Page images
PDF
EPUB

The Parlour Library is also issuing the famous "Monte Christo," from the French of Dumas, the first volume of which is published. The second volume of the "Memoirs of a Physician," in the same form, is also before the public.

FROISSART'S CHRONICLES. Condensed Edition. 2 vols. 8vo. (Burns.)—It is long since we have met with so truly acceptable an addition to a sterling library as these volumes afford. Froissart is one of the great fountain heads of History, and in this condensed edition, where little but antiquarian verbiage is omitted, we have much that renders it more valuable than

the original itself: for instance, notes elucidating the text, and a copious alphabetical index of reference, without which, by the way, no historical work is complete. The volumes are handsomely and substantially bound.

phy, there is a little sly humour in associating not only the time-honoured tribe of foundlings connected with his name-but a collection of bons mots belonging to later times and more near events. We are bound to add that the latter shine out brightly by the comparison, and prove that the march of wit has kept pace with the spirit of the age. The illustrations are from designs by some of our first artists-that which accompanies the Dedication to the " Archæologists of Greate Brittainne," is of the beautifully grotesque.

dingfield. (Mitchell.)-A tragedy, the elements MADELINE. A Tragedy. By Richard Beof which are love, jealousy, and murder; from its subject little likely to be tolerated on the stage, and yet displaying considerable power of dramatic construction, and many passages of poetic diction. Why does not the author try his hand on a plot more subtle and less revolting?

DOMESTIC TALES FOR YOUTH. (Burns.)A nice little volume: just such an one as "aunt" or "grandmamma" might choose for a Christmas or birth-day offering. The stories are not too wise the little folks not prize patterns of KOECKER'S ESSAY ON THE DISEASES OF perfection-and we make no objection that an THE JAWS. By J. B. Mitchell, M.D. (Churchill.) umbrella relates its history, or that dog Quiz-A book which reached us some weeks ago, hears all that is said about him, and enters into discourse with his canine companions. The stories are childish, as childish books should be; but vastly more readable, even by grown folk, than many productions of more pretension.

THE FAMILY JO MILLER; or, DRAWINGROOM JEST BOOK. (Orr and Co.)-One would have thought that novelty and Jo Miller, like antipodes, could never be brought in conjunction, but the compiler of the present gay volume has proved otherwise. First he gives us a grave biography-we allude to the mock heroic gravity of burlesque-telling possibly what many people did not know before, that the renowned individual whose name has become a by-word for a jest-especially a stale one-never made but one joke in his life. Seeing that this was really the case, being quite authentic biogra

but which would be more appropriately noticed in the medical journals. We do not profess an ability to discuss its merits, but so far as we can judge, it appears to set forth some rational matter-of-fact arguments; the pith of which perhaps is, that numerous diseases and cases of fearful suffering have originated in a "raging tooth," or some long-neglected ailment of the jaws. The narrow experience and observation even of the non-medical community will, we think, incline them to believe there is some truth in these assertions. For the rest it is horrible to read-the descriptions of human agonies being dreadfully minute. Oh! blessed ether-blessed chloroform-thrice blessed the sage discoverers of your powers! When will "testimonials" be offered, and statues erected to such men as these? No matter, their guerdon is of the spiritual, and beyond all material computation!

FINE ARTS.

THE BOTTLE: In Eight Plates. By George Cruikshank. Amongst the great teachers of our age George Cruikshank must not be styled the least; his admirable illustrations of "The Bottle" convey a deep moral lesson which we trust may advance a reformation in ALL classes, for it is not to the poor alone that the vice of drunkenness is confined. The artist has left nothing untold; his story, from the beginning to the end, is full of wisdom and pathos. The excitement, however, and bustle of the last scene but one of this fearful tragedy has never been surpassed-perhaps never equalled, save by Hogarth. We gaze with mournful pity upon the murdered wife-but not with disgust, for the effects of the blow are concealed from the spectator by the judicious introduction of a

[ocr errors]

kneeling figure. The intense grief of the girl is most touching as she points to the broken bottle; whilst her brother, in the corner, clothed in tatters, stands in an agony of suspense, fearing she may openly implicate her father as the author of the deed. Throughout the whole of this beautiful series our sympathies are awakened for this poor child of misfortune, from the moment she is waiting upon her parents at their joyous meal, up to the time when she visits her wretched father in a mad-house, where she is dressed in her ill-gotten finery, which does not wholly destroy the beauty of the soul, shining through the sorrowful expression of her eye, giving promise that the hour may come when the germ of good will once more flourish in the heart which is nearly choked up by briars and

MUSIC.

weeds. The contrast between her and her hardened dare-devil of a brother is most forcibly "OH, WHY DID I GATHER THIS DELICATE given. All honour be to George Cruikshank! Thousands will bless him for placing before FLOWER?" Duet; by Austin Turner. D'Almaine and Co.-As pleasing a composition as we have them so fearful a warning! We are told that a testimonial of some value is about to be seen for a long time; it is arranged for two sopresented to him, as a reward for the good that he pranos, or treble and tenor; the variations conis achieving. We subjoin the following extract sequent on the change being marked in small from a report just presented by the Rev. H. S. notes. This is an ingenious plan, and will place Joseph, Chaplain of Chester Castle, to the visiting, flowing melody, in 3-8 time, arranged with the duet within the range of many. It is a charming magistrates:

[blocks in formation]

a degree of simplicity that reminds one of the good old songs of Braham and Miss Stephens, when it was not thought necessary to modulate accompaniments of terribly scientific character, an air into every possible key, and unite it to so as to produce an inconvenient scramble, at least with most amateurs. This is not the first

time we have had to speak favourably of Mr. Austin Turner; we know nothing of him except his name, but sure we are that he possesses originality and musical feeling sufficient to take his stand with English balladists ere long.

AMUSEMENTS OF THE MONTH.

HAYMARKET,

The chief feature in the Haymarket affairs for this month has been the reappearance of the Keans after their long sojourn in America. Five years have elapsed since Mr. and Mrs. Charles Kean appeared on the London boards, and the interest excited by their return has been considerable. On the first night the unanimous, long protracted shout of welcome from a theatre crowded to the ceiling, proved that the old favourites had not been "pushed from their stools," by the many new candidates for histrionic honours that have sprung up, like mushrooms, since 1842. But this first night was not so attractive merely on account of the actors; the play chosen was one which had attained the height of popularity in Americathe "Wife's Secret," by G. W. Lovell; whose "Look before you Leap" was the best of the Haymarket repertoire last season. The "Wife's Secret" is, in the highest sense of the word, what a play ought to be: not merely a poem in dialogue, but a real drama, full of life, stirring incident, and powerful delineation of character. It has that one great requisite which ancient and modern dramatists have too often overlooked-a clear, well-defined, and yet simple plot; which gradually evolves itself without either forcing or dragging the attention of the audience. The incident itself is hardly original; but it is worked up with such novelty and artistic skill, that it becomes so in the dramatist's hands. Walter Amyot (Mr. Charles Kean), a Roundhead general, has been wedded a year to the Lady Eveline (Mrs. C. Kean), the sister of a cavalier, Lord Arden (Mr. Howe) Walter has been long absent from his wife, and

on the eve of his return, Lady Eveline's brother, a proscribed fugitive, comes to her for safety. In his pride and hatred of the Roundhead, Lord Arden compels his sister to take an oath that she will not reveal his presence to her husband. Walter comes home full of love and joy, but the "Wife's Secret" soon embitters all. A prying page, Neville (Miss Reynolds), discovers that a man is concealed in his lady's bower-chamber, and duly supplied by the maid, Maud (Mrs. Keeley), with food and drink; while the husband supposes the apartment to be shut up. However, Maud skilfully turns the spy into an assistant. But a more dangerous foe appears in Jabez Sneed (Mr. Webster), the dishonest and hypocritical steward, who hates his lady for discovering his roguery. He leads on his master to ask for the key of the bower-chamber, which Eveline refuses; and thus the first stone is laid of an Iago-like plot. Long does the noble and trusting husband struggle against vague proofs; but when at last Jabez leads him one night to watch the window of the bower-chamber, and he there sees Eveline embraced by her supposed lover, he is struck as it were by a thunder-stroke, and doubts no more. Here the interest becomes agonizing; the husband at times would almost distrust the evidence of his own senses, rather than his wife's purity. The wife is so strong in her innocence that it is long before she even perceives to what Walter's ravings tend, and then her oath seals her lips. Amyot is about to send Eveline away, giving a safe conduct to France, when the ingenious Maud conceives the plan of using the pass for the safety of Lord Arden, and implores her mistress to detain Walter Amyot, in a supposed farewell, while the fugitive escapes; but Walter, just when his heart is softened towards his wife,

soner;

hears the trampling of horses, and knows himself deceived. In vain Eveline declares that the concealed cavalier was her own brother: he will not believe her. He rushes to the window-orders a pursuit; Lord Arden is seen to fall, and Eveline shrieks that her husband is a murderer. But Arden is not shot; he is brought in a prithe "Wife's Secret" is disclosed, and all ends happily-except for Jabez, whom the wicked Maud gives up to the troopers as their prisoner; one man being just as good as another, she thinks. Such is the bare outline of a play which is throughout full of dramatic situations. Let us take one where Walter, urged and taunted by Jabez, sends for Eveline, to ask of her the key of the bower-chamber. She inquires

[blocks in formation]

It is a book whose every character
Thou hast read o'er and o'er-whose open leaves
Thou canst search through at will; and if a page
There be, I would turn over from thine eye,
'Tis only that which bears some household names
I may not quite blot out, and thou, alas!
Hast little pleasure viewing; yet thyself

[blocks in formation]

Walter. Tush! this is folly; When 'twas but thy caprice I yielded to it, And asked no question; but now weightier motives What! silent still? (with surprise.) Give me the key. Forbid that a mere whim should push back justice. Eveline (resolutely, but after a struggle). I will not!

Jabez (to Waller, who stands stupified). You mark!

Eveline. I might say, cannot, but I then Should speak untruth. Do not be angry, Walter; I'll tell thee one day and thou'lt say I did Rightly and well. Thou art not angry? (affec tionately.)

[blocks in formation]

This scene was one of the best points in the acting of the Keans: it was done charmingly by both; indeed, the whole cast of the play was first-rate. Mrs. Charles Kean is one of the most truly feminine actresses the stage now boasts. Though sometimes deficient in power of passion, she never fails in scenes of womanly sweetCharles Kean has been raised to his present pedestal of fame-how he got there is rather marvellous-but there he stands, and it is useless to try to pull him down. His charm

ness.

Would'st love me less should my heart bear no recording wife, too, throws a veil over critical eyes,

Of kin so near.

[blocks in formation]

that would spy out defects in him. The Jabez was most excellent. Webster's versatility is astonishing. There is no living actor who so completely throws himself into his part, whatever it may be. He seems to have no particular line; but is " 'all things to all men;" excellent in comedy, and full of true feeling in the higher walks of his art. Mrs. Keeley as the outwardly prim serving-maid, with her " naughty words' slipping out here and there, her assumed cant of puritanism, her "of a verity" and "perad venture," was irresistibly comical: indeed, the great effect of this play lies in its being a true reflex of life, comedy and tragedy united, and mutually furnishing light and shade to each other. Some of the lightest scenes have a rich, quaint humour, which makes one for the time

fancy that the author's forte is comedy; and then follows a powerfully conceived scene, which sways one's opinion the other way. Altogether no one could witness the "Wife's Secret" and not acknowledge it to be a fine play, vigorous, thoroughly dramatic, and never flagging for a moment. And herein lies its success. A contrast with "The Heart and the World"-too early blighted alas !-proves this. Marston's work is an exquisitely written poem, a noble idea, nobly worked out; but it is not a play of striking dramatic interest. Lovell's owes its chief success to its artistic construction of plot and situation. Its poetry consists not so much in the writing as in the evolvement of human feeling. The characters do not speak, but act beautiful thoughts. Though there are many charming ideas cast like pearls on the stream, there is hardly one long speech, or one that would make a distinct poem-as many of Marston's would. This shows how utterly distinct are the poet and the dramatist-how that high qualities in the one art would almost mar success in the other. A play must be the real picture of life-life in its highest sense, but still busy, stirring, working life, in which poetry must be acted, not spoken. This, in its grandest sense, is the aim of "The Wife's Secret," and as such we doubt not it will take its rank among the never-dying dramas, and keep possession of the stage for generations to come. We notice the Christmas extravaganza elsewhere.

OLYMPIC.

This little theatre has found at last a manager and a company, and promises to become-if it is not already-one of the most attractive in London. It opened with the " Rivals "one of the immortelles of the stage; probably chosen to show the comic strength of the establishment. Mr. Holl-whose secession from the stage we lamented last month-has re-appeared here; he took his old part of Captain Absolute. Mr. Stuart was the Falkland-a character in which he is sufficiently well known. Two lesser namesMr. Henry Lee, and Mr. Conquest-figured as Sir Lucius, and Bob Acres. A new Mrs. Malaprop appeared in Mrs. Brougham. This deserving actress-one of the most useful of what we may term actresses of all-work-made a considerable impression, which showed no trifling skill, after the inimitable Mrs. Glover. Mr. W. Davidge, a provincial actor, made his début as Sir Anthony also very creditably. But the great gun of the Olympic management has been the introduction to a London audience of a tragedian who bids fair to take the very highest rank-Mr. G. V. Brooke. This gentleman's provincial reputation had gone before him; and on the night of his first appearance in "Othello," a crowded audience, thickly sprinkled with all the dramatic crities of the day, met to judge him. He disarmed them all-never was there a more complete triumph! It was the presence of genius-young, fresh, strong-beating down all the thorny hedges of conventionalism, and pouring itself

out in a glorious flood. This is the grand peculiarity of Mr. Brooke; he comes among the jaded formalities of the stage, as Jenny Lind did at the Opera, with the impulse of genius upon him. It was something new and refreshing to see how completely he freed himself from all restrictions of stage precedent. His Othello was not the Othello of Kean, of Kemble, or of Macready-it was the Othello of Shakspearenot tortured into originality, but exactly what the imagination of the reader would picture it, freed from any received notions of actors and acting. It is difficult to particularize any of Mr. Brooke's points, or rather-for he gives no points at all-his intellectual delineation of the character, which is far above any of those claptrap appeals to the audience on which many actors rest their fame. His Othello is throughout as perfect and highly-finished as-as one of Mulready's pictures, wherein no part is sacrificed to throw out the rest. And yet there is abundance of light and shade, and infinite variety. Mr. Brooke has two great advantages-a fine majestic person, and a well-modulated, harmonious voice, that secure his graceful action and delivery. In short, he seemed formed by nature to be a great actor. He brings to one's mind a speech of Mrs. Keeley's in the "Wife's Secret"

"Madam, you were born an angel-I have had to make myself one."

[ocr errors]

And truly, changing angel for actor, this is what most of our leading performers might say to Mr. Brooke. He has fairly taken the town by storm, critics and all. The frigid lordly Times becomes enthusiastic- the caustic Athenæum grows sweet as summer-Heralds, Chronicles, and Posts have not one word to say. Mr. Brooke had thrown sops to the Cerberus, and the guardians of the public taste will not give a single growl. But the triumph of all is, not that he receives the praise, but that he deserves it. A great actor who fulfils his mission is almost as much a creature of genius as a poet or a painter-in this peculiar, that he embodies his own ideal, and is himself his own work. He is the universal reflex of human passion-he gives life to the dreams of genius, appealing at once to eye, ear, and understanding, and being for the moment himself poet, painter, in one, he sways men's minds with the might of a great teacher. Is not this-or rather ought it not to be a high calling? Excellent Gustavus Brooke-let it be yours!

SADLER'S WELLS.

"Isabella, or the Fatal Marriage," was brought out here in the early part of January, appearing coeval with the pantomimes. This time-honoured tragedy has long lain dormant, none of our actresses choosing to wrestle with those depths of human passion which Mrs. Siddons made so triumphant; but the merit of the Phelps dynasty is, that he and his company dare everything.

Laura Addison finely pourtrayed the character of the poor tortured woman, whose sufferings come less as avenging guilt than as a sort of irresistible fatality: it is this which makes the tragedy almost too painful; and with all its power, we shall not be sorry to see "Isabella" laid on the shelf, with others of its contemporaries of the same class. Marston, as Biron, acted creditably; and George Bennett, in Don Carlos, made the "excellent villain" he always does. But a play without Phelps always lacks something. "John Savile" and "As you like it," have again run several nights, as indeed they deserved; our opinion of both is already recorded. The pantomime, however, has so much occupied the attention of the eastern play-goers that Mr. Phelps has not thought it needful to give more novelties. Next month we may have more to notice of the Sadler's Wells affairs.

MARYLEBONE.

"Jane Shore" was brought out the first night of the pantomimes, and has been played since with considerable success; but this play, like "The Fatal Marriage," belongs to a bye-gone race, whose popularity is slowly dying away. In her revival of the "Lady of Lyons" with an excellent cast-Mrs. Warner consulted the

popular taste to better purpose, and every way deserves the success which marks the regeneration of the drama at this theatre: the inferior characters are always at the worst respectably filled, while Mrs. Warner is a never-setting star, with satellites of no mean magnitude to support

her.

THE PANTOMIMES.

These relics of the ancient follies of a past generation are matters in which we take little interest, and after a month has changed them into things flat, stale, unprofitable," we think our readers will rather feel obliged to us for thus putting the pantomimes altogether, and skimming over them speedily. But we must except from our sweeping condemnation the charming extravaganza at the Haymarket, "The World Underground," which promises to run until Easter, like last year's "Invisible Prince." It is a capital production, the dialogue brimming over with wit. Mr. James Bland, the king of extravaganza, is majestical after his own heart as Quartz; Miss P. Horton, as his son, makes, like Hal of old, "the rascaliest, sweetest young Prince," and sings deliciously, mimicking Alboni. Miss Reynolds, as the Princess, looks pretty and warbles sweetly; and Mrs. Keeley, as the Spirit of Brass, is the very perfection of bewitching impudence. Nor must we except Wigan, whose President Delph was capital, withal carrying a deep and wholesome moral beneath the wit -rough, honest delph, fighting with useless, brittle china. There is something of the Elihu Burritt spirit floating even among the pantomimes. "King Gold,” at Drury-lane, is most re

66

markable for its magnificent scenery, the finest yet attempted on the stage. The Olympic, Sadler's Wells, and Marylebone, have the old standard pantomimes, the subjects being, "Harlequin and the British Lion," Harlequin and Jack and the Beanstalk," 66 Harlequin and Eyes, Nose, and Mouth." The Lyceum has an extravaganza, "The Golden Branch," arranged from the pretty French fairy tale, "Le Rameau d'Or," by the skilful hand of Planché; and brought out with every advantage, by Madame Vestris's care. The pantomimes are of various degrees of merit -or dulness, which you will-but doubtless all very attractive to the little people, who should have everything made pleasant to them in merry Christmas time; young days never come back again!-D.

ENGLISH VOCAL CONCERTS. We have received a circular of a projected plan, entitled "English Vocal Concerts, for the performance of Original Songs, Duets, Trios, Quartets, and Quintets, by English authors, English composers, and to be sung by English vocalists." The ultra-Anglicism of this prospectus rather offends. Do the society mean to exclude all "authors, composers, and vocalists,” who may have been born north of Tweed, or across the Irish Channel? or is it mere wording? If so, British would have been far better. The plan is good and patriotic, though rather too exclusive. We doubt whether purely English composers, as a class, can take that high rank which would make such an undertaking succeed. Take, as an average proof, the "last new songs" on a music-publisher's list, or the original ballads which now and then intersperse the more classic aliment of an academy concert; what a mass of mediocre rubbish is yearly swept into deserved oblivion ! Yet this may be partly for want of encouragement. There is much good in the scheme, and if at the year's end the English Concerts bring out one tolerable composer, poet, or singer, who would otherwise have been finally extinguished, why the project will not have failed. Mr. George Barker, Brompton-square, is the originator of this pro ject, and expresses himself willing to communicate with any who may feel interested therein, Mr. Barker is one of our best ballad-composers, and deserves any success he may obtain.

« PreviousContinue »