The Sun.
London, England, 1842-06-07 00:00:00

FRENCH PLAYS
ST. JAMES'S THEATRE.

Monsieur Bouffe, the most celebrated actor of old men on
the French stage, made his first appearance in this country
last evening, and a most succesiSei first appearance it was.
We know of no English actor to whom exactly to compare
Mons. Bouffe. With ail the polish of Farren he has the feel-
ing of Fawcett, and the versatility of Yates. Perhaps he
approaches nearer to what the late Charles Mathews svi,s at
his best than any other actor. a He has attained the highest
pitch of art to hide it—
" Ars est celare artem,"
and this art Mons. Bouffe possesses in a high degree. The
pieces chosen for his debut were calculated to exhibit his pecu-
liar talents. The first was La file de l'Avare, a pied
with which doubtless many of our readers are familiar, it
having already been produced at this very theatre in
an English dress during Braham's management, under the title
of The Miser's Daughter. Mons. Bouffe acted the part of
Grandet, the miter, who loves but two things in the world—
his daughter Eugenie and his gold. Eugenie loves her cousin
Charles, whose father, Grandet's brother, needs a sum of gold
to save him from ruin. He applies to Grannet ; Granuet re-
fuses to assist him ; Eugenie takes a sum sufficient from his
stores, and sends it to the brother; the Miser discovers his loss
—suspects Charles as the thief—gives orders for his arrest—
when Eugenie confesses all. He is furious at first, and de-
mands her accomplices ; she declares she has none ; he locks
her in chamber. At length, however, be rel. nts ; she is mar-
ried to Charles, and all ends happily. it roes this slight sketch
it will easily be perceived that this is a part possessing great
capabilities for the exhibition of both of high comic humour
and of intense passion. Mons. Bouffe gave the earlier scenes
with the true ins comica. The innate horror of the miserly, but
otherwise good-hearted old man at anything like expense ;
his contempt for biscuits, as being only food for
birds, and his preterence for bread and cheese becau.e
being the produce of his own farm it cost him nothing; his
expression of his belief that he was really generous because he
spoke civilly to all he met, and wished well to the poor; the
deep regret with which he paid a SUM of money to the notary,
and the care with which he ascertained that the balance was
right; were given with a nice discrimination of character, a
truth to nature, and a quiet humour. loud an absence of effots
which elicited roars of laughter and applause. His great
scene, however, was the one in which he eiscovers he has been
robbed. In this scene Mons. Bouffe was absolutely terrific.
There was no raving, no tearing of hair, no ranting, but the
whole frame of the old man was convulsed with passion, shaken
as with an earthquake ; his passion chokes his utterance, and
for some minutes he cannot explain his loss; and it
is only by his incoherent mutterings, and by his
agonized appearance, that those become aware that some dire
misfortune has befallen him. The change that comes over him
when his daughter tells him that she is the robber, was finely
imagined and admirably executed. The effect produced on him
by the utterance of those two words " c'est mot" is magical.
Blighted hope, despair, incredulity, and love, ay ! love through
all, awaiting but its time to create order out of this chaos, are
all depicted in the manner of the old man towards his daughter,
when he orders her from his presence en making the discovery.
At length the ruling passions obtain a mastery, and the old man
eagerly grasps at any thing that holds out a hope for reconciling
them. .A friend reminds him that his daughter is nearly of age
that then he will have to account to her for half the fortune
left her by her mother, and suggests that it would
be well to marry her to some one who would acs
cept the debt due from his brother as her portion,
and give up all the rest. Nothing could exceed the knowing
twinkle of the eye, which was the first indication that reason
had resumed her sway, on hearing this suggestion ; the features
gradually re'axed from the expression of intense feeling which
they had before exhibited, and resumed the cold, cunning smile
of the knowing man of the world. The acting of Al. Bouffe
in this character is of the highest order, and makes us exceed-
ingly desirous to see him as Harpagon. We know of no actor
who could do this, perhaps one of the finest characters Moliere
ever drew, such ample justice as M. Bouffe. In the next
piece, Les Viva. Peches, he appears in a different line of cha-
racter, in which, however, he was equally admirable. Al
Girard is a gentleman of certain age, living in good style at a
chateau, which, with an estate thereunto appertaining,
he has purchased in the Department of Lit. and
Garonne—he is Mayor of his Commune, spoken of
as a likely man to be elected Deputy lor the Depart-
ment, and is the accepted lover of the Marquise de Chain-
pagnolles. But notwithstanding all this, M. Girard is not
happy ; there is an awful secret weighing on his mind, and the
fear lest it should be discovered keeps him in a constant state
of torture. Al. Girard had made his money as an opera
dancer, and the fear lest this should be discovered makes him
miserable. The day of his marriage is fixed ; he endeavour s,
but in vain, to break the secret of his former calling to his
intended, but is prevented by the inopportune entrance of a
certain nephew. To add to his misfortunes, Ninette, a dan-
seuse from the Opera, and over whom it is more than insinuated
that Girard has certain rights of paternity, comes from Paris
for the express purpose of endeavouring to induce him to
reappear upon the seen- of his former triumphs. This he posi-
tively refuses to do, but permits her to dance to them in the
modern style of dancing, and he is fairly carried
salty by his enthusiasm for his art into giving her
a lesson in the grand style, and at List into
(lancing a ballet. This scene was capitally played by
Bouffe and Mille. Forgeot, and elicited roars of laughter.
A servant who has been wading these manoeuvres under a
table, conies to the conclusion that his master must, be mad ;
and the Marchioness. on being in(of med of what has taken
place. is tut iously jealous. The affair, however, is at length
cleared up. and the Marchioness willingly and knowingly
accepts the hand of the dancer. Throughout the piece Boucle
maintained the vraisembianCe of the ch iiarter admirably.
His walk was superb. It was pit the jaunty sort of step whit h
one would expect from a man Whose natural mode of lo-
comotion was a chassee. The toes turned out, the tot •
tering gait, the It izzled wig, the pantomimic gesture, the
excess of politeness, all b,tokened the retired danseur.
His ineffectual attempts to break the awful secret to the
Marquise were richly ludicrous, and altogether his Girard was
a first-rate piece of acting. He was called for at the conclu-
sion of each of the pieces, and loudly applauded. We cannot
close this notice Without mentioning the beautifully chaste
and pathetic acting of Mademoiselle E. Foijeot as the miser's
daughter. The character was most touchingly and exquisitely
acted throughout.
Their Royal Highnesses the Duke and Duchess of Cam-
bridge, with Prince George and the Princess Augusta, ac-
companied by their Suite, honoured the theatre with their
presence. Their Royal Highnesses remained to the conclusion
of the performances, of which they frequently expressed their
•
approb 'lion by their plaudits.
The house, although not crowded, was well filled.