THE FRENCH PLAYS.
LEMAITRE, the star of the French company, is an actor that every playgoer may see with pleasure, and every performer study with advantage. He is a consummate artiste. We have before spoken of his Othello ; but it is not in lofty tragedy, nor in genteel comedy, that he excels. His forte is in that class of characters, conventionally called melodramatic, but which may be more truly termed of common life. We cannot determine his rank by comparing him with any one actor on the English stage. He combines the picturesqueness and melodra- matic power of 0. SMITH, the versatility and humour of MantEws, and the finish and repose of FARREN, with a graceful freedom, perfect ease, and gusto all his own. His atting may be characterized in one word—it is real. There is no theatrical trickery, no over-acting ; all is true to the life, and in perfect keeping: the actor feels and is the character.
The two parts which, as far as we have yet seen, develop his talent most strikingly, are Robert Macaire in .L'Auberge des Ardrcts, and George de Germany in Trente Ans, ou la Vie d'un Jotter. This last is the original of " Thirty Years of a Gambler's Life," which had such a run at the Adelphi a few years ago; when T. P. COOKE played the hero, who is the victim of a passion for gaming, and TERRY the false friend, who tempts him on from vice to crime. LEMAITRE, as the hero, depicts with vivid and painful fidelity the successive stages of the gambler's career—the desperation of the young man of pleasure at finding himself ruined—the moody wayward humour and reckless in- fatuation of the gamester by trade—and the squalid misery and wretch- edness of the starving outcast, who commits robbery and murder to provide his wife and child with bread. The self-possessed, elegant manners of the fine gentleman, the brutal heartlessness of the roué, and the abject dejection of the beggar, are each and alike true to nature. The last scene is positively harrowing to the feelings. Robert Macaire is a hero of another sort. LEMAITRE'S personation of this gay, bold-faced, and accomplished rascal, is a masterpiece. The dressing alone is admirable ; and of this part of his art LEMAITRE is a perfect master. The first entrance of Metcalfe is a sight not soon to be forgotten. Imagine a well-proportioned fellow with a brandy face, attired in a soiled, patched, and tattered suit, composed of a blue coat, close buttoned to conceal deficiencies within, crimson pantaloons, and dirty white stockings, thrust into pumps that deserve the name only because they allow free passage for the water ; a crimson neckcloth tied over his chin, a black patch over one eye, and a shapeless drab hat with an apology for a crown on his head ; a small bundle containing his wardrobe in one hand, and a hedge-stake in the other ; while from the pocket of his coat sweeps in a long train.a dirty yellow silk hand- kerchief—the only entire article of his equipment, and doubtless a recent acquisition. Be is attended by a pale, half-starved wretch, clad in drab, with a coat torn up the back by the weight and dangling motion of two well-filled bags that supply the place of pockets. This worthy mimics every action of his superior genius, as a recruit follows the movements of the fugleman : his imbecility affording a fine contrast to the swelling magnificence of Macaire. This part was capitally played by VIZINTINI, who next to LEMA1TRE is by far the cleverest and most lively actor of the company. This pair of animated scare- crows arrive just as a wedding is celebrated at the auberge, and Macaire with the most amiable condescension, taking a fiddle from one of the musicians, plays through a dance; and giving way to the impulse of the moment, hands out the bride, and dances with her the waltz in Fossil—a most graceful and amusing parody. In the seemingly un- conscious manner in which he whisks a cap off the head of one, a handkerchief from the pocket of another, as if by instinct—the adroit and business-like way in which he plans and executes the most bare- faced thefts, dazzling his victims with a display of his accomplishments, overawing with his imposing grandeur of manner, or fascinating with a pia) ful sally of wit and jest, as the case may require—LEmArrau exhibits consummate skill and address. Ile ingratiates himself with the gens- d'armes who are in pursuit of him, and is invited to breakfast with them ; baffles their scrutiay of his person and passport ; and would have eluded their vigilance completely, had not a robbery and muider com- mitted by the pair in the auberge exposed them to suspicions too strong to be evaded. As a last resource, Macaire affects to quarrel with his companion, and tries several times to get out- side the house on pretence of a duel ; but he is foiled, and lodged in prison. In endeavouring to escape, his follower, who has contrived to be beforehand here, takes his revenge for the indignities be has sub- mitted to from Macaire, by stabbing him. How different is his manner of dying from the elaborate death struggles on our stage ! He makes a faint exclamation, crawls to a bench for support, and in an in- effectual attempt to rise, sinks down dead. This is nature : dying men don't parade their agonies. But not in this point alone—the custom of the French stage—is the superior truth and delicacy of LEMAITRE ovident : every look, tone, and gesture, is eloquent of meaning; not a turn of the head but is proper to the occasion : yet this minuteness has not the effect of studied elaboration, but of intuitive feeling and per- ception. The portrait is finished in the minutest points, but it has all the breadth and freedom and animation of reality. The natural,5 unassuming, and lady-like acting of Mademoiselle PETIT, as the wife of the gambler, deserves the highest praise. Her hysterical bursts of grief seem uncontrollable emotions, not acted pas- sion. Her sorrow is that of a suffering wife, not a stage heroine; and the pathos is proportionate in effect to the genuineness of its ex- pression.
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