of arms and torches. This spectacle of sorrow and violence irritates his passion; he enjoys the grief of Junia; it renders her more beautiful in his eyes

"I lov'd even the tears I made her shed."

The whole of this scene is natural, and accords with the known character of Nero; but, in the next, we find him apeing the gallantry of a cour tier of Louis XIV. This scene, however, resumes, towards the end, its true colours. It is the beginning which is very difficult to play. This tincture of affected gentleness cools the actor; the impassioned movements which stamped the commencement of the part of Nero, the impetuosity of his desires, his trouble, his disorder, so well painted in the succeeding scene, appear, all at ence, suspended, and the impetuous Nero, who has already outraged every feeling, speaks only the language of a gallant of the Court. In the time of Louis XIV., when no one dared violate the laws of gallantry, and when all was modelled from a monarch who had the reputation of addressing the sex with so much grace, it would never have been suffered on the stage, that a prince should speak to his mistress otherwise

than the monarch would have done: the belles manières were always absolutely necessary in speaking to women; and Racine would have been considered as wanting in propriety, had he given to Nero, in his conversation with Junia, that fire, that delirium, that disorder, with which he is agitated in the preceding scene; such language would not have been supported by the delicate ears, habituated to the simpering style of the boudoir.

This ridiculous taste for the belles manières was carried into the most tragical situations, and even when mimicking death itself. The Iphigenia of Racine refuses the assistance of Achilles and her mother, and seems resolved not to feel any of the emotions natural to a young girl who is about to die. Euripides, who had none of this ceremony to observe, is far from giving such a composed resig nation to Iphigenia; but Racine would have thought he degraded his heroine in giving her a fear of death. A princess, under the empire of etiquette, was always, bound to keep up her dignity, even in the moments when nature most resumes her rights; and this great genius was obliged to yield to the power of opinion.

It is, also, to this cause that we must attribute

the little progress that costume had made in the time of Lekain; undoubtedly, he regarded fidelity in the costume as a very important matter: we discover it in the efforts he made to render it less ridiculous than it was at that period. In fact, truth in the dresses, as in the decorations, contributes greatly to the theatrical illusion, and transports the spectator to the age and the country in which the personages represented lived. This fidelity, also, furnishes the actor with the means of giving a peculiar physiognomy to each of his characters. But a reason, still more cogent, makes me consider as highly culpable, the actors who neglect this part of their art. The Theatre ought to offer to youth, in some measure, a course of living history and does not this negligence give him entirely false notions on the habits and manners of the ancient personages that tragedy revives? I recollect very well, that, in my younger years, on reading history, my imagination never represented to itself kings and princes, but as I had seen them at the Theatre; I figured to myself Bayard elegantly dressed in a chamois-coloured coat, without a beard, and powdered and frizzed like a petit maître of the eighteenth century: Cæsar, I pictured to myself, tightly buttoned in a

:

white satin coat, and his long flowing locks tied with rosettes of riband.

If an actor, in those days, occasionally approximated to the antique dress, the simplicity of it was lost in a profusion of ridiculous embroidery, and I fancied that silks and velvets were as common at Athens and Rome, as at Paris and London. Lekain could only succeed in abolishing part of the ridicule in the dresses then worn on the stage, without being able to get those adopted which ought to be worn. At that period, this kind of science was totally unknown, even by the painters. Statues, ancient manuscripts adorned with miniatures, and monuments, existed then as well as now; but they were not consulted. It was the age of the Bouchers and the Vanloos, who took good care not to follow the example of Raphael and Poussin in the arrangement of their draperies. It was only when our celebrated David appeared, that the painters and sculptors, inspired by him, and especially the younger branches of them, occupied themselves with these researches. Connected with most of them, and feeling the utility this study might be of to the Theatre, I applied myself to it with uncommon zeal. I became a painter in

my own way; I had many obstacles and prejudices to overcome, less on the part of the public than the actors; but, at last, success crowned my efforts, and, without fearing that I may be accused of presumption, I may say, that my example has had a great influence on all the Theatres in Europe. Lekain could not have surmounted so many difficulties; the time was not come: would he have dared to risk naked arms, the antique sandals, hair without powder, long draperies, and woollen stuffs? would he have so far dared to shock the opinions of the time? Such a toilet would have then been regarded as filthy and abominable, and, certainly, most indecent. Lekain effected all in his power, and the Theatre owes him a debt of gratitude. He advanced the first step; and what he dared, emboldened us to dare still more.

Actors ought, unceasingly, to take nature for a model; it ought to be the constant object of their studies. Lekain felt that the brilliant colours of poetry served only to give more grandeur and majesty to the beauties of nature. He was not ignorant that, in society, persons deeply affected by the stronger passions, those overwhelmed with great grief, or who are violently