. and died in 1731; ſo that his whole public hiſtory may come in here.

DE LA MOTTE from his earlieſt youth had a ſtrong propenſity to poetry, and a remarkable talent for declamation. This induced him to get by heart every thing that was celebrated, in which he was aſſiſted by a memory ſo quick and ſo tenacious, that facts are averred of its effects almoſt beyond credibilityAmong many inſtances adduced to prove that DE LA MOTTE in point of memory was a ſort of prodigy, the following is particularly worthy of notice. A young poet repeated in a large company a tragedy which he had written. DE LA MOTTE, who was preſent, liſtened with great attention, and, when he had heard it out, told the young gentleman that it certainly had conſiderable merit, but that he was ſorry to find him ſo great a plagiariſt. The poet teſtified aſtoniſhment at this aſſertion. "This is well acted," ſaid DE LA MOTTE, "but to convince you that I am right, I will now, repeat to you the whole of the ſecond ſcene in the fourth act." This he inſtantly did; and in a manner as animated as if he himſelf had written it. The eyes of all the company were now turned on the young poet, who, thrown into a moſt awkward embarraſſment, knew not what to ſay; when DE LA MOTTE took him by the hand, ſaying, "Don't give yourſelf any concern young gentleman; the ſcene in queſtion is yours as well as the reſt of the piece; but it appeared to me ſo beautiful, and ſo afleeting, that I irreſiſtibly got, it by heart as you repeated it." .

DE LA MOTTE was an extraordinary character. He had ſcarcely made himſelf known but, without any apparent cauſe, he all of a ſudden retired to the monaſtry of DE LA TRAPPE; but the celebrated Abbe DU RANCE, unwilling to deprive the world of a young man of ſuch promiſe, refuſed him the habit under a pretence that he was too young to ſuſtain all the rigid and ſevere diſcipline of that auſtere order. After this he attached himſelf to the theatre, not without ſome caſuiſtical qualms as to the propriety of how far his conduct was reconcileable to the duty of a true chriſtian.

But his conduct all through life was, it muſt be confeſſed, fanciful and irreſolute. Having paſſed a long ſeries of years in compoſing moſt beautiful verſe, he finiſhed by decrying poetry as an unnatural ſpecies of writing. He compared verſifiers to ſlight-of-hand-men, who paſs grains of millet through the eye of a needle, in which exploit there is no other merit than the difficulty; and, to prove the truth of this aſſertion, he turned his tragedy of Oedipe into proſe, which he had before written in verſe. This, however, drew on him a volley of epigrams which he was too much a philoſopher to anſwer, though the beſt of them was infinitely below the worſt of his poetry; but I ſhall wind up his character after I have enumerated his pieces.

The tragedies of DE LA MOTTE are Machabees, performed in 1721, Romulus, in 1722, Ines de Caſtro, in 1723, and Oedipe, in 1726. When DE LA MOTTE produced Machabees, he kept himſelf aloof as the author. In conſequence of this the play was immediately attributed to RACINE; but as the truth got wind, thoſe wiſe critics gradually pretended that upon maturer conſideration they had found, by comparing one author with the other, that it could be written by nobody but DE LA MOTTEROUSSEAU was one of thoſe who had been deceived. He excuſed himſelf by ſaying that, as there were no points, no flowery ideas, no flights, no fineſſe in this tragedy, he had conceived that it was impoſſible it ſhould be written by DE LA MOTTE. ROUSSEAU probably had forgotten that DE LA MOTTE knowing perfectly the different properties, of lyric odes, and other ſanciful poetry, he alſo knew the properties of tragedy..

Romulus was greatly ſucceſsful, and excited much curioſity, both from the public and the different authors. Parodies, at the Italian theatre, and the fairs, were at that time the teſt of dramatic ſucceſs. Romulus was parodied at the Italians by DOMINIQUE, under the title of Arlequin Romulus, and at the puppet ſhew by LE SAGE and FUZELIER, by the name of Pierrot Romulus. The parodies, however, were damned, and the ſucceſs of the tragedy confirmed.

Inés de Caſtro had ſtill greater ſucceſs than Romulus. Never piece attracted ſo many ſpectators and ſo much criticiſmDE LA MOTTE being one day at a coffee-houſe, he preſently heard a knot of theſe critics abuſe his play; when, finding that he was unknown to them, he joined heartily in abuſing it himſelf. At length, after they were altogether pretty well glutted with decrying its merits, "What ſhall we do with ourſelves for the evening?" ſaid one. "Suppoſe," ſaid DE LA MOTTE, "we go to the ſeventy-ſecond repreſentation of this bad play." . It is written in verſe, but certainly too proſaic; for DE LA MOTTE, though he complied with the cuſtom of other writers, could never reconcile to himſelf that characters on a theatre ought to addreſs each other in any other ſtyle of language than that in which, according to their rank, they uſually ſpeakVOLTAIRE conſidered Oedipe as his chef d'auvre in point of poetry. "Take care," ſaid DE LA MOTTE, one day, "that I don't put your Oedipe into proſe." "If you do," ſaid VOLTAIRE, "I'll put your Ines into verſe." This anecdote has given riſe to an idea that Ines was written in proſe..

Oedipe, which piece DE LA MOTTE wrote in verſe againſt his own opinion, had but little ſucceſs for that very reaſon; and, when he turned it into proſe, it did not ſucceed at all. This induced him to defend his conduct; which it muſt be confeſſed he did very ably, for, indeed, he was upon good ground. VOLTAIRE replied to him; and, as he had a real regard for DE LA MOTTE, uſed in his arguments every poſſible politeneſs and delicacy. DE LA MOTTE, under the pleaſanteſt irony, couched his arguments in the ſame terms, and this called forth innumerable ſquibs levelled at theſe polite enemies. Madame DACIER mixed in the diſpute; but, diſdaining VOLTAIRE's, or any body's politeneſs, this female ARISTOPHANES reprobated in unqualified terms every requiſite of the drama but its barbarity, which one ſhould naturally ſuppoſe is not a requiſite. It finiſhed by DE LA MOTTE's leaving the theatre.

DE LA MOTTE wrote for the French theatre two comedies, and five for the Italian theatre. The ſubjects are principally taken from the Tales of DE LA FONTAINE, or rather from thoſe whence they were taken by him. They are moſt of them performances of merit, for, indeed, it was impoſſible for DE LA MOTTE to write ill, but they are certainly the moſt inferior of his works. His operas, twelve in number, are clearly upon the whole the beſt of his dramatic writings; for, though as to the general requiſites of opera writing, QUINAULT ſtood certainly before all other French poets, though far behind METASASIO, yet, for the true, grand, extended idea of lyric writing, DE LA MOTTE was infinitely ſuperior to them both, of which his incomparable odes are an incontrovertible proof. DE LA MOTTE's operas were compoſed by various muſicians, among whom were CAMPRA, DESTOUCHES, MARAIS, COLASSE, and LA BARRE.

DE LA MOTTE was loved and eſteemed both in public and in private the whole of his life. His genius was brilliant, his underſtanding commanding, and his manners amiable, to which his writings bear ample teſtimony. They are the effuſions of a great mind regulated by a found judgment. Alike a ſtranger to rancour or adulation, not a ſingle line of ſatyric ſeverity has eſcaped from his pen, nor has he, though his heart teemed with philanthropy, and though it was his delight to praiſe, in one ſingle inſtance condeſcended to flatterIt muſt not be objected that his odes, which are avowedly panegyric, are flattery. Great men and celebrated actions require from the poet ſtrong and enthuſiaſtic language. The moſt luxuriant frights of fancy may be permitted, and the moſt flowery fields of imagination traverſed, in ſearch of ſuitable wreaths for the brows of heroes, philoſophers, and legiſlators. DE LA MOTTE in this has followed PINDAR, and I know not in ſome inſtances that he has not equalled him..

DESTOUCHES demands our next attention, on whom it will be the leſs neceſſary to enlarge, becauſe almoſt the whole of his productions have been in one form or another exhibited on the Engliſh theatre, and will, therefore, of courſe require an inveſtigation in their place. He was born at TOURS, in 1680, and bred up to arms, in which profeſſion he ſo diſtinguiſhed himſelf that he grew into great eſteem with his ſuperiors.

In 1717, the DUC D'ORLEANS, then Regent of FRANCE, ſent him on an embaſſy to ENGLAND, where he was employed on negociations for three years, and where, no doubt, he greatly improved himſelf as a dramatic writer, his comedies, though heavy, and ſometimes inſufferably tireſome, being conſtructed more upon the Engliſh plan than any thing French which had gone before them. Le Tambour Nocturne in particular, is almoſt a literal tranſlation of the Drummer.

His works, which are publiſhed in ten volumes, conſiſt of twenty-two comedies, and ſome divertiſements and detatched ſcenes. His firſt piece, Le Curieux Impertinent, appeared in 1710, which was followed, before he came to ENGLAND, by L'Ingrat, L'Irreſolû, Le Mediſant, Le Triple Mariage, and L'Obſtacle Imprevû. The firſt piece he produced after his return to FRANCE, was Le Philoſophe Marie DESTOUCHES when he was in ENGLAND married a young lady of a catholic family; but, as he was in a public capacity, he conceived it proper to keep this marriage a ſecret. This ſecret, coming out by degrees in his family, ſome of whom were offended, the uncle in particular, who wanted to propoſe to him another wife, makes up the circumſtances of the comedy, all the characters of which are drawn from life. It is by much the beſt of his plays., this was ſucceeded by L'Envieux, and Les Philoſophes Amoureux, which are all that appeared of this author till 1730.

What DESTOUCHES ought principally to be commended for is his endeavouring to give the French ſtage a conſequence that it had before been a ſtranger to; but, in cutting up frivolity, he has loſt ſight of humour. His principal character is always a coloſſal ſtatue, by the ſide of which the ſubordinate perſonages ſtand like mere pigmies, and are totally loſt in our contemplation of the grandeur and ſtupidity of the primary object; which after all would no more attract our attention than any other monſtrous figure, did not ſome accommodating LYSIMON, or GERONTE, like a wild beaſt-man, play off its ſingularities and explain its extraordinary qualities.

It muſt not, however, be denied that in DESTOUCHES there are many beauties; in his intrigue he is happier than MOLIERE, and in his moral more chaſte than REGNARD, for between theſe two he ſeems ambitious to place himſelf. He is, however, too dry, too ſententious; and, if the obſervation may be permitted, too wiſe, and too regular. He is generally without ſaillies, or embelliſhments; which, when rigourouſly judged, are ſometimes frivolous and miſplaced; yet, when judiciouſly introduced, they enliven the mind and warm it to a more willing acknowledgement of the pleaſure of truth.

MARIVAUX, whoſe writings claim the higheſt praiſe for their ingenious, bold, and meritorious tendency, ſtarted like a true genius with a determination to become original. He went, however, in ſome reſpects upon a falſe principal. Having moſt uncommon powers of language, and fancying his predeceſſors had exhauſted all that it was poſſible to do with character, he reſolved to turn entirely to ſubjects of intrigue; which, in proportion as they admit of variety to infinity, loſe known and acknowledged manners, and, therefore, wander out of of nature's ſight.

'Tis too much to attempt to analyze the heart. Pleaſant traits, pretty thoughts, new ſituations, agreeable repartees, and lively ſailies, are all thrown away when they are uſed to betray motives, inſtead of develop actions. MARIVAUX goes for the applauſe of the mind inſtead of the heart; the province of comedy is to command the applauſe of both. Full of genius, he expoſes nothing but ingenuity; certainly fraught with fineſſe, with delicacy, with grace, and with ſentiment; but, nevertheleſs, frequently tireſome, and often almoſt inexplicable. The French are remarkable for ſaying a great deal without intereſt, upon nothing; MARIVAUX has the knack of making the nothing, on which he ſays a great deal, intereſting.

MARIVAUX brought out on the French and Italian theatres thirty-ſix pieces, generally in three acts and in proſe; thirteen of which were performed before 1730. They ſeldom had ſucceſs at ſtarting, and it was his uſual obſervation that he conſidered it more flattering to his reputation that they ſhould pleaſe on repetition than at firſt. Many of them, however, never recovered the blow, and it is probably owing to the extraordinary, the inconceivable ingenuity they contain, that any of them kept the ſtage for a length of time. I ſhall ſay more on this ſubject when I ſhew that ſome of the Engliſh poets have read MARIVAUX as well as DESTOUCHES.

Circumſcribed as I am I muſt now take up authors in a much more ſummary way than either their merits or my wiſhes incline me. LE SAGE, FUZFLIER, and D'ORNEVAL, who ran the ſame career, may properly be mentioned in this pl ••• , LE SAGE, claiming every way the pre-eminen •• ▪ and being ſo well known in ENGLAND by G •… ▪ BLAS, and LE DIABLE BOITEUX, it will be mo •• unneceſſary that I ſhould enlarge on his genius and writings.

LE SAGE wrote ten pieces for the French and Italian theatres, and twenty for the fairs, beſides thoſe he had a hand in together with FUZELIER and D'ORNEVAL. They all go for a fair and lively expoſition of folly, and many of thoſe performed at the fairs are either parodies of celebrated plays at that time performed at the regular theatres, or neat ſatires on temporary ſubjects. His pieces for the theatre are too much in the Spaniſh ſtyle, except two or three, which are admirably levelled at the reigning abſurdities of thoſe times, of theſe La Tontine, and Turcaret, are the moſt remarkable.

FUZELIER wrote at different times for all the theatres, and brought out twenty pieces ſingle handed, and as many in conjunction with LE SAGE and D'ORNEVAL; which laſt, though he greatly aſſiſted thoſe aſſociates, is not reported to have written any thing without them.

It will be proper to mention DOMINIQUE, ROMAGNESI, the two RICCOBONIS and LE GRAND together; for as they wrote reſpectively, or in conjunction, for the Italian theatres, from ſubjects either taken from Italian canvaſſes, or approved by them all, it would be difficult to diſtinguiſh their ſeparate merits. There are nearly a hundred pieces to be traced in which all theſe had a hand.

PANNARD, PIRON, CAROLET, and others, alſo contributed at this period towards the prodigious fund of amuſement which attracted the attention of the public at the Italian theatre and the fairs, while BOISSI, LA FONT, BOINDIN, LA CHAUSSEE, BEAUCHAMPS, DE LA RUEDE LA RUE, who was DANCOURT's preceptor, and who brought out two plays, had, as we have ſeen, an averſion to the theatre. It was this that induced him to reprove DANCOURT for his impiety in being an actor. "Ah father," ſaid DANCOURT, "I am afraid the only difference between us is that I am actor to the king and you are actor to the pope." , and others, did their beſt to make a ſtand at the French theatre againſt VOLTAIRE, DE LA MOTTE, and DESTOUCHES; but, as I have done with none of thoſe mentioned in this chapter, except DE LA MOTTE, whoſe manners, and whoſe merits were an honour to his country, I ſhall, as I go on, reſume ſuch points concerning them as I may conceive likely to inſtruct or amuſe the reader.

AS the works of VOLTAIRE now form the principal feature of the French drama, I cannot do better than, through the medium of enumerating thoſe, give every collateral particular relative to the other authors his cotemporaries; for to ſpeak particularly, limitted as I am, of every author and play that my documents furniſh me with, would be little more than to ſet down names and dates.

Eryphile produced by VOLTAIRE, in 1732, had no ſucceſsL'ABBE DESFONTAINES, an indifferent author, but a troubleſome critic, predicted this, and was, therefore, treated by VOLTAIRE in the groſſeſt manner; who, among other things, did not ſpare to call him an aſs, and an ideot, but, when the public voice verified his prediction, VOLTAIRE, who with the greateſt pretended indifference was the ſoreſt of all authors, witneſs his letter to the Queen on the ſubject of this play when it was parodied under the title of Semiramis, was guilty of a thouſand meanneſſes to conciliate the favour of the Abbe, which he at lenth effected.. It was, therefore, withdrawn and brought forward as we ſhall ſee under the title of Semiramis. The changes neceſſary for the occaſion were not very difficult, for the two ſubjects are perfectly the ſame. His next piece was Zaire, a tragedy performed in 1732, of which I regret I have not room to ſpeak the eulogium, but a proper opportunity will occur when this performance under the title of Zara ſhall be ſpoken of as one of the ornaments of the Engliſh theatreWhen Zaire firſt appeared, a moſt invidious and contemptible report prevailed, that VOLTAIRE had purchaſed it for two hundred piſtoles of a certain Abbe MACARTY, an Iriſhman, who was firſt a Roman Catholic and afterwards turned Turk. Nay, even a certain notary was ſaid to have drawn up an obligation for the ſum. I confeſs, when I firſt heard of this circumſtance, knowing the imbecility and irreſolution of VOLTAIRE's mind, I dreaded he would have betrayed ſomething like apprehenſion, but was charmed to find that, ſtanding fairly up againſt the infamous calumny, he treated it with the ſovereign and ineſtable diſdain it merited.. This piece, in addition to the popularity it atchieved for itſelf, brought forward the famous DUFRESNE, and the celebrated Mademoiſelle GAUSSIN, who performed the parts of Oraſmane and Zaire.

Adelaide du Gueſclin, brought out in 1734, was the next production of this author. It had been performed before under the title of Adelaide; and, having had but mediocre ſucceſs on either of theſe occaſions, it was, as we ſhall ſee. afterwards produced under the title of the Duc de Foix One of the characters was called Coucy, to whom another addreſſed himſelf thus: "Et tu content, Coucy?" A man in the parterre inſtantly cried out, "couſſi, couſſi," a provincial admiſſion of the Italian coſi, coſi, which ſignifies ſo, ſo, an expreſſion particularly well adapted, becauſe, on the Italian theatre by way of bureſque, it was often uſed by Harlequm.. Alzire appeared in 1736. The ſame engines were ſet to work to decry this piece as had been uſed to injure Zaire. The real author was ſaid to have been a man of the name of LE FRANC. VOLTAIRE, in reply to this calumny, ſaid that ſome perſon inſtructed as to the ſubject of his piece might have ſuggeſted it to Monſ. LE FRANC, in which caſe he was welcome to treat it; and, if it proved better than that which he had ſubmitted to the public, he ſhould be happy to forget the unkindneſs in proportion as he ſhould be obliged to applaud the merit of the piece. "I ſhall always adopt this conduct," added he, "for I don't like paper wars.A man of genius, being told that VOLTAIRE was not the author of Alzire, "I ſhould be heartly glad if it were ſo," ſaid he, "for in that caſe the nation would boaſt of one more great poet than it had bargained for." "

L'Infant Prodigue appeared the ſame year with ſucceſs. It was written in verſe. It is ſaid that if VOLTAIRE had not been afraid of the journaliſts he would have ſtruck into proſe. It would have been a noble advantage if he had, for there can be no doubt but VOLTAIRE's proſe is the beſt in the French language, and he would, in that caſe, have completed DE LA MOTTE's laudable plan.

Zulime was brought out in 1740. We are told that this piece was conſiderably altered after it was out of VOLTAIRE's hands, and to this circumſtance is aſcribed its having had but little ſucceſs. La Mort de Caezar, a tragedy in three acts, was brought forward in 1743. The characters are entirely men, conſequently the plot, having nothing to do with love, is rude and revolting. Its ſucceſs was in proportion.

Mahomet was performed for the firſt time in 1742. This idol of the French was withdrawn after the third repreſentation by authority, and the author informed that he would be denounced if he ſuffered it to be performed again. VOLTAIRE, however, having employed all his credit, Cardinal de FLEURY iſſued a new order for its appearance; nevertheleſs the actors were afraid of incenſing the Procureur General, and it was kept back till 1751, when it came forward with moſt extravagant ſucceſs, and has always been conſidered by the French as the beſt written play in all the works of VOLTAIREVOLTAIRE aſked FONTENELLE one day, who was then upwards of ninety, what he thought of Mahomet? "Il eſt horriblement beau." ſaid FONTENELLE..

Merope came out in 1743. This ſubject had been treated by GILBERT in 1643, by CHAPELLE, again by LA GRANGE CHANCEL, and at different periods by other poets under various titles, VOLTAIRE's play is beyond all queſtion the beſt, and its reception was equal to its merit.

The pieces of DESTOUCHES, after 1730, are Le Glorieux, La Fauſſe Agnes, Le Tambour Nocturne, Le Diſſipateur, L'Ambitieux et L'Indiſcrette, La Belle Orgueilleuſe, L'Amour Uſé, Les Amours de Ragonde, L'Homme Singulier, La Force du Naturel, Le Jeune Homme a L'Epreuve, and two or three others. Of all theſe the ſucceſs was ſo uniform, except in one or two inſtances, that it will be unneceſſary to ſay more here than that DESTOUCHES was deſervedly conſidered as a very reputable author.

DESTOUCHES generally lived in retirement on an eſtate purchaſed near MELUN. His cuſtom was when he had finiſhed a piece to take it to PARIS, and after it had been repreſented for the firſt time, to return again into the country. He died much beloved and reſpected at the age of ſeventy four.

The remainder of the pieces brought out by MARIVAUX, need not be particularized. They conſiſt of twenty two comedies and one tragedy, which was called Annibal, many of which ſucceeded with perſons of taſte and diſcernment, but were generally withdrawn after a time to form the delight of the cloſet, where they are beyond meaſure charming. MARIVAUX lived eſteemed, and died regretted at the age of ſeventy five.

DE LA MOTTE, DESTOUCHES, and MARIVAUX, were members of the French academy. DE LA MOTTE ſucceeded T. CORNEILLE, DESTOUCHES was choſen in the place of CAMPISTRON, and MARIVAUX was elected at the death of the Abbe de HOUTEVILLE

The preliminary diſcourſe of DE LA MOTTE was anſwered by Monſieur de COLLIERES, director of the academy. After congratulating him on his filling the ſituation formerly occupied by the great CORNEILLE, and ſince devolved to his brother, who had by his dictionary and other works of utility proved himſelf worthy him who had been the admiration of the age in which he had lived, Monſieur de COLLIERES, in the livelieſt terms, aſſured DE LA MOTTE that his works ſpoke their own eulogium, and that it was not more by the ſuffrages of the academy than by the general wiſh of the nation, that he was called to hold the honourable ſituation the world were ſo well convinced he would adorn.

DESTOUCHES was replied to by FONTENELLE, who delivered a moſt maſterly and eloquent harrangue, certainly the eulogium of the King and the Cardinal de POLIGNAC, rather than DESTOUCHES. It was, however, wound up very powerfully, and the academy were congratulated on receiving, in their new member, a ſubſtitute in comedy for what CAMPISTRON had been in tragedy.

MARITAUX was addreſſed by the Archbiſhop of SENS, who moſt delicately and adroitly excuſed himſelf for having been enticed out of the regular path of literature, in which it had been his cuſtom and his duty to walk, by the faſcinating inducements thrown out by the writings of the new academician. He recapitulated the beauties in his works, warned him againſt painting love too voluptuouſly, and finiſhed by giving him that tribute of praiſe which warm and ſincere as it was, he ſaid, "was but the echo of the multitude."

St. FOIX, a moſt accompliſhed and elegant writer, unfortunately for the cauſe of literature dealt in nothing but trifles; trifles, however, only in ſize, for, in value, they were ineſtimable. St. FOIX was too independent both in mind and circumſtances to drudge regularly for the theatre, otherwiſe there cannot be a doubt but he would have brought comedy in FRANCE to the trueſt perfection. Full of novelty, yet full of nature, with a correct knowledge of every dramatic requiſite, and a moſt penetrating judgement to give thoſe requiſites effect, his dialogue, nobly ſimple, agreeably playful, and deliciouſly intereſting, the whole domain of Thalia ſeemed open to his view, in which he was permitted to range for fancy, and variety.

He had the peculiar and maſterly merit in all his dialogue of concealing the writer. His characters uttered thoſe ſentiments with which nature inſpired them, and uttered them in nature's language; St. FOIX had nothing to do with it. Every thing ſeemed extemporaneous, becauſe it was full of the heart, and what immediately aroſe from honeſt truth, and conſcious reflection. Theſe and many other requiſites St. FOIX moſt eminently poſſeſſed; which, if they are ſo evident in the ſpecimen he has given, written for amuſement at his hours of leiſure, his productions muſt have been valuable indeed had he devoted his whole time to them; and this is particularly confirmed by the fertility of his invention, and the ſtrength of his diſcernment; for, in twenty-two pieces he gave to the French and Italian theatres, though every plot is peculiarily original and greatly intereſting, no two plots have in any reſpect the ſmalleſt reſemblance of each other.

The pieces of St. FOIX, before 1745, were Deucalion et Pyrrha, Pandore, L'Oracle, L'Iſle, Sauvage, and Les Graces, and now I ſhall leave the works of FAVART, ANSEAUME, MARMONTEL, SEDAINE, and many other celebrated writers, whoſe productions about this period firſt made their appearance, together with all that remains to be ſaid of thoſe whom I have not yet done with, to give a brief account of the opera, ſuch particulars of the Italian theatre as may conduce to round my general hiſtory of it, to ſpeak of actors, of dancers, of muſicians, and of farce writers; after which I ſhall regularly wind up my hiſtory of the French ſtage with a further account of their beſt writers, and ſuch neceſſary remarks on them and their merits as may ſerve hereafter for a comparative elucidation of the dramatic art in ENGLAND.

HAVING brought the opera forward to the death of LULLY and the ſeceſſion of QUINAULT, I ſhall as briefly as poſſible give ſuch further particulars concerning it as may ſerve to aſſiſt my future account of it when I come to ſpeak of its eſtabliſhment in ENGLAND. Brief, indeed, I muſt be; for, beſides thoſe operas already mentioned, I reckon more than two hundred, good and bad, that were brought out from their eſtabliſhment up to the year 1773.

In theſe operas authors of all deſcriptions had a hand, from T. CORNEILLE, DE LA MOTTE, MARMONTEL, ROI, DANCHET, and even VOLTAIRE, to LE ABBE PELLEGRIN, BERNARD, MONDORGE, BRUERE, and CAHUSAC, down to many others of much more inconſiderable talents. Some of the muſicians I have already named; to theſe may be added ROYER, MATHEAU, MOURET, MONTECLAIRE, and many others who were, at length, completely eclipſed by RAMEAU. It ſhould not, however, be forgotten that the celebrated PHILIDORE, whoſe muſic was almoſt as famous as his cheſs, compoſed an opera called Ernelinde written by POINSINET.

RAMEAU, who was born in 1683, was induced by his paſſion for muſic, and his thirſt after improvement to viſit ITALY very early in lifeIt is not my intention to ſpeak of muſic at length till I treat of its progreſs in ENGLAND. I ſhall then ſhow how it took root and grew in every country, and that it always arrived to the trueſt perfection whenever it was tranſplanted from the garden of ITALY.. There he had formed his taſte upon PERGOLESE, JOMELLI, GALLUPPI, CORELLI, and all that ſtring of celebrated compoſers who exactly at that time had brought muſic to the higheſt degree of perfection. It muſt be underſtood, however, that it was not by their inſtruction, but merely by liſtening to their admirable compoſitions, that he became ſo aſtoniſhing a muſician. Never did he receive from any man a ſingle leſſon on harmony. Nature and his own ſtrong mind were his preceptors; and ſo well was he taught by ſuch inſallible inſtructors that he at length became a harmonic legiſlator; a muſical LYCURGUS; to the juſtice of whoſe laws the whole tribe of compoſers have implicitly bowed obedience.

The French were ſo enthuſiaſtically attached to that dull monotonous ſtyle of muſic introduced by LULLY, that it was with the utmoſt difficulty RAMEAU could prevail upon even the moſt indifferent writers to ſupply him with words, and he was fifty-five years of age when he promiſed the Abbe PELLEGRIN, a poor reſource by the by, a large ſum of money to write Hypolite et Aricie, which was performed in 1733. It was at firſt damned, but being again brought forward at the inſtance of ſome perſons of diſcernment, it ſo opened the eyes, or rather the ears of the nation, that a new character was from that hour given to the muſical taſte of the French. This ſecond repreſentation was in a great meaſure owing to the noble conduct of PELLEGRIN, the author, and CAMPRA, RAMEAU's profeſſional rival. PELLEGRIN, ſtruck with the effect of the muſic, tore the inſtrument to pieces which RAMEAU had given him as a ſecurity for his money, ſaying he pitied the taſte of the French, and that he was but too happy to fall in ſuch company; and CAMPRA being aſked what he thought of the muſic, ſaid there was good muſic enough in Hypolite to ſerve for ten operas. This was told to the Prince de CONTI, who aſked if theſe were really his ſentiments? He anſwered, that the declaration was no more than truth and juſtice, for that RAMEAU was certainly born to eclipſe their whole tribe. This prediction was completely verified, for no other muſician had brilliant ſucceſs after this event. The conſequence was that thoſe who happened to poſſeſs good ſenſe and honeſty like CAMPRA, gave way without murmuring; but the reſt, among whom were MONTECLAIRE, and MOURET, became a prey to envy and deſpair. MONTECLAIRE attacked RAMEAU on his violating the rule of harmony; but, happening, by way of ſhewing his candour, to praiſe the only paſſage in the opera of Les Indes Galantes written by FUZELIER, in which the rules of harmony were actually violated, he was ſo completely laughed at that he never ventured afterwards to ſpeak of RAMEAU or his muſic. As for poor MOURIT, it is a literal fact that he went mad and employed himſelf during his higheſt paroxyſms in ſinging a chorus in the ſecond act of Caſtor et Pollux, written by BERNARD, and compoſed by RAMEAU, begining with theſe words: Qu'an feu du tonnerre, Le feu des enfers Declare la Guerre.

After this, authors were ſolicitous enough to write for RAMEAU. MONDORGE, BRUERE, CAHUSAC, and AUTREAU, were all employed by him. At length VOLTAILE, who has told us he went out of his way to oblige a man of ſuch talents, wrote for him Le Temple de la Gloire, which was followed by Pygmalion, written by DE LA MOTTE, and compoſed by LA BARRE in 1700. but reſet by RAMEAU in 1746. After this he had the good fortune to be aſſiſted by the pen of MARMONTEL, who wrote for him four pieces, by which time the French opera had ariſen to its higheſt degree of perſection.

After all, the opera in France, admirable as the talents of RAMEAU were, never equalled, or even approached the Italian opera. The vaſt theatres of VENICE, MILAN, and other places gave a ſtyle and a magnificence to the ſcenery greatly beyond the ſcenery of the French. The advantage of ſetting Italian words to Italian muſic, ſuch muſic eſpecially as was produced by the joint labours of ſo many wonderful compoſers, again threw the French opera at an immenſe diſtance. In ſhort in nothing but the dances, by the way a mere apendage to the opera, have the French excelled, but in theſe they have ever excelled all EUROPEA celebrated Engliſh dancer called on the famous MARCEL at PARIS, who deſired to have a ſpecimen of his abilities. The Engliſhman could not pleaſe MARCEL. Every thing was tried and all to no purpoſe. At laſt, "tenez mon ami," ſaid he, "en voila aſſez;" "the fact is, you jump very well in LONDON, but as to dancing, my good friend, it is only to be found in PARIS." .

The performances at PARIS derived great reſpectability from their regulations by the order of the king. After the death of LULLY, who had at leaſt the merit of being a ſtrict diſciplinarian, the opera relaxed greatly from the regularity and good order that had been before kept up. This induced the king, in 1713, to iſſue an arret conſiſting of eighteen articles, which enacted that the director of the Royal Muſical Academy ſhould chuſe the beſt poſſible performers both vocal and inſtrumental, and alſo performers for the ballets; no one, however, to be received without the approbation of the inſpector general. That a ſchool for muſic and dancing ſhould be eſtabliſhed where all performers ſhould be taught gratis.

That the different merits of the performers being aſcertained and by them acknowledged, they ſhould receive ſuch parts as were provided for them without murmuring, upon pain of being deprived of a month's pay for the firſt omiſſion, and of being diſcharged for the ſecond. Their duty both towards one another, and towards the public, is next very properly pointed out, the portion of the profits equitably appropriated, a fund eſtabliſhed for ſuch as may have performed fifteen years, not as a charity but as a reward for paſt ſervices, and another fund, by way of encouraging emulation to be at ſtated periods divided among all thoſe who may have beſt diſcharged their duty towards their employers and the public.

It is next ordered that, during all receſſes, the performers, without diſtinction, ſhall be put upon half pay; afterwards that the authors and compoſers of all operas ſhall be paid in proportion to their ſucceſs on every night as far as thirty repreſentations, provided the opera is performed ſo many nights in ſucceſſion. The examination of all operas to be impartial, and no meaſure, either for or againſt authors, muſicians, or performers, of any deſcription, to be taken without a memorial drawn up and well atteſted for the peruſal of the inſpector general, who ſhall audit all accounts and regulate, in conformity to the will of the king, all matters reſpecting the management of the opera; the accounts of all denominations to be conſtantly ſettled the laſt day of every month.

Perſons were, in conſequence of this new regulation, immediately appointed, and it was, without variation, ever afterwards kept up. In 1773, the appointments ſtood thus: REBEL at the head of the muſical academy, FERRET and PARANT principal conductors of the ſinging ſchool, the two GARDELS regulators of the dancing ſchool; among the principal male ſingers were GELIN, LARRIVEE, DURAND, LE GROS, MUGUET, TIROT, and LAINEZ; the principal female ſingers were LARRIVEE, ARNOULD, DUPLANT, BEAUMESNIL, ROSALIE, DURANC, 1 CHATEAUNEUF, and GIRARDIN, and there were about thirty others employed in choruſes and other inferior ſtations.

VESTRIS was the ballet maſter, who was alſo principal dancer with GARDEL and DUBERVAL. Next came a train of figurants; then the principal women, who were PESLIN, GUIMARD, HEINEL, and ASSELIN, and then the figurantes and ſupernumeraries amounting to about fifty. The liſt was cloſed by the names of thoſe who performed in the orcheſtra to the number of ſixty-four, ſo that the whole company, including all deſcriptions of perſons employed, muſt have conſiſted of at leaſt two hundred.

I SHALL now look after ſuch authors and other perſons as were concerned in the Italian theatre, and intereſted in that conduct, and thoſe circumſtances which grew out of it after its eſtabliſhment in 1716.

It has been ſeen that the actors at the fairs, having the advantage of performing entirely in French, became very formidable rivals of the Italians, who were, in conjunction with the French comedians, continually making intereſt to throw every poſſible rub in their way. The public, however, tired of ſeeing them thus perſecuted, took the matter up; and, after it had gone through a number of hands, ſome of whom had been ruined in the conteſt, FRANCISQUE and LALAUZE, were glad to ſell the concern to PONTEAU, who wrote a number of things in conjunction with FUZELIER, PANNARD, CAROLET, GALLET, and L'AFFICHARD, and he had influence enough to obtain from the muſical academy permiſſion to call his performance L'Opera Comique.

From this time forward theſe whimſical pieces grew mo • e and more into repute, A hiſtory, or an anecdote deſcribing any of their former perſecutions, a parody of a bad tragedy, in ſhort any temporary whim, dramatized by LE SAGE and his followers, who all wrote with wonderful pleaſantry, was a thouſand times more welcome to the public • han thoſe pieces, half French and half Italian, ſung through the noſe, or thoſe, entirely French, ſpoken through the noſe, at the regular theatres, The conſequence was they became too formidable; and, in 1742, were ſuppreſſed, with this qualification, however, that the performers ſhould be incorporated with the Italians.

The inferior deſcription of performers, nevertheleſs, ſuch as had been interlocutors at the puppet ſhews, or rope-dancers, or tumblers, or, in ſhort, any of thoſe for whom it was impoſſible to find any employment in a regular theatre, ſtill hovered about the fairs, and were permitted, or rather ſuffered to perform there, and on the Boulevards, ſuch drolls and farces as were within their capacity, with a view to aſſiſt and relieve thoſe tricks and ſeats they exerciſed as their proper profeſſion.

Among theſe the famous NICOLET, ſo well known upon the Boulevards, cut the moſt conſpicious figure. This man fairly took up the ancient farces, of which I ſhall not have a better opportunity to give an account than this. They were certainly the origin of that prodigious number of proverbs, and pieces in one act, which have ſpread themſelves through FRANCE, either in private ſocieties, or on the ſtage. They were without doubt originally the productions of the Children of Sans Souci, and at that time they contained, probably, either the burleſque of the Greek ſatires, or the aſperity of the Roman, or, perhaps, a mixture of both; but, being neglected by them for works of greater magnitude when they joined the Confraternity of the Paſſion, theſe farces were ſuſpended, and would have been altogether loſt if ſome of the buffoons had not afterwards reſtored them; who, not being ſufficiently informed to imitate Greeks and Romans, made a ſhift to invent a great deal of drollery by ridiculing the folly of their own countrymen.

Of theſe PATHELIN, TABARIN, GUILLOT GORJU, GAUTIER GARGUILLE, GROS GUILLAUME, and TURLUPIN, were the principal. The laſt three were journeymen bakers, and friends from their infancy. It is difficult to aſcertain whether theſe farces, which they performed upon their own account, were exhibited during any receſs, or whether they left the company to which they belonged, but it is certain they were in the early part of their lives, all actors in HARDY's plays, and the other exhibitions of that time.

For the purpoſe of performing theſe farces they took a ſmall tennis court, near le porte St. Jaques, which they converted into a theatre. The price of admittance was two ſous and ſix deniers. They had ſuch ſucceſs that the company of the Hotel de Bourgogne complained of them to Cardinal RICHELIEU; who, being fond of every thing dramatic, ſent for them to perform before him in the Palais Royal, which was then called his palace. They ſatisfied the Cardinal ſo well that he would not forbid their performanceThe ſubject of the farce they were ſaid to have performed before the Cardinal was as follows: GROS GUILLAUME, who is repreſented to have been as thick as he was long, and who often, by means of a dreſs with hoops ſtretched acroſs, formed himſelf into the figure of a hogſhead, was in this farce ſuppoſed to be the wife of TURLUPIN; who, jealous of GARGUILLE, is determined to cut her head off. He ſeizes her by the hair with a drawn ſabre in his hand, while, ſhe upon her knees conjures him by every thing dear to him to abate his anger. She reminds him of their paſt loves, how ſhe rubbed his back when he had the rheumatiſm, and how charmed ſhe had always been when he wore his flannel night cap, but all in vain. Will nothing move thee? cries this amiable female in the laſt deſpair. Oh cruel! Think on the bacon and cabbage I fryed for you yeſterday. Oh the ſorcereſs! cries TURLUPIN. I can't reſiſt her. She knows how to take me by my foible. The bacon! the very fat's now riſing in my ſtomach. Live, fry cabbage, and be dutiful.. This ſo emboldened them that they grew more and more ſcurilous and perſonal; till GROS GUILLAUME, in one of their farces, counterfeited a certain magiſtrate ſo perfectly that he iſſued a warrant to take them all up. GROS GUILLIAUME was put in priſon, where he ſhortly afterwards died. His companions made their eſcape, but it is ſaid they had been ſuch ſworn brothers and friends all their lives, and had promiſed ſo faithfully to ſtick by each other, that when, GARGUILLE and TURLUPIN heard of their friend's death they fell ill and ſoon afterwards followed him. They were very old, the youngeſt of them being nearly eighty.

This ſketch may ſerve to ſhew whence the farces performed on the Boulevards originated, the humour and ſtyle of which MOLIERE, DANCOURT, and others had very frequently in view, and, indeed, all the writers for fairs. Theſe having ſelected all the valuable parts, nothing remained for the exhibitors on the Boulevards but groſſneſs and filth, which certainly they have ever thrown about pretty profuſelyThe moſt indecent nonſenſe of our merry Andrews and puppet ſhew men may give ſome idea of it..

The names of Harlequin, Pantaloon, Scaramouche, and the reſt of the pantomime characters, are ſuppoſed to have been either the real or adventitious titles of thoſe who firſt performed them. The original Harlequin is ſaid to have been a young performer among the Italians at the time of HENRY the third; who being retained by the preſident HARLAY, was called by his companions, according to the Italian cuſtom of giving the maſter's name to the ſervant, Arlequino; a name that DOMINIQUE, GHERARDI, CARLIN, and others ever after went by. The names of Mezetin, Pantaloon, and ſeveral of the reſt are ſaid to have been real; and thus, whatever might be the ſubject, or whatever the ſcene, you ſaw the pieces always performed as it were, by one family. This bad cuſtom ſpread itſelf through all their comic writings, which we ſee ſtuffed with Damons, and Gerontes, and Lyſimons, and Eraſtes, out of number, inſtead of thoſe appropriate names by which we diſtinguiſh the variety of characters that are introduced in our comedies.

After the junction of the Italian theatre with the comic opera, they muſtered very powerfully. CAMILLE, an admirable Pantaloon, brought with him his daughter; a moſt accompliſhed and beautiful woman. "A large volume," ſays my author, "could not contain half the verſes that were written in her praiſe." She was an actreſs as well as a dancer, and admirable in both capacities. CLAIRVAL was an excellent ſinger and a ſound actor. CARLO VERONESE alſo brought out his daughter, CAROLINE, who performed the Colombine, that is to ſay, the chambermaid, for all the Harlequins at the Italian theatre were valets, and all the Colombines chambermaids; ſhe had almoſt as many verſes written in her praiſe as CAMILLE: Some of them by MARMONTEL, who was in love with her.

To Madame FAVART, whoſe merit in public, and whoſe character in private life cannot be ſpoken of too highly, I lament that it is not in my power to do the juſtice ſhe merited. She ſung charmingly, and performed with delicacy, truth, and ſentiment. She was a perfect muſician, and played admirably on the harp. All theſe qualifications her huſband availed himſelf of in the characters ſhe performed, which he wrote purpoſely for her, and to which ſhe gave ſo much grace and nature that her manner has been ever ſince the ſtandard of imitation. In her private life ſhe was a tender wife, and mother, and a faithful and affectionate friend.

THEVENARD and THEVENAU were two admirable ſingers. THOMASSIN was a good Harlequin, OCTAVE, who acted, danced, and played upon eight inſtruments, was a great favourite, and STICOTTI was an excellent Pierrot; but the arrangement of the Italian theatre, in 1773, which I ſhall now bring forward, will ſhew the ſtate of the company, and how well it was regulated.

It is premiſed, ſay theſe laws, that the company are under the immediate protection of the king, and muſt render account to him of their conduct through the ſuperintendant of his menus plaiſirs, and the gentlemen of his chamber. The organ, through which all applications, reports, and appeals are to be conveyed, to be compoſed of three performers called Semainiers, or weekly inſpectors, choſen by a majority out of the company. Theſe inſpectors are to have different departments. The firſt is to take care of the regiſters, to examine the receipts, and diſburſements, and to act in every reſpect as guardian and treaſurer. He is to convoke all aſſemblies, and regulate with the conſent of a majority of the company, the buſineſs of the week; which, having been properly digeſted, is to be announced by the bills to the public, and without good cauſe to the contrary, literally carried into execution.

The ſecond inſpector is to examine the ſtate of the company, the ſtock liſt of performances, the merits of the performers, their forwardneſs as to the diſcharge of their duty; to ſee after the ſtate of the decorations, to take care at performances and rehearſals, that every decorum is obſerved, and that nothing is neglected by actors, ſingers, dancers, painters, or members of any other deſcription, that may render their exertions worthy the patronage of the king, and the encouragement of the public.

The third inſpector is to watch over the conduct of the other two, to render an account of every thing that paſſes to the intendant Des Menus, and to inſtruct the company as to what orders he receives in conſequence from court, and whether the proceedings of the company are approved or diſapproved of by the king.

Theſe inſpectors are to remain in office three weeks, and, during that time, to ſerve reſpectively each office; the whole company, on every Saturday morning in full aſſembly, receiving an authentication of their fidelity in the diſcharge of their ſeveral truſts, and being at liberty to examine their conduct, on which they may paſs a vote of thanks or cenſure, each performer voting according to the order of his or her reception in the company; at which aſſembly the king's pleaſure is to be made known, and reſolutions taken as to their future plans and operations; at all times ſtrictly adhering to theſe regulations.

Diſtributing of parts, forſeits, recompences over and above the common appointments, and firſt appearances are regulated as equitable as every thing elſe; but theſe, the duty of the performers, and other particulars, I ſhall reſerve till I lay them by the fide of the Engliſh regulations. I cannot, however, paſs by the treatment of authors.

All authors, who think proper to ſend pieces to the theatre, are to direct them to the ſecond ſemainier, who is to report the inſtructions which thoſe authors ſhall think proper to ſend with their performances to the company. If the author wiſhes to be concealed, they are to obſerve inviolable ſecrecy. If it ſhould be the opinion of the company that the piece ought to be read notice is given and the author invited, who may either read his piece himſelf or chuſe that performer from the company who he conceives will do it the greateſt juſtice. The company are forbid to applaud or condemn, and the author is requeſted, after the reading is over, to retire that the opinions of the actors may be given without reſtraint.

The debate then begins, and it is put to the vote whether the piece ſhall be received or not; with the determination the ſecond ſemainier acquaints the author; who, if he thinks proper, may inſiſt upon altering his piece and ſubmitting it to a ſecond reading, and, if then he ſhould remain diſſatisfied, he may ultimately inſiſt, through the third ſemainier, of appealing to the intendant of Des Menus.

The profits of the author are, for a firſt piece, a ninth of the houſe during the whole of the firſt run, which ſhall not be interrupted upon any account till the receipt ſhall twice together be under a thouſand livres. The profits, on pieces of two acts, are a eighteenth, and on pieces of one act, a twenty-fourth of the receipt, ſubject to the ſame regulationsWhen the pieces were muſical, the profits were ſtill the ſame but they were ſhared between the author and compoſer..

In 1773, the principal performers where, men, CARLIN, ZENNUZZI, COLALTO, LA RUETTE, CLAIRVAL, CAILLOT, VERONESE, TRIAL, CAMERANI, and others; women, DESGLANDS, LA RUETTE, BERARD, BEAUPRE, TRIAL, ZANERINI, BILLIONI, COLOMBE, and others. Actors, retired on penſions from the king, DESBROSSES, THOMASSIN, TOUVOIS, GAILLARD, DEMERY, ROUSSEL, DESORMERY, MOREL, and LECLERC. Actreſſes, BACELLI, GAULT, LEFEVRE, GAILLARD, and DU FAYEL. Ballet maſter DE HESSE. Principal dancers, men, BERQUELAURE, and HAMOIRE, women, LEFEVRE, and HAMOIRE, and ſixteen figurants and figurantes. The orcheſtra contained twenty-eight performers.

CREBILLON will now ſtand forward; who, in 1748, and at the age of ſeventy four, brought out Catalina, after labouring at it more than twenty years. It was greatly admired, and in particular the three firſt acts, notwithſtanding the turn VOLTAIRE had given to tragedy. There were, however, in it ſome incongruous things, and it would not probably have obtained that notice from the public it met with, had not Madame POMPADOUR taken it under her protection and preſented the actors with ſuperb dreſſes for all the characters.

Le Triumvirat came out in 1754, at which time CREBILLON was eighty. It had very reſpectable ſucceſs, and though his enemies, among whom may be reckoned his ſon, ſpoke of it as a plagiary from the reſt of his works, and among others from a tragedy called Cromwel, which had been fordidden to appear, it certainly did no diſcredit to his reputationWhenever the younger CRIBILLON was in company he made a point of decrying his father's works, even to his face. "How now," ſaid a friend one day, "ſhall you who have been able to produce nothing but fairy tales, and other frivolous rhapſodies, pretend to criticiſe a man who has done honour to the age he lives in? who has written ſo many tragedies and other works equally meritorious and ingenious." "Well," ſaid young CREBILLON, "and which are the beſt of his productions?" "It would be difficult" ſaid the friend, "to aſcertain which is the beſt, but it is eaſy to ſee that you are the worſt." . CREBILLON was received at the academy in 1731, and delivered his preliminary diſcourſe in verſe. He was very much reſpected through life. At his funeral attended all the public bodies and private individuals who were eſteemed for literary purſuits. Every mark of honour and reſpect was paid him, and the king at his private expence ordered for him a handſome monument.

Among the remaining authors, excluſive of thoſe already mentioned, who wrote for the ſtage during the life of VOLTAIRE, at the French theatre, we find FONTENELLE, BRET, MOISSY, PALISSOT, BELLOY, FAGAN, GRESSET, LA GARDE, MERCIER, DE MORAND, and a variety of others, and at the Italian theatre FAVART, ANSEAUME, SEDAINE, and many more.

FONTENELLE, whoſe arduous and meritorious labours did ſo much ſervice to the cauſe of literature in FRANCE, was the nephew of the great CORNEILLE. Among his dramatic pieces, which alone are entitled to notice here, and which were written like thoſe of LA FONTAINE, rather for amuſement than fame, are two or three of conſiderable merit. Not one, however, can be called perfect. There reigns every where in them a powerful and perſuaſive ſtyle, always ingenious, and often ſeducing, but there is an affectation of explaining ſelf evident ſentiments different from other authors; a weakneſs of expreſſion that injures the ſtrength of the ſentence. 'Tis a painted giant, a Hercules dreſſed like a petit maitre; a fault, in ſhort, that every judicious reader will ſee and ought to complain of, for unfortunately the faults of a great man are always dangerous, becauſe they are always imitated; and, what is worſe, are eaſily imitated by thoſe who have not capacity to imitate his perfections.

I wiſh I could with equal propriety enlarge upon the other publications of FONTENELLE, which are replete with inſtruction and delight; and by which, through a long and laborious life, he deſervedly kept a brilliant reputation. To his honour, however, and the perpetuity of his fame, the literary world are competent to ſpeak his eulogium, and to enumerate all the particulars of thoſe diſtinctions which were heaped on him by the ſuffrages of the French Academy, the Academy des Belles Lettres, and the Academy of Pruſſia; of all which ſocieties he was a valuable member. He died at PARIS at the age of a hundred in 1757.

BOISSI wrote a great number of pieces for all the theatres; but they are negligently and ſlovenly written, and on mere chit chat ſubjects, therefore, though they ſerved well enough to expoſe and correct temporary folly, they have nothing in them from which may be expected a permanent reputation. His firſt pieces, after a time, were generally reduced to farces, and ſometimes to one actThe actors took this liberty ſo mercileſsly with BOISSI, that he was not always very much ſatisfied, "Why zounds," ſaid he one day, "if my plays are to be hacked and hewed in this manner, what ſhall I do to have a piece repreſented in five acts?" Write it in eleven, ſaid an actor.; and, after the whim, or the abſurdity they were meant to laugh at, had gone by, they were heard of no more.

BRET produced ſeveral comedies for the French theatre, which are written with an elegant facility, natural, juſt, and give proof of no mean knowledge in the dramatic art. PALISSOT ſpeaks of this author in very handſome terms, and praiſes him in particular for his pieces called La Double Extragance, and Le Faux Genereux, in which there are certainly ſome admirable circumſtances. The firſt of which he ſays "is written in the true ſtyle of comedy, and the other is full of great tenderneſs and real intereſt."

MOISSY, who produced eight or nine pieces, generally with ſucceſs, was an eaſy, elegant, and natural writer. His ſtyle is flowing and lively. He was accuſtomed to mix with the higheſt characters in real life, which enabled him to paint genteel manners with great truth of colouring, but as there is in genteel company generally too much vapidity, he often wants force, humour, and intereſtAbout the time that MOISSY brought out his comedy of Les Deux Freres, BRET produced another called Les Deux Saeurs. Neither of theſe plays had great ſucceſs. "What ſhall I do," ſaid BOISSY to a friend, "with my two brothers?" "Why," ſaid the friend, "I think you can't do better than marry them to BRET's two ſiſters." .

PALISSOT was a writer of conſiderable eminence. He attempted a tragedy at nineteen which was received as a work of great promiſe. The ſituations were intereſting, and the ſtyle was natural, and pure; but when he conſidered the extreme difficulty of entering the liſts with VOLTAIRE, he very ſenſibly turned his hand to comedy, where he had a larger field to range, and where he might more freely exerciſe that pointed and ſatyric vein which beſt ſuited his genius.

Having made up his mind, he determined to become another ARISTOPHANES; and, that he might be the more conſpicuous, he went to the very fountain head for materials. His firſt comedy that became popular was called Les Originaux, and brought out at NANCY, in LORRAINE in 1755. In this play, without mincing the matter, he boldly drew the character of ROUSSEAU; not individually as to his perſon or his manners, but as his mind appeared in his writings. The adherents and diſciples of ROUSSEAU, who were numerous, particularly in that town, preſented a memorial to the king of POLAND, duke of LORRAINE and of BAR. in which they prayed vengeance on the head of the author. The ſtorm was violent, but it was ſhort. PALISSOT triumphed, and this oppoſition only ſerved to make him more popular, and encourage him to purſue a career for which his victory had ſhewn he was ſo qualified.

In 1760, PALISSOT brought out Les Philoſophes, which contained ſome moſt cutting and pointed ſatire at all thoſe who were advocates for the fanciful and dangerous doctrines of ROUSSEAU, VOLTAIRE, and other authors of that ſtampPALISSOT, in his Memoirs, ſays, that being honoured with the countenance and ſupport of two ladies of high rank, to whom he dedicated a work, finding thoſe ladies libelled becauſe they protected him, and ſeeing very plainly that it was the intention of the libellers to compromiſe the matter with the ladies by inducing them to transfer their favour, under an idea that his arguments ought not to be rated in oppoſition to theirs; he conceived it his duty to take the matter up. For this purpoſe, as the flanderers were public characters, indeed VOLTAIRE is ſuppoſed to have been concerned in it, he thought he could not more completely do public juſtice than by bringing them on the ſtage, and offering up their dark opinions and their invidious philoſophy, as a ſacrifice to truth, to reaſon, and to decorum.. Its ſucceſs was beyond every thing that had been before repreſented on the French theatre. The actors, through the intereſt of VOLTAIRE and the reſt, were induced to raiſe a clamour againſt it, and Madmoiſelle CLAIRON, at the head of a party, entered a proteſt alledging that it ought not to be performed becauſe it contained perſonalities. The drift of this, however, being plainly ſeen upon an appeal, an order was iſſued for its repreſentation.

The accounts of the French authors ſay that all the works of CORNEILLE, RACINE, MOLIERE, CREBILLON, and VOLTAIRE put together, never attracted ſuch a concourſe of ſpectators, or excited ſo many cabals as this ſingle playVOLTAIRE wrote PALISSOT ſeveral letters upon this occaſion in which, through an affected gaiety, appeared the moſt poignant chagrin. A literary man ſaid upon this occaſion that VOLTAIRE would never forgive PALISSOT for throwing off his livery; by which it ſhould ſeem that PALISSOT enliſted under VOLTAIRE, and would have remained his diſciple had he not been ſo greatly •••••… ed, againſt him.. It being clearly diſcovered, however, that the parties againſt it were intereſted perſons, or ſuborned at their inſtance, the favourers of the piece took up the quarrel as their own; and, after a long and warm altercation, its triumph was decided. It muſt, however, be confeſſed that it was a bold undertaking; for this piece did not attack merely a ſingle character, infamous, or ridiculous; but a ſect, numerous, powerful, and celebrated.

By ſome means or other, however, PALISSOT was ſilenced; for, though we hear of a comedy, called L'Homme Dangereux, into which he is ſaid to have thrown as much vigour and as much humour as into Les Philoſophes, and another, called Les Courteſannes, of a ſtill ſeverer caſt, nothing more of his worth notice was actually repreſented.

BELLOY, a very proper author to follow PALISSOT, gave like him one piece of uncommon celebrity. It was called Le Siege de Calais, and its very extraordinary ſucceſs was entirely owing to its being the firſt French play purely hiſtorical. With very great art and management, he contrived to make not only the times which he portrayed reſemble the times in which he wrote, but the perſonagesThe Marſhal BRISSAC was aimed at in one of the principal characters of this piece, and he was very proud of the diſtinction. The part was performed by BRIZARD; and the Marſhal meeting him one evening cried out "BRIZARD, if you ſhould happen to be ill let your comrade, ſend to me to play your part." . This tragedy had ſuch aſtoniſhing ſucceſs that the author was called for four times on the firſt night of its repreſentation, and once on every other during its runIt is curious to remark that this rage was carried to a moſt ridiculous height. Whenever the author was called for, the whole theatre received him with ſhouts of applauſe, and never diſmiſſed him till they cr • ed out with once voice, Vive le Roy et Monſieur DE BELLO • .. It was performed three times at court, the author was preſented in perſon to all the royal family, he dedicated his play to the king, who gave him a gold medal, ordered the controller general to pay him a conſiderable ſum, and exhorted him to continue writing upon French hiſtorical ſubjects.

Le Siege de Calais was performed in every town throughout FRANCE; the inhabitants of CALAIS preſented BELLOY with a gold box, and placed his portrait in the Hotel de Ville; the military voted him their thanks from the generals down to the ranks, and the celebrated Count D'ESTAING cauſed the play to be printed at St. DOMINGO, and diſtributed through all the French Weſt Indian Iſlands; and yet, after all, poſterity will know but little of BELLOY except this event. It was one of thoſe freaks in which the French fancied they were patriotic; for his Zelmire, ſtolen from METASTASIO and VOLTAIRE, and but little regarded, Titus, performed but onceTITUS who is renowned for ſaying, whenever any day paſſed that he had not the happineſs of doing ſome benefit to mankind, "I have loſt a day," has the very ſame expreſſion in this tragedy, on which a wag remarked when the piece was damned, "Titus perdit un Jour. Un Jour perdit Titus." , Gaſton et Bayard, which was received with reluctance by the actors, and indifference by the public, and Pierre le Cruel, which was performed at ROUEN becauſe they would not hear it out at PARIS, are but poor vouchers for the ſame of BELLOY, eſpecially as the two laſt were produced after the Siege of Calais.

FAGAN, an author of conſiderable merit, but whoſe indolence would not ſuffer him to avail himſelf of the genius he poſſeſſed, produced for the French theatre, the Italian theatre, and the fairs, about twenty pieces. They are full of inequalities; they are a mixture of perplexed ingenuity; in ſhort they are lumps of ore containing gems which his idleneſs had not permitted him to ſeparate and poliſh. Le Rendezvous and La Pupille had the beſt ſucceſs.

GRESSET wrote one tragedy and two comedies for the French theatre, which were performed with ſucceſs; but, being unwilling to engage in that warfare which generally attends writing for the ſtage, he is ſaid to have ſuppreſſed ſeveral others; as far as it went certainly a national loſs, for GRESSET was a good writer. His poetry is natural and harmonious; fertile in images, rich in epithets, and never overcharged.

LA GARDE, who wrote three or four pieces with ſucceſs, was remarkable for being the firſt who regulated the mode of dreſſing on the ſtage, and eſtabliſhed what the French call du coſtume. He was originally intended for the church, and had even taken the habit. The enchanting voice of Madmoiſelle le MAURE, however, enticed him away from the ſinging at high maſs to the ſinging at the opera. He was well calculated to give directions in the management of the theatre, and to ſuperintend decorations, to ſet off which, though he was no mean poet, his writings were generally intended.

MERCIER, an author of uncommon merit, and whoſe regard to the reputation of the ſtage was ſincere and patriotic, and ſupported with great judgment and good ſenſe, wrote twelve or fourteen pieces for the theatre; only two of which, however, were performed in PARIS. Theſe were called Natalie, and La Brouette du Vinaigrier. His other pieces were performed in almoſt every part of FRANCE. They are not comedies, but plays; a ſort of repreſentation as I have already contended nearer to nature than mere tragedies and comedies; containing circumſtances and ſentiments that go more immediately to the heart, becauſe they relate to the ſocial duties.

MERCIER, as well as DE LA MOTTE, was a great advocate for proſe, becauſe the mind ill accommodates itſelf to the pomp of verſe in tender and intereſting ſituations, and proſe is the language of nature. His ſtyle is uncommonly beautiful, ſtrong, decided, powerful; yet ſimple, unaffected, and eaſy. His loweſt characters utter noble, great, and philoſophic ſentiments without ſtepping beyond the truth of nature, or diſplaying more than what every heart can feel, and, therefore, what every tongue can expreſs.

MERCIER was certainly a wonderful writerThe reader muſt not confound this MERCIER with the author who wrote Le Bonnet de Nuit. They are brothers, and as I underſtand both valuable characters, but, a little like the two CORNEILLE's, very diſtinct from each other as writers., and particularly for the ſtage. His knowledge of effect is perfect and critical, and he has no character, no incident, no ſituation that is not at once a part and an embelliſhment of the piece. His drift is at all times to inculcate the mild duties of benevolence, and to ſooth the mind to ſober and ſubſtantial happineſs rather than rouſe it to giddy and tranſient delight; but all ſuch authors are conſidered as reformers, and the ſtage is a dangerous ſpot to attempt at innovation. I ſhall have occaſion when I ſpeak of MOORE and LILLO to reſume this charming writer.

DE MORANDE, known more by his ſingularity than his writings, brought out ſix pieces of different deſcriptions, which might have ſucceeded tolerably had he not perpetually headed cabals, and ſet himſelf againſt the works of other authors, who, of courſe, revenged themſelves whenever any of his productions appeared. He was a ſtrange excentric character, and one of thoſe who are miſtakenly called no men's enemy but their own, for perſons of this deſcription in general are peſts to ſociety. His pretenſions to dramatic fame are very ſlender, his pieces being generally an incoherent jumble, not, however, in ſome places without original merit.

MARMONTEL, whoſe admirable writings are of the moſt finiſhed kind, not only brought out ſeveral pieces himſelf, but furniſhed to other authors a variety of admirable ſubjects. His tragedies, though reſpectable, are by no means equal to his other playsIn MARMONTEL's tragedy of Cleopatra, which was a good deal hiſſed, a famous mechanic had conſtructed an aſp ſo artfully that it ſeemed perfectly alive. As it approached CLEOPATRA the eyes ſparkled like fire and it began to hiſs. After the ſcene was over, one of the auditors aſked a perſon who ſat near him how he liked the piece; "Why faith, Sir," ſaid the other, "I am of the ſame opinion of the aſp." . Venceſlas, which, as we have ſeen, was only an alteration from ROTROU, ſeems to have determined MARMONTEL to ſtick to comic ſubjectsThe regard the public retained for an old author of eminence prevented their receiving this piece from the hands of MARMONTEL with the warmth that had been expected. To encourage this indifference a variety of circumſtances concurred, the ſource of which ſeems clearly to be traceable to VOLTAIRE, who was, probably, jealous that MARMONTEL ſhould write tragedy. LE KAIN, VOLTAIRE's firm and intimate friend, ſtirred up the actors to reject the corrections of MARMONTEL; who, among all the company, had no ſupport but Madmoiſelle CLAIRON. On her LE KAIN was inſtructed by his principal how to be revenged; and, when the piece was performed 〈…〉 ••… vious to its public appearance, he got his whole part altered by a Monſ. COLARDEAU, ſo that, though the ſpeeches retained the ſenſe originally given them, the expreſſions were ſo different that CLAIRON, whoſe great excellence was an attention to thoſe who were ſpeaking to her, was quite thrown out. On the other hand the audience ſuppoſed the fault to be with MARMONTEL and threw all the odium on him. He appealed, however; LE KAIN was reprimanded and ordered to expunge all that COLARDEAU had written▪ Egged on by VOLTAIRE, who rejoiced that the prohibition had gone no farther, he determined to abide by this injunction to the letter. When, therefore, the piece came to be performed on the theatre, he took out certainly all that had been introduced by COLARDEAU; but, inſtead of ſubſtituting MARMONTEL's alterations, he ſupplied the deficiencies from ROTROU himſelf. The conſequence was that CLAIRON was as much at a ſtand as ever, and MARMONTEL hiſſed once more for what he had not written. Being then author of Du Mercure, he appealed to the public and inſerted a letter, written by one of the actors, which was anſwered by LE KAIN, who was again accuſed of ſomenting the whole quarrel; and thus appeal ſucceeded appeal till the public were tired of the ſubject and MARMONTEL, certainly ill treated, though many of the arguments were greatly to the honour of ROTROU, of whoſe reputation his advocates affected to be very tender, reſolved never again to tread tragic ground., for which certainly he was more qualified. La Bergere des Alpes, Le Huron, Lucile, Silvain, Zemire et Azor, L'Ami de la Maiſon, and others, are all in the true ſtyle of the comic opera, and written with the ſame delicacy and nature which pervade his Moral Tales, a work that has been held in ſuch high eſtimation by the world.

DIDEROT claims a right to be mentioned here, though he wrote but two comedies, one of which, Le Pere de Famille, had conſiderable ſucceſs; Le Fils Naturel did not ſucceed ſo well. The truth is, DIDEROT and MERCIER wrote too naturally, too critically true, too accurate for the multitude. The ſituations of their characters were happy; they drew the paſſions in their moſt perfect attitudes, and coloured them with a fidelity through which all their various ſhades were diſcoverable; DIDEROT, however, much more than MERCIER; and it is upon this account that he is leſs ſkilful in the conſtruction of his pieces; for while MERCIER introduces no incident, however ſtriking, but what naturally leads to one general intereſt, DIDEROT, by attempting to create perpetual intereſt, involves his ſubject in perplexity. But he would have reformed this had he written more for the ſtage. The world however, will find their conſolation in thoſe other works in which he has improved and embelliſhed literature.

We come now to conſider the productions of FAVART, ANSEAUME, and SEDAINE, whoſe pieces critically aſcertained the true province of the comic opera, which, however, never had ſettled into abſolute regularity till MARMONTEL's Tales gave an idea of the exact nature of what their plots ſhould be formed. Ninette a la Cour, La Chercheoſe D L'Eſprit, Le Coq de Village, La Rofiere de Salency, La Bohémienae, and many others written by FAVART, boaſt that natural and ſimple regularity of which MARMONTEL's Annette et Lubin, and other productions firſt gave the idea. Mazet, Les Deux Chaiſſeurs et la Laitiere, L'Ecole de la Jeuneſſe, La Clochette, and La Coquette de Village, of ANSEAUME, are again of this deſcription, and ſo are Le Roi et le Fermier, Roſe et Colas, Blaiſe le Savetier, Le Jardinier et ſon Seigneur, and On Savife Jamais de Tout, of SEDAINE.

Each of theſe pieces conſiſts of ſome pleaſant ſubject on which the play and management of the circumſtances turn, and out of which ſuch incidents ariſe as beget intereſt and lead naturally to a juſt and proper denouement. The ſongs in the pieces of theſe authors are well written; but, upon the whole, thoſe of FAVART are rather the beſt. There are many other pieces of this nature written by theſe and other authors, and ſome of them have been on the Engliſh ſtage; among which are La Fee Urgelle, Les Moiſſonneurs, Le Tableau Parlant, Le Deſerteur, and Richard Coeur de Lion; I ſhall, therefore, find a better time and place to ſpeak of them.

To return to VOLTAIRE. Nanine, a comedy taken from Pamela, was brought forward by VOLTAIRE in 1749. This ſubject was ſo admired and RICHARDSON ſo celebrated in FRANCE, that the general cry was to have it on the ſtage. LA CHAUSSEE tried his hand at it and failed; ſo did BOISSI. VOLTAIRE, however, ſucceeded greatlyPIRON pretended not to like Nanine, or, perhaps, did not really like it, for heaven knows it is dull enough, VOLTAIRE aſked him why he did not hiſs it; "'Twas impoſſible," ſaid PIRON, "a man cannot hiſs and yawn at the ſame time." , though it muſt be confeſſed he has treated the ſubject very inſipidly.

Semiramis was firſt performed in 1748. This tragedy, having been ſtolen from CREBILLON, and once before, as we have ſeen, brought forward without ſucceſs, the whole hue and cry of wits hunted it down without mercy; in conſequence of which its reception at ſome of the early repreſentations was again doubtful. It gained ground, however, and afterwards drew a prodigious concourſe of ſpectators to the theatre, who did it the juſtice it really merited; for, though there are faults in the plan, yet it is ſtrongly written and ſome of the ſituations are very affectingVOLTAIRE did himſelf no ſervice in this buſineſs by introducing the ghoſt of NINUS after he had ridiculed the ghoſt in Hamlet. .

VOLTAIRE's next tragedy was Oreſte. It was performed once and withdrawn for eight days, after which, with the help of many corrections, it did tolerably well. Rome Sauvée came out in 1752, it was reſpectably received. To theſe ſucceeded Le Due de Foix, which alſo gave ſatisfaction. It is impoſſible to deny that theſe three tragedies are greatly written; and that, whatever may be their faults, they confeſs the hand of a maſter in every line. A true poet poſſeſſed of a male and nervous mind.

L'Orphelin de la Chine, and L'Ecoſſaiſe, the firſt performed 1756, and the other in 1760, will come in among the articles of the Engliſh ſtage. Tancred, alſo performed in 1760, had conſiderable ſucceſs. The ſubject called forth all the ſtrength of VOLTAIRE's talents, and it muſt be confeſſed he has well employed them; but L'Ecueil du Sage, a comedy, produced in 1762; was received very coldly, and had it not been written by VOLTAIRE, would not have been heard through on the firſt night. Olimpic, a tragedy, brought out in 1764, had better ſucceſs, but by no means ſuch a reception as ſome of his former pieces.

Les Scythes, performed in 1767, is a work of conſiderable merit. The judicious critic will eaſily diſcern that it is not only written by a poet, but a philoſopher. It did not, however, ſucceed greatly at firſt, being like many of VOLTAIRE's plays written in a hurry and taken back for correctionIn one of the public prints of that year, are theſe words: "We underſtand that Monſieur VOLTAIRE has ſent the actors a tragedy, in his manner, called Les Scythes; and informed them, at the ſame time, that he wrote it in twelve days. The actors, to be even with him, have returned it with an humble requeſt that he will take twelve months to correct it." . His next piece, Les Triumvirs, was damned, owing, it is alledged, to his keeping back his name. Certainly it did not deſerve ſo ſevere a • ate, and it is probable that had he, according to cuſtom, acknowledged its faults and corrected them, it might have been made an acquiſition to the theatre.

The laſt piece but one, by VOLTAIRE, was Sophoniſbe, performed in 1768. This tragedy was nothing more than the alteration already ſpoken of from MAIRET, or rather THEOPHILE VIAUD, from a ſubject that had been ſo frequently treated by other authors. It certainly had merit, but had ſo little novelty to recommend it, that its ſucceſs was inconſiderable, which, perhaps, determined VOLTAIRE to leave the theatre; for, though we find among his works eleven pieces, beſides thoſe already enumerated, not one of them was performed except at his private theatre in GENEVA. Theſe are of different diſcriptions, but many of them have great merit, Les Guebres is written with aſtoniſhing force and grandeur, Samſon, an opera, is moſt admirably deſigned, and charmingly written "A comedy called Samſon, ſays VOLTAIRE, was a great while performed in ITALY. It was tranſlated in FRANCE by a man named ROMAGNESI. This piece was brought out at a place which was anciently the palace of the Duke of BURGUNDY. It was printed and dedicated to the Duc D'ORLEANS, Regent of FRANCE. In this ſublime performance HARLEQUIN, SAMSON's valet, keeps a turkey-cock at bay while his maſter takes the gates of the city of GAZA upon his ſhoulders. In 1732 this ſubject was attempted to be revived at the opera, embelliſhed by the muſic of RAMEAU; but it was not permitted; for as the turkey-cock had no place in the piece, it was conſidered as a very ſerious buſineſs, and improper to be repreſented; and, in other reſpects, they were glad enough to mortiſy RAMEAU, who had too much merit not to excite envy. Nevertheleſs, at the ſame time, they made no ſcruple of performing Jeptha from the Old Teſtament, and the Prodigal Son from the New." ; and, in Socrate, there is ſome of the ſweeteſt proſe, particularly the love ſcenes, that can be conceived.

There was, however, another piece which VOLTAIRE brought with him from FERNEI, when, like a hare, he came to PARIS to die. This was a tragedy called Irene, and it was performed at the French theatre, during an interval in which he flattered himſelf he ſhould recover from the ſevere illneſs with which he had been attacked on his coming to PARIS, and, indeed, afflicted ſome time beforeAt this time VOLTAIRE himſelf was acting a moſt miſerable farce. On his arrival in PARIS, he was viſited and enquired after with more ſolicitude than if he had been an ambaſſador, or a miniſter of ſtate. Nothing was ſpoken of but VOLTAIRE. Nothing that could flatter his exceſſive vanity was omitted. Every ſyllable he uttered was cheriſhed like the propheſies of an oracle. His bon mots, his ſallies, his moſt trifling expreſſions were retailed in all the journals and in all public companies. Happy they who caught from him a complacent glance, a condeſcending nod, or a gracious ſmile. In the mean time, ſome individuals, who alſo knew how to act farces, reſolved to make his folly contribute to their intereſt. Among theſe was a certain Abbe GAULTIER, a nameſake at leaſt of a farce actor already ſpoken of. This man, who formerly had been a Jeſuit, thought he could not better ingratiate himſelf with the Archbiſhop of PARIS than by bringing about VOLTAIRE's converſion to the church after he had been ſo long conſidered as a notorious apoſlate. For this purpoſe he determined to enter the liſts with the actors and the philoſophers, and combat with them luſtily for the ſoul of VOLTAIRE. He peſtered him with letters; and the more he was tormented with bodily and mental infirmity the more he harraſſed him; till, at length, the poor poet, with all his fear of eternity before him, was reduced to the moſt pitiable ſtate of puſillanimity and irreſolution. One minute he ſent for the prieſt, the next he denied himſelf to him. Now he wrote a recantation of his errors, preſently he retracted it. The Abbe in the mean time was under the neceſſity of putting every art in practice to carry his point, for he had DIDEROT, D'ALEMBERT, MARMONTEL, and others to manage, who wanted the poor philoſopher to die in peace. In proportion, however, as the patient's apprehenſions encreaſed, he gained the aſcendancy. A full and complete abjuration of all the crimes VOLTAIRE had committed againſt the chriſtian religion was drawn up, couched in terms equivalent to a confeſſion that all that he had ever written was full of lies, a terrible prohibition for an author; to deſtroy the credit of a long life of ſtudy and its fruits contained in an hundred volumes by the ſingle daſh of the pen! This recantation was to be publiſhed in all the newſpapers in EUROPE, and it contained in particular a very artful condition; which was, that, as it had been reported that every precaution would be taken when he ſhould be near his end, either by threats or denunciations to make him confeſs and ſign whatever might privately ſerve the purpoſes of the church, or its miniſters, and that, therefore, all he ſaid or did under ſuch reſtraint ought to go for nothing, he not only abjured all knowledge of theſe or any other ſimilar inſinuations, but proteſted that whatever he ſhould confeſs, and whatever he ſhould ſign, would be the unbiaſſed effect of full conviction and a due ſenſe of the manifold crimes he had committed, together with a neceſſity for a ſincere, a contrite, and an unequivocal repentance. The conditions were hard, and it required as much management to get them accepted as boldneſs to propoſe them; but nothing could intimidate the Abbe. He found he had hooked his fiſh, and it was his buſineſs to play with it properly in order to bring it ſafely to his hand. He enjoyed his amuſement, however, with rather too much wantonneſs; for juſt as he was on the point of gaining the reward of his dexterity, death broke the line and away went his prey to the bottom. In ſhort, juſt as VOLTAIRE had manifeſted an apparent conſent, for an abſolute one he never manifeſted, to theſe hard terms, he fell into a delirium and died, before he had received extreme unction, or done any other thing neceſſary to his being conſidered as a chriſtian; and, therefore, though ſtatues and mauſoleums were erected to his memory, and he was deified at the theatre, the church refuſed him the rights of ſepulture; nay, what is very extraordinary, they refuſed to take their fees for fear of contamination.. This was the conſummation, not of his glory, as he fondly called it, but of his vanity. Before the piece began, BRIZARD, the oldeſt of the actors, entered the box and placed a crown of laurel upon his head, which he with an affected modeſty attempted to return, at the ſame time exclaiming, "What will you overwhelm me? Will you kill me with exceſs of glory?" The tragedy was then repreſented; after this VOLTAIRE's ſtatue was placed on the ſtage; and, while the actors and actreſſes crowned it with laurel and performed a moſt ridiculous and extravagant ceremony, the poet received all the honours of an apotheoſis.

Whether this exceſs of glory, or the exceſſive importunities of the church, and his friends on one ſide, who wiſhed him to die a chriſtian, or the followers of his doctrines on the other, who were ſolicitous that he ſhould remain what they called a philoſopher to the laſt, would have atchieved the victory it is hard to ſay: the conflict certainly accelerated his end. Pride, weakneſs, vanity, mortification, regret, fear, and a thouſand other warring paſſions agitated and convulſed his frame; till, at length, a compaſſionate delirium came to his relief, and he died a warning to ſpeculatiſts, and an awful example of unavailing compunction. This event happened May 30, 1778, when he was nearly eighty four years of age.

The church having forbid that the remains of this extraordinary man ſhould be buried in conſecrated ground, his relations with difficulty got leave to tranſport the body to FERNEI; but they managed to procure its burial at an Abbey of BERNARDINES at SCELLIERES, in the dioceſe of TROYE in CHAMPAIGNE to which place the news of the prohibition had not reached. The biſhop of TROYES, however, got intelligence of the buſineſs and ſent to forbid the interment, but the order came too late; it was, therefore, agreed that the body ſhould not be taken up, but the biſhop laid the chapel under an interdiction, and the prior was depoſedA wit upon this occaſion wrote a diſtitch which may be thus tranſlated: Here, of grave monks among a holy neſt, Reſts he, who never ſuffered monks to reſt. .

To go over the large field of VOLTAIRE's productions would be both unneceſſary and improper. They are in all recollections and all libraries; and we have nothing to do here with any thing but his dramatic productions. Theſe, though there is ſcarcely any thing original in them, are the beſt his country can boaſt: a ſtrange but a true declaration. VOLTAIRE's judgment was ſtrong, faithful, and penetrating, to a degree of wonder; and his recollection was ſo vivid that his memory ſerved him in the place of genius. Thus he was any writer he pleaſed, and better than the writer himſelf, becauſe he could diveſt himſelf of partiality. The obſervation, I confeſs, is againſt all rule, all example, but it is, nevertheleſs, true in VOLTAIRE; who on every poſſible ſubject could make you receive that as his own which he did nothing but borrow and embelliſh; and, to prove that this is exactly what he thought and felt, his own words are that "originality is nothing but judicious imitation."

He moulded CORNEILLE, RACINE, and CREBILLON to his own fancy; and, whether the forms he thought proper to make them wear were ſingle or complicated likeneſſes, the copies were always better than the originals. In Brutus he portrayed CORNEILLE, in Zaire RACINE, and in Mahomet CREBILLONThe critics of his own country have gone farther and advanced that in the Mort de Caeſar he has excelled SHAKESPEAR, but as this would open a new ſcene of contention for which I am not ſufficiently forward, I ſhall diſmiſs the ſubject till I have an opportunity of letting SHAKESPEAR ſpeak for himſelf, when I may, probably, ſhew that cloſe application to the be • uties of SHAKESPEAR enabled VOLTAIRE, in great meaſure, to excel his countrymen.. Yet were neither of them injured. "A literary thief," ſays a wit, "ſhould always murder his man, for what uſe is life to him after he is become a cripple." but whether VOLTAIRE ſtole a feature from one, or a limb from another, or in what way ſoever committed his depredations, ſtill the perſons plundered ſuſtained no injury; their like the polypus, and their pockets, like the purſe of FORTUNATUS, ſtill retained their original proportion and value.

"My rivals," ſaid he, "accuſe me without mercy of having pillaged both the ancients and the moderns, forgetting that they do the ſame thing. The fact is, we all ſeek for ornaments which may beſt embelliſh the ſubjects we treat; and, if they could ſteal to as good a purpoſe as I do, my now ſuperior roguery would excite no envy, and thus I ſhould hear nothing of their abuſe."

To go further into this would be not only to involve theſe obſervations in a review of the numberleſs diſputes, cavils, and heart burnings, from which, owing to inſatiable and inordinate vanity, he was never free; but alſo of thoſe authors, actors, bookſellers, academicians, prieſts, ſtateſmen, in ſhort every poſſible deſcription of perſon with whom he was eternally ſome way or other in hot water. I muſt, therefore, I own unwillingly, take leave of a ſubject which I ſhall hereafter have opportunity collaterally to reſume with ſaying, that the tragedies of VOLTAIRE, which, as ſpecimens of erudition, are correct, elegant, and claſſical, as models of dramatic conſtruction, are maſterly, artful, and judicious, and, as leſſons of morality, are beautiful, winning, and exemplary, cannot fail to enſure him a permanent literary fame, while great and extenſive knowledge, keen and penetrating judgment, and perfect and refined taſte are objects of admiration.

FROM the moment RAMEAU reformed the muſic of the ſerious opera, the ſtrange, trite, unmeaning jigs that had been dinned in the cars of every frequenter of the comic opera, and every paſſer-by in the ſtreets, began to aſſume ſomething like melody; and, while the ſtyle of the more important works of PERGOLESI, GALLUPPI, and their cotemporaries, made up the grandeur of French muſic, regulated by RAMEAU, the Venetian Ballads and the other lighter muſic of the Italian Serenatas, and Intermezzos, changed the complexion and gave a delicacy to the Vaudvilles.

DUNI, following the example of RAMEAU, improved the comic opera as RAMEAU has improved the ſerious opera. He was afterwards followed, among many others, by MONSIGNY, by PHILIDORE, and, at length, by GRETRY, at which time French muſic had gone beyond its ſtrength, and the ſtring was ſtretched till it cracked.

DUNI was chaſte and correct, but he ſeemed to compoſe tremblingly leſt he ſhould be thought an innovator. MONSIGNY, and PHILIDORE, had more ſpirit, and, catching fire like RAMEAU from the Italian ſchool, threw that genius into a blaze which only wanted ſuch a ſpark to illuminate it. From theſe, and from their imitators, came all thoſe French Minuets, Gavottes, Allemandes, and Jigs, many of which, in the Ballad Operas and Dances, made up the delight of the Engliſh from thirty to forty years ago. At length appeared PICCINI, who, though a compoſer of great ingenuity, was really an innovator. This man, by ſtrangling melody with accompanyment, firſt taught the Engliſh to deſpiſe the ſimplicity of GALLUPPI, and afterwards went to FRANCE where he ſtunned his auditors out of the beauty of RAMEAU, MONSIGNY, and PHILIDORE; till unfortunately meeting with his counterpart in GRETRY, the French, ever capricious, choſe to be ſurprized rather than delighted, and their muſical taſte became ſo vitiated that now they have no muſical taſte at all.

Without going over the requiſites in which the French ſuppoſe the merits of their actors to conſiſt, and which had better be conſidered upon a compariſon with the Engliſh actors, I ſhall content myſelf at preſent with ſaying that, though they call BARON the French ROSCIUS, and ſpeak with rapture of many of their performers, yet they never fail in the ſame breath to extol GARRICK above all actors ancient and modern.

Indeed little more than declamation could be expected from the repreſentations of characters who diſcourſed upon their moſt common affairs in rhime. It is notorious that, before Merope was performed, tragedy was ſpoken in a manner little ſhort of recitative, and acted with almoſt the regularity of a minuet. If a character was to be ſaved from a precipice, he might break his neck and welcome if he had not patience to ſtay till his preſerver had gone through all the dancing poſitions. Rage, grief, love and pity were all ſpoken in the ſame cadence, and danced in the ſame meaſure.

A trait of nature in Madmoiſelle DU MESNIL broke the charm. In Merope ſhe ſaw her ſon in danger and, fancying herſelf the character ſhe repreſented, threw into her face all the agony of a deſpairing mother; and, darting acroſs the ſtage, cried out, in a frenzy of tenderneſs and apprehenſion, "Barbarian he is my ſon." But we ſhall have leiſure to ſpeak of their general merits; at preſent let us talk briefly of them particularly.

From BARON ſprung, either immediately or collaterally, many of the beſt French actors. He married Madmoiſelle LE NOIR, ſiſter of THORILLIERE and Madame DANCOURT. His ſon, who has been already ſpoken of, died young; but he left behind him a ſon and two daughters, who were all performers of merit; the ſon, in particular, retired with a penſion.

DANCOURT appears to have been a ſound actor, but his great merit lay in training his company, in which he manifeſted the ſtrongeſt good ſenſe. He read remarkably well, and knew how to teach to others the beauties of thoſe authors whoſe works were confided to his care. He was continually conſidering in what manner he might render the actors reſpectable in the eyes of their fellow citizensLOUIS the fourteenth paid DANCOURT particular attention. He frequently read his pieces to the king in his cloſet; and one day as he exerted himſelf a good deal, the room being very warm, he felt himſelf ſuddenly ill; on which the king ran inſtantly to the window and threw it open to give him air. Another time, having ſome ſuit to prefer to the king, he encountered him as he was coming from high maſs, and, retreating as the king advanced, he nearly tumbled down a ſtaircaſe that he had forgot was behind him; at which the king caught him by the arm ſaying, "I applaud your zeal for your company, and think your demand ſo reaſonable that I ſhall comply with it, eſpecially as you plead their cauſe ſo reſpectfully, but I don't ſee why your complaiſance ſhould make you break your neck." The preſident HARLAI did not think DANCOURT and his company entitled to ſo much conſideration. When at the head of the troop he went to carry alms for the poor he acquitted himſelf handſomely of his commiſſion and made a brilliant ſpeech. HARLAI was at the head of the Bureau. DANCOURT took the opportunity of enforcing that the charity of the actors ought to exempt them from excommunication, but he was cut ſhort by HARLAI, "DANCOURT," ſaid the Preſident, "we have ears to hear you, and hand, to receive your alms, but we have not tongues to anſwer you." .

In having ſpoken of POISSON as an author it was impoſſible to avoid giving an outline of him as an actor. His principal merit was in repreſenting comic parts, and in particular the part of CRISPIN, and other valets in that ſtyle. He was very much admired by the court, and LOUIS the fourteenth gave him many proofs of his favour and liberality. POISSON had two ſons who performed with ſome reputation. One of them left behind him two volumes of plays, ſome of which had tolerable ſucceſs.

DUFRESNE was an excellent actor, but he was a curious character. By always ſancying himſelf the king or the ſtateſman he repreſented, he was miſerable when after pulling off his trappings he could diſcover nothing but an actor, born for the contempt of the public, and fated to be excommunicatedThe pride of DUFRESNE was inſufferable. "I am," ſaid he to a friend, "blindly followed, extolled, adored. How? Only on the ſtage. Is this happineſs? "A popular error, Sir." "Why I would prefer the ſtate of being a gentleman of an ancient race, living comfortably in his family manſion, even with no more than twenty thouſand crowns a year, and ſurrounded with but a dozen ſervants. . It is ſaid that in the hands of BEAUBOURG and others, who ſucceeded BARON, the art of acting had degenerated; but that, when DUFRESNE appeared, be reſtored all its excellence with added graces of his own.

We will paſs by among the men LA NOUE; who, though he inherited but few requiſites from nature, was an actor of great general merit; LE GRAND, who, though a good actor, and by no means a bad author, was neither a BARON nor a MOLIERE; MONTMENY, who was merely carreſſed as the ſon of LE SAGE, and QUINAULT, who as well as a good actor, was a paſſable muſician, and many others; and we will hurry over, among the women, the names of JOUVENOT who retired with a penſion; GAUSSIN, who was the original ZAIRE; LE COUVREUR, an elegant and accompliſhed woman, and an admirable actreſs in tragedy; MAUPIN, who was an excellent actreſs, who in partiality to her own ſex was a perfect SAPPHO; who frequently was miſtaken for a man, and who ſought a duel and ſet fire to a convent; the three ſiſters of QUINAULT neither of which was deſtitute of merit; DUCLOS, who was many years celebrated in tragedy; DUBOIS, who retired with a penſion; DANGEVILLE, in whoſe praiſe for forty years all the journals, all the hiſtories of the theatre, all the dramatic annals were ſo laviſh even to the quantity of ſeveral volumes: theſe and many more we are conſtrained to paſs by that we may take a view, a very tranſient one however, of that celebrated ſet of actors and actreſſes who kept up the reputation of the theatre during the reign of VOLTAIRE, and who were upon its eſtabliſhment in the year 1775.

LE KAIN, who was the dramatic eleve, and the intimate friend of VOLTAIRE, had many difficulties to ſurmount before he ſtood a chance of ſucceſs. Both his figure and his voice were againſt him; but by a moſt extraordinary and lively ſenſibility, after a greal deal of art and perſeverance he overcame all theſe natural defects. His acting was like a well painted ſcene; the touches were mere daubing but the effect was aſtoniſhingAS LE KAIN has been preſumptuouſly by ſome authors conſidered as ſuperior to GARRICK, probably out of compliment to VOLTAIRE, who conſidered himſelf as ſuperior to SHAKESPEAR, I ſhall have a better opportunity, when I ſpeak of our ROSCIUS, of condemning thoſe gentlemen through their own words.. The whole of this actors life was conſecrated to VOLTAIRE; nay, that he might be complaiſant to the laſt, though but forty-nine years of age, the actor left the world within a few weeks of the poet.

PREVILLE was certainly an admirable actor through all the round of comedy; and it is natural to ſuppoſe, by all the accounts we have of him, that he was the beſt the French ſtage ever knew. It was ever the cuſtom to keep a French performer cloſe to his role; and as we ſay, once a captain always a captain, ſo one might ſay of a French actor, once CRISPIN always CRISPIN. But PREVILLE performed every kind of comic part, and always happily. His merit alone was the cauſe of their reviving almoſt all the comedies of MOLIERE; and to the new characters which were written, whether FREEPORT in L'Ecoſſaiſe, FIGARO in Le Barbier De Seville, MICHAUD in the Partie de chaſſe, D'Henry IV. or any other of theſe various characters of which he ſtampt the reputation, it is impoſſible to deny but that he had as much good ſenſe as verſatilityI am happy to allow this, and ſhall hereafter allow him much more when in its place, I ſhall nevertheleſs ſhew PREVILLE greatly overmatched by KING..

MOLE performed in hard, honeſt, blunt characters with great truth and juſtice. He was a different figure, and much more a Frenchman, but thoſe who recollect YATES may, from that recollection, form an idea of MOLE's acting. I do not ſuppoſe the Miſanthrope, Le Homme Singulier, Le Glorieux, and other parts of that deſcription were ever ſo reſpectably performed.

BELLECOUR, who was originally a painter and a ſcholar of WANLOO, left the bruſh for the buſkin. He firſt, however, appeared in tragedy, but his own good ſenſe pointed out the true bent of his talents, and he ſtood high in reputation in 1775 as a comic actorThere is ſome ſimilarity between this actor and BANNISTER, by whom, however, BELLECOUR is infinitely excelled, as will hereafter be ſhewn..

BRIZARD was an actor of conſiderable merit. The advantages of a noble and graceful figure, and a clear and powerful voice, were heightened in him by a ſuſceptible mind, a ſtrong underſtanding, and a correct education. He was born to repreſent the heroes of the great CORNEILLE; and, perhaps, in The Roman Father, and indeed all other deſcriptions of dignified tragedy, no French actor has gone beyond himBRIZARD ſeems to have been a mixture of BOOTH, QUIN, and SHERIDAN.. He enjoyed many years a ſplendid reputation, and then retired to a beautiful retreat, where he built himſelf an elegant houſe, and filled it with pictures of his own painting.

DUGAZON, an actor of gaiety and addreſs, followed the ſteps of PREVILLE; running, however, more into caricature. When PREVILLE retired with his wife, which happened at the time the theatre loſt BRIZARD, DUGAZON got on wonderfully; and being named Profeſſor at De L'Ecole Royal de Declamation, he attained a very high ſituation in his profeſſionDUGAZON, though a much more ſuperficial actor, conveys a ſtrong idea of WOODWARD..

DESESSARTS ſeems to have been in comedy ſomething in the ſtyle of what BRIZARD was in tragedy; by no means, however, his equal; for though the Liſimons and the Gerontes of the French are parts that require good ſenſe and a critical underſtanding, yet they do not want ſuch power and exertion as the old men in tragedy. There was, however, an amiable and benevolent manner in DESESSARTS that gave great reſpectability to thoſe kind of characters; and, though his acting was not the prominent feature of the picture, yet it was the happy middle tint without which the picture could have had no prominence at all.

DAUBERVAL, AUGE, BOURET, DALAINVAL, and MONVEL, were all actors of reſpectability. Having, however, gone beyond my preſcribed bounds, I ſhall for the preſent let them paſs by and ſpeak of LA RIVE, an actor of the higheſt celebrity, who ſeized the dramatic crown from the head of LE KAIN. LA RIVE, profiting by the inſtructions of the incomparable CLAIRON, and a long attention to the indefatigable labours of LE KAIN, came on the ſtage at once an accompliſhed actor.

Nature that had done but little for LE KAIN, had done every thing for LA RIVE. His figure, voice, manner, were not only correct and engaging, but they were preciſely what thoſe requiſites ſhould be in an actor. They were in themſelves intereſting, but, under the controul of that mind which actuated them, they were irreſiſtable. LA RIVE with theſe advantages gave an added force to the ſplendor that tragedy had acquired under LE KAIN. LE KAIN, having every thing to acquire, laboured with the inſtructions and aſſiſtance of VOLTAIRE, and his own ſtrong mind and excellent underſtanding, till he attained perfection almoſt in oppoſition to nature; while LA RIVE, inſtructed by CLAIRON, ſtudied and imbibed the perfection of LE KAIN, and truſted to nature to perform the reſt.

In ſpeaking of the principal French actreſſes I ſhall begin with Madmoiſelle DUMESNIL; for, though VOLTAIRE ſays he was charmed with CLAIRON till he ſaw ſuperior merit in DUMESNIL, yet it is certain that the latter performed in PARIS in 1737, and that CLAIRON, except in ſome few trifling parts which ſhe acted at the Italian theatre, was not celebrated till 1743, the very year when DUMESNIL aſtoniſhed the public by a diſplay of extraordinary talents in Merope. DUMESNIL had a ſtronger mind and more nature than CLAIRON; CLAIRON more art and management than DUMESNIL. One declaimed with judgment, the other uttered with feeling. Upon the whole, I know not if the reader can have a better idea of them than by a recollection of Mrs. CRAWFORD and Mrs. YATES, in ALICIA and JANE SHORE.

Madmoiſelle RAUCOURT, and Madame VESTRIS, properly follow DUMESNIL and CLAIRON. The firſt was an impaſſioned and enthuſiaſtic actreſs, who is ſaid to have given to Medea and other bold and violent characters a ſpirit and a warmth that had never before been thrown into them; the other, who was the ſcholar and intimate friend of CLAIRON, kept cloſe to her ſtyle and manner in which ſhe often equalled and ſometimes excelled her. Madmoiſelle HUS was an actreſs in a more extenſive ſtyle, but not ſo excellent as either of the others. She was well received, however, both in tragedy and comedy.

The leading comic actreſſes were Madame BELLECOUR, Madame DUGAZON, and Madmoiſelle CONTAT. Madame BELLECOUR continued on the ſtage a great number of years, and was always received with the greateſt applauſe and admiration. The names of PREVILLE and BELLECOUR were inſeperable; they conſtantly performed in the ſame pieces and with the ſame reputation. Madame DUGAZON performed incomparably characters of ſimplicity; not that this was her only merit, for parts of more intelligence, where deportment and demeanour were more eſſential, and which were diſtinguiſhed by art and cunning, received at her hands every juſtice the moſt ſanguine author could wiſh; and if in PREVILLE and BELLECOUR, there appeared a faint reſemblance of KING and ABINGTON; in DUGAZON and his wife might be diſcerned a likeneſs of WOODWARD and ELLIOT.

As for Madmoiſelle CONTAT, ſhe performed univerſally in comedy, and undertook the characters that had been perſonated by Madame PREVILLE, Mlle DANGEVILLE, and Mlle D'OLIGNY; juſt as Mad. DUGAZON ſucceeded Mlle LUZI, and Mlle FANIER. I ſhould with pleaſure pay a more elaborate tribute to her merit, as well as to the reſt of thoſe whoſe names will preſently appear upon the eſtabliſhment at the year 1775, but that I have already exceeded the bounds I had preſcribed myſelf for a diſplay of the ſtage in FRANCE.

The regulations of the French theatre were extremely ſimilar to thoſe of the Italian theatre. In 1757, the king revoked all former laws and eſtabliſhed new ones more to the intereſt and comfort of the performers; who, in the ſame manner as the Italians, poſſeſſed the property and divided the profits, after ſubmitting to ſuch juſt and neceſſary proviſoes as were very ſenſibly and equitably laid down for them.

Theſe were drawn up entirely upon the ſame principle, and carried into effect in the ſame manner as the others. The ſemainiers, treaſurers, and all who were entruſted with the regulations, were obliged, as before, to ſubmit their conduct to the Intendant Des Menus, to be reported for the inſpection of the king, who took them immediately under his patronage. So that to be further particular would be only to repeat what has been ſeen already. In 1775 the company ſtood thus:

Actors. LE KAIN, BELLECOUR, PREVILLE, BRIZARD, MOLE, DAUBERVAL, AUGE, BOURET, DALAINVAL, MONVEL, DUGAZON, and DESESSARTS. Actors retired on penſions. BELLEMONT, PONTUEIL, COURVILLE, SEGUIN, and REYMOND. Actreſſes. DUMESNIL, DROUIN, BELLECOUR, HUS, PREVILLE, MOLE, DOLIGNY, LUZI, FANIER, SAINTVAL, DUGAZON, VESTRIS, LA CHASSAIGNE, and RAUCOURT. Actreſſes retired on penſions. BONIOLI, and St. GERVAIS.

Compoſer and ballet maſter; DESHAYES, firſt dancer DESNOYERS, principal dancers GUIARDELLE, VICTOR, and HENRI. Firſt female dancer CONSTANCE CHOLET, principal female dancers ADELAIDE, SOPHIE, and NOZIERE. To which were added ſix figurants and ſix figurantes, and ſix ſupernumeraries. The band conſiſted of twenty-five performers.

Thus have we taken a view of the French ſtage from its commencement to the time when it had attained the higheſt pinnacle of its reputation; from which moment it has ever ſince gradually declined. This ſubject is equal to a much larger ſcope and extent than I have been able to afford it, otherwiſe I might have been more juſt to a greater number of authors, muſicians, actors and others; whoſe various merits and reputations deſerve a more competent though not a more impartial hiſtorian.

We have ſeen, however, enough to ſhew, through a long ſerious of years, genius and merit ſtruggling with every kind of difficulty, and the moſt meritorious exertions offered up as a ſacrifice at the ſhrine of caprice. We have ſeen one Cardinal turn actor, and another fidler. We have ſeen Kings and Princes dancing at the Opera, and we have ſeen the conſiſtent French, with the King Queen and Royal Family at their head, ſhed tears at the ſame play yeſterday in the form of a tragedy, at the theatre, and to day laugh at it, in the form of a droll, at the fair. We have ſeen prieſts transform themſelves into actors and uſe nonſenſe and obſcenity in the pulpit, and we have ſeen actors, in good ſound ſenſe, ridicule prieſts on the ſtageVOLTAIRE inſtances this, very humourouſly, in a letter to the Duke DE LA VALLE: where he inſiſts that the Myſteries, which were performed in the ſixteenth century, were not ſo indecent or ſo full of impiety as the ſermons of the prieſts, who, under the ſanction of preaching in Latin, had opportunity of being as brutal as they thought proper. To prove this he thus tranſlates a paſſage from a ſermon of the CORDILIER MAILLARD, in which the prieſt means to admoniſh the faſhional le ladies of thoſe times who wore embroidery. "You ſay you are dreſſed out according to your conditions: All the devils in hell fly away with your conditions and you too my fine ladies. You may take it into your heads to tell me that your huſbands do not give you all theſe fine ornaments, and gorgeous trappings, but that you earn them by the labour of your bodies: Thirty thouſand devil fly away with the labour of your bodies my good ladies." . We have ſeen dancers, tygers, and flying horſes, trample upon genius, taſte, and literature. In ſhort we have ſeen LA SERRE, a miſerable book-duſter, triumph over the great CORNEILLE; PRADON, a ſupercilious dunce and a pliant tool, conquer the tender RACINE; and DU BELLOI, who for ſubſcribing to inordinate French vanity, was firſt honoured with every mark of diſtinction and afterwards left to die in extreme indigence, obtain a complete victory over the truly celebrated VOLTAIRE.

Let us now turn our eyes to ENGLAND.