The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1870-03-30

BOHHtUT, are as remarkable IOr eNqulslO9
finish and smoothuess as the Nut q GOct25re,
or IL nc fdut .jur6r dc rteH, or IdW FOR
estfc. or lie MenteuT, at the Franclis.
The performances at tho uuendowed theatres
are not equal to these in completeness and
harmony. Where there is n French company
there will generally be found some talent and
often some genius; but 1t is not the clever
ness of one or two players which produces
perfect work of art, but the indefatigable
drilling of a company and the careful cherish
ing of every germ of ability and the proper
distribution of every part. Wherever play
house is a mere speculation such an amount
of care becomes impossible, and the best am
biton Cf the player is at an end, and is re-
placed by n restless vanity or greed for gain.
The minor theatres of Paris excel those of Lon
don, inasmuch as they have models of excel
lence in the endowed playhouses, with the
hope, for the superior artist, of being engaged
in the higher regions of his art, where, be 1t
remembered, not only all the best skill of
modern Paris is concentrated, but where also
the traditions of its past classical drama have
their home; aud where the retired genius
enjoys his well-earned pension, and makes it
his pleasant task to train the rising talent of
the day. Those who have read that delicious
dramatic poem by Francis Coppee, called
"Le Passant," will accept the fact of its great
and prolonged success at the Theatre de
pOdeon as a sufficient proof of the refined
taste of Partisan playgoers. For the beauty
of the piece consists in its poetry, without
any kind of spasm or sensational effect. The
French writer's, casting off the pedantic tram
mels of their classical drama, have developed
a quantity of poetry of which they were sup
posed to be incapable. Victor Hugo and
Alfred de Musset are acknowledged by all
nations in their different ways as eminent
dramatic poets, and M. Coppee, for that one
production of lie Passant, deserves to be
named in the same category.
Clever writer's of comedy and romantic
drama are too abundant for any satisfactory
selection, but Augier, Sardou, and Feuillet
are the names which the most Immediately
present themselves for distinction in that
long list. But as some evil is wont to be
associated with the good of this world, we
find that the new freedom which has opened
a way for the imagination of the dramatic
poet has also given admittance to the vaga-
ries of unsound thought, which substitutes the
abnormal for the true and puts fever in the
place of force. The danger that the genius
of France incurs at present consists in the
spasm and contortion which the romantic
school has encouraged, and which writer's of
such extraordinary gifts as Victor Hugo and
Octave Feuillet ought to have had the strength
to renounce. NJ. Octave Feuillet's last ira
gedy, called JuSe, is a case in point. 1t is
domestic tragedy; a PAINFUL fatal passion
absorbs the unhappy woman who is the sub
ect of it, from the first to the last scene
eliminating in her death. She dies of her
internal anguish. The play, though the plot
is of a disagreeable nature, is not an offence
against morals, but it is an offence against
art. No human being could take any touch
of pollution from this drama. The penalty
of the transgressor is very bitter, and there
is no scene of alluring tenderness to soften
its effect.
But young authors desiring to initiate M.
Feuillet would be likely to enlarge the sphere
of bad art by working with such a model be-
fore them-for it is only the intensity of the
emotion which atones for the manner of its
development. That intensity of passion,
reached by the masters hand, absorbs all the
feeling and suspends the judgment Of the
spectator; but the slightest shortcoming
would make it revolving to the taste. Indeed,
the least failure of strength in the actress
would be fatal to the piece, even as it stands,
and M. Feuillet would hardly have ventured
upon his concluding scene if he had not
known the peculiar genius of Mad'lle Favart.
So much regard for the special talent of an ac-
tress is not good either for author player, and
a beautiful drama is rarely produced under
such an influence. The great fault in the
construction of M. Feuillets Julie consists in
its monotony of pain-in the absence of that
relief which beauty gives, or should give, to
the severest tragedy. Such relief is afforded
in the terrible tragedy of Lear by the tender
ness of ''Cordelia" and the devotion of the
fool to his master; and no perfect master of
his art would allow any great tragic work to
be complete without some touch of beauty of
this kind. The true poet will not be content
merely to lacerate the Imagination; he will
also elevate and soothe it. The scourge is
too much in use in the modern French ro-
mantle school, and the imaginative faculties
Of the reador or spectator are in danger of being
blunted or stunned by along course of this saw
! age etreatment. 1t is to be found in many of the
| late productions of the French dramatists,
and in some works of the most distinguished
poets, as in Victor Hugo's play of lie ROi
SGntUSe, which is in some respects a grand
production, and which would have taken its
place among the masterpieces of creative
genius if the poet had used more restraint;
! if he had paused in the whirlwind of his
! passion, and had tempered the horror of his
situations with some alterations of repose
and sweetness. If such writer's as Victor
Hugo, Feuillet, and Augier throw off the re-
strainfs of true art, and, in order to oAtain
violent and startling effects, abandon deco
rum and dignity, the players will come by de-
| grees to follow their example, and instead
| of such finished artists as Favart and De-
| launay, we shall have shriekers and grimacers.
| Things have not yet arrived at so bad pass
as this; but the tendency of the modern
school of fiction in France (and in England
also) is in this direction, and it is the bust
ness of the honest critic to speak words OF
warning while there is yet time, The Eng
lish acted drama is past hope-it is dead,
without a chance of resurrection; but the
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