The Petit Palais in Paris is currently the scene of an extraordinary exhibition, one that cannot fail to engage all those interested in both the Long eighteenth century and the spoken theatre: the Comédie-Française, France’s most prestigious troupe, has opened the vaults of its bibliothèque-musée and chosen 200 objects for display, many of which have never before been made accessible to the public. Sculpture, paintings, drawings, set designs, costumes, props and historical documents have all been assembled; of these, actor’s portraits, whether on canvas, photoshopped or in stone, take centre stage.

Although the entire history of the company from the eighteenth century to the present can be traced through the objects on display, there is enough specifically eighteenth-century material to make the exhibition worthwhile for BSECS members. The Long 18th century―stretched-out-to-the-point-of-snapping, let’s say from Molière to Talma―is well documented, including the building of the theatre itself as well as images of performers and authors associated with its stage. In confronting so rich a history, one is struck by a sense of continuity and tradition: for instance, eighteenth-century artists produced posthumous portraits of seventeenth-century actors, while nineteenth-century paintings show actors in attitudes that their eighteenth-century predecessors would have recognized as cornerstones of the craft. This feeling of continuity however, is balanced in the exhibition by a sense of continuous theatrical evolution: the specific attitudes struck by actors in different centuries may have been similar, but their precise performance style changed with the passage of time. One can follow, by moving
from room to room, the progression from an elevated, declamatory and Classical art to the emergence of a characteristically more realistic, twentieth-century style of acting.

Within this grand sweep of theatrical history specific objects thrill the viewer and long stick in the mind. It is awe-inspiring to see Molière’s famous chair; curious to see his fancy time-piece; but it is deeply moving to see his little embroidered bonnet: did that extraordinary brain of his really fit into a cap of so small a compass? These three objects, chair, watch and cap, are displayed in the same room as three grand portraits of Molière, including one of him in the role of César in Corneille’s La Mort de Pompée. The contrast between the image-making portraits and the intimate personal effects cannot fail to make a deep impression. Similarly, Talma’s vermillion, gold-embroidered Antique costume and flashy, gilt, gem-encrusted dagger (a present given to him by an English admirer) speak to the imagination: how hard he must have worked not to be upstaged by his costume and props! And how touching to see the careful patching and frugal repairs made to the costume, repairs invisible to the audience when the actor was on stage, declaiming and gesturing for all he was worth! Indeed, numerous portraits in the exhibition show Talma and his fellow actors in full swing, eyebrows working overtime. These portraits are well worth seeing, as the quality of facial expression in portraiture suffers greatly in reproduction: these pictures, reduced to fit the exhibition catalogue, do not have the emotional power that they do in real life. Nor can any reproduction of the exquisite late eighteenth-century watercolours of actors in costume by Whirsker match the beauty beheld when seeing the objects themselves.

There are also objects that tell us about aspects of long eighteenth-century stage business other than actual acting techniques. For instance, a charming anonymous seventeenth-century watercolour (intended to decorate a fan) clearly shows the behaviour and position of the audience members seated in the banquettes onstage, as well as a battle scene mid-action, with trumpets and drums thundering up- and centre-stage. Another anonymous painting, this time from 1670, of Les Farceurs français et italiens clearly shows six chandeliers suspended above the stage, and 34 footlights in a line at the stage’s edge, useful material for those interested in historical stage lighting. However, modern lighting also plays a role in the viewer’s perceptions of a spectacle like La Comédie Française s’expose au Petit Palais: for perhaps the most moving object of all is the Extraict des Receptes et des affaires de la Comédie depuis de l’année 1659, a manuscript document in the hand of Charles Varlet, sieur de La Grange. It is discreetly laid out, opened to the page recounting Molière’s death. The first time I saw it, the account was just legible in the dim and protective lighting of the exhibition space. When I returned two days later, however, these lights, like Molière’s, had gone out.