plosion fatigues without affecting, and that it is only when it is rare and unexpected that it can astonish and move; that, in fine, the auditor, shocked by the continual ranting of, an actor, ends by forgetting the personage, and ceases to sympathise with the sorrows of the one, or to pity or condemn the efforts of the other. Thus Lekain, often exhausted in long and arduous scenes, took care to conceal from the public the violence of his efforts; and, at the very moment when his powers were the most fatigued, they appeared to possess all their strength and vigour.

Lekain has been reproached with being heavy in his recital; but this defect was natural. He was slow, calm, and reflecting. Besides, Voltaire, whose actor he peculiarly was, would not, perhaps, have easily consented to sacrifice the pomp and harmony of his verse, to a recital more natural and more true. He wished him to be energetic; and, as he had decked out tragedy a little, the actor was obliged to follow the system the poet had adopted. Again, at the period of Lekain, a period so brilliant from the genius of its writers and philosophers, all the arts of imitation had fallen into a false and mannered taste; and, perhaps,

VOL. I.

C

Lekain thought himself sufficiently rich in all his perfections to make a slight sacrifice to the bad taste of his day; yet his style, at first slow and cadenced, by degrees became animated; and when once he had attained the high region of the passions, he astonished by his sublimity.

Notwithstanding the prevalence of bad taste in the arts, there existed in society at that time, and amongst the friends of Voltaire, a great number of persons of a more correct taste, whose advice was of great service to Lekain; and Voltaire, also, who, though he was a very indifferent actor, (even when he played in his own pieces,) possessed a good theoretical knowledge of the stage, which he communicated to Lekain, and of which he greatly profited. In one of the journeys of Lekain to Ferney, (as we find in one of his letters,) Voltaire made him totally change the manner of playing Ghengis Khan. On his return to Paris, it was the first character he played. The public, at first astonished at the change, was, for a long time, undecided whether to praise or blame it. They fancied the actor was indisposed: there was nothing of the fracas, or of the resources, or rather tricks, of the art, which had previously

procured him so much applause in this character. It was only after the fall of the curtain that the public, motionless during the whole of the piece, felt that, in fact, Lekain was right in substituting, for rant, and pomp, and vulgar effect, accents more simple, noble, terrible, and impassioned. The public opinion was formed instantaneously, and, by an electrical movement, it manifested itself in long and loud applauses. Lekain, going up to his box, hearing those applauses, leaning over the balustrade, said to Rougeot, a servant of the Theatre, "What is all that?"-"Why, Sir, it is you they are applauding; they have at length found out you were right."

Experience had taught him, that all the silly combinations of mediocrity, the contrasts of sounds, all the ranting and raving, might procure great applause and bravos, but conferred no reputation; while in the theatre, the amateurs of noise and vociferation fancy their souls are moved while only their ears are stunned. There is a certain number of artists, connoisseurs, and intelligent persons, who are only sensible of what is true and conformable to nature; these persons do not make much noise, but an actor's reputation depends on them. Lekain, therefore,

despised those applauses which torment and often distract an actor. He resolved to study to please only that part of the public who were worth pleasing; he rejected all the charlatanism of the art, and produced a true effect; he always avoided the clap-traps which so many others look out for; he was, consequently, one of the actors the least applauded in his day, but he was the more admired by the Sçavans, and he rendered tragedy more familiar, without depriving it of its majestic proportions: he knew how to regulate all his movements and his actions; he considered this as a very essential part of his art, for action is, also, a language; if violent or hurried, the carriage ceases to be noble. Thus, while other actors were only theatrical Kings, in him the dignity did not appear to be the result of an effort, but the simple effect of habit. He did not shrug up his shoulders, nor swell his voice, to command, or give an order. He knew that man in power has no need of efforts to cause himself to be obeyed, and that, in the rank he holds, all his words have weight, and all his movements authority.

Lekain displayed a superior degree of intelligence and great ability in the varied styles of his recital, which was slow or rapid, according

to the situation of the personage, and, frequently, his pauses were most eloquent.

There are, in fact, certain circumstances in which it is necessary to collect oneself before we confide to the tongue the emotions of the soul on the calculations of the mind; the actor must, therefore, in this case, have the air of thinking, before he speaks; and, by introducing pauses, he appears to take time to meditate on what he is going to say; but his physiognomy must, also, correspond with these suspensions of the voice; his attitude and features must indicate, that, during these moments of silence, his soul is deeply engaged. Without these precautions, the pauses will rather appear to be a want of memory than a secret of the art.

The

There are, also, situations in which a person, strongly moved, feels too acutely to wait the slow combinations of words: the sentiment that overpowers him escapes in mute action before the voice is able to give it utterance. gesture, the attitude, and the look, ought then to precede the words, as the lightning's flash precedes the thunder. This display adds greatly to the expression, as it discovers a mind so