to succeed on the stage in the art of listening; a portion of dramatic education which was scrupulously attended to by our neighbours in the Grand Siècle. The person who speaks should follow in a measure the effect of his words upon the countenance of the person who listens, as an author follows the reproduction of his own ideas upon paper. This was supposed to be one of the great merits of the Champmeslé, and she is said, in the fifth act of Bajazet,' during the scene where Roxane listens to the speech of Atalide, who avows her love for Bajazet, and her intention to commit suicide in order to save her lover's life, to have drawn down applauses upon the actress who played the part of her rival, from the lively and intense impression which the words of the latter I seemed to produce upon her.

Having, we hope at least, succeeded in making our readers understand the necessity of conventional action as well as diction, in the conventional school of dramatic representation, and endeavoured to initiate them into the principal mysteries of what was termed corporeal_eloquence, there now yet remains for us to explain to them that which is perhaps the most important part of the whole, and that which exercises the most immediate influence upon the very life and essence of the ideal or conventional drama: we mean the so-called usages of the stage. Under this denomination are comprised the scenery, the dresses, the rules for the entries and exits of the performers; in short, all that which in the drama has any pretension to scenic illusion, and all those famous traditions, without which the English reader, when he shall have obtained an insight into them, will, we are convinced, be ready to admit that he could not appreciate fully the merits of Corneille, and still less of Racine. Can we, for instance, imagine the heroes of Greece and Rome, Theseus, Nero, or Alexander, attired in trunk-hose and wearing flowing locks, like the famous Duke of Buckingham, Charles II., or Newcastle? Yet such was the practice of the stage in France until very little more than half a century ago. And do not let us

fancy that, when this custom was established by the most critical nation in Europe, it was adopted through ignorance or carelessness on the part of either authors or spectators. In the Grand Siecle people were, to say the least, as familiar with the manners and customs of the ancients as they are in our times, and they paid more attention to the business of the stage than they have ever done since. No! it was a logical consequence of the system of idealizing nature in the drama. Instead of aiming, as the natural school does, at scenic iilusion, at individual truth, in dress, scenery, and decoration, or what is called local colouring (which is often as far from the reality as the wigs and hoops of Versailles), the founders of the Classical Drama sought only by the outward appearance of an actor to awaken in the minds of the audience a certain ideal of the moral truth of the type or personage he was called upon to represent. To a certain degree the dresses and decorations of past times were allegorical; as, for example, when at the opera it was necessary to figure the winds, they came forward each holding a little pair of bellows in his hand; and when, another time, wishing to personify the earth, a man was attired in a curiously-cut garment, variegated and painted to look like a map on the heart having inscribed Gallia, in gigantic characters, on one leg Italia, and on the body Germania.

In the days of Louis XIV., the costume was the same both in tragedy and comedy. It consisted of a full dress coat, three-cornered hat and plume, flowing wig, white gloves, short breeches, silk stockings, and red-heeled shoes. Warriors and heroic characters wore over all this a cuirass. This kind of costume, worn only in private life by persons of the highest rank and importance, was intended to invest those who assumed it on the stage with the outward marks of dignity and distinction; but the alterations made by succeeding fashions contributed to bring it into disrepute. In the eighteenth century, powder was adopted, but without any diminution in the length or volume of the peruke. The place of the cuirass was supplied by stays well laced, and by scarfs

worn as shoulder-belts. Men as well as women laid claim to slightness of waist. The former wore false hips (hanches), or pads of horse hair, that enlarged them by half a foot on each side, and the latter were imprisoned in hoops of immoderate dimensions. The dresses of the actresses however were invariably of the most magnificent description. It was not rare to find them costing seven or eight hundred louis d'or; and no duchess at the Louvre could boast of more splendid toilettes than the heroines of the Théâtre Français. Their costume, though modelled generally upon that of the court, was much richer and more ample; their trains were longer, their hanging sleeves wider, their gold embroidery more massive, and the plumes upon their heads more numerous. But, except the splendour visible in the costumes of the actors, everything else was upon a scale of poverty and meanness wholly at variance with our ideas of theatrical pomp; and certainly no Vaudevilliste of the present day would consent to see the humblest of his pieces brought out in the condition which satisfied Corneille, Racine, or Molière. In the times of those great writers, the manner even of lighting the stage was such as now would not be tolerated. The principal light, instead of being, as it now is, hung in the midst of the spectators, so as to cast its radiance all around, was suspended over the centre of the stage itself, whether the decoration pictured a forest, a street, or a Grecian temple. A Moonlight serenade, or an invocation to the Sun, both equally took place beneath a sweating circle of foul-smelling tallow candles grouped together in a miserable chandelier-for wax lights were not used, even at the Opera, until during the Regency, and then their introduction was owing only to an act of liberality on the part of the famous financier, Law. The stalls, or balcons (as they are named in France), were but rows of benches ranged on each side of the wings of the proscenium, where the fops of the day appointed to meet one another of an evening. The insolent Marquis interrupting by his noisy arrival the already advanced tirade- the youthful libertine coquetting with the fairer portion of the dramatis per

sona-seemed by their demeanour to set at defiance the decently behaved citizens of the pit, who sometimes retaliated by vigorous manifestations of displeasure. "All the world was on the stage," writes Madame de Sévigné, speaking of a representation of Bajazet, "the Marquis de Villeroi in a ball dress; the Count de Guiche, girded and belted like his wit; all the rest like so many vagabonds." When a piece was very attractive, sentinels were posted at the opening of the wings to keep back the crowd; and the difficulty of passing to and fro not unfrequently gave rise to incidents of a burlesque nature. At the first representation of Semiramis the press was so strong just in front of the tomb, at the moment when Ninus should appear, that the sentinel was forced to cry out with all his lungs, "Make way for the Ghost, gentlemen, if you please; make way for the Ghost!" Where would be the possibility of a drama otherwise than conventional, upon a theatre where a vehement entry or a petulant exit is impossible? How would the dying agonies of Romeo affect us, if, instead of perceiving the vault of the Capulets as a background to the picture, we surveyed the stars, ribbons, and handsome faces of all the grand seigneurs of the court of France? And how entirely would the sudden appearance of Orlando in 'As You Like It,' and his warning to "Forbear, and eat no more," lose their character of famishing despair, if, instead of wildly dashing forward with his drawn sword pointed at the Duke's table, we beheld him laboriously fighting his way through a treble ring of court-bred lordlings!

The first reformer of theatrical costumes was Lekain; but he was fully aware of the extreme precaution that

"Tout le bel air était sur le Théâtre. Le Marquis de Villeroi avait un habit de bal. Le Comte de Guiche ceinturé comme son esprit; tout le reste en bandits." It is impossible to render in any other language the aristocratic elegance of that term, "le bel air" and we are quite conscious that "all the world" does not answer the purpose, but it is at the same time the expression which approaches the nearest in English to that of the charming Marquise.

was required in introducing into the ideal drama any attempt at scenic illusion, or at the exact reproduction of actual reality. "Let us make use of the picturesque with discretion and care," he was in the constant habit of saying; and these words are but the proof of the prophetic instinct which leads every intelligent innovator to foresee with anxiety the abuse which later will inevitably be made of his discovery. The art of "getting up" pieces (as it is vulgarly called) for the stage has in our days arrived at a degree of perfection which leaves very little to be desired in the way of scenic illusion; and this is in so far to be considered as a progress that it has the incontestable advantage of opening a wider material range to poetical conceptions. Of its having been a decided gain to dramatic authors we think there can be no doubt; whether it is to be deemed so too with actors, seems to us yet an unsolved question. We rather fear that the impression, so easily produced upon the public by a gorgeous or skilful display of the picturesque, may lead to the neglect of what ought to be the very vital principle of all dramatic representation, namely, a correct delineation of the passions. It is a fact, well known and observed upon all theatres, that the moral effect of the drama decreases in proportion as the taste for perfection in the scenic accessories becomes stronger, or meets with greater gratification. The alteration of the costume in the Théâtre Français was far from being the work of a day. Half a century, and the authority of the most eminent names, were scarcely sufficient to subdue the influence of routine. Lekain and Mdlle. Clairon began the reform; and the former, even while casting off the false hips in the part of Tancrède, and substituting in Gengis-khan a real tiger-skin to a coat of striped silk, did not dare banish the powdered wig and curls. In truth it was an arduous undertaking for an actor to condemn the usage of that odorous dust which whitened the heads of some fifteen hundred judges before whom he stood. The innovation upon which Gengis-khan and Orosmane had not ventured was, however, accomplished, and that cleverly enough, by a second-rate singer. This indi