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    pages ; and it is the death of this sparrow which Lesbia loved that forms the pivot of the new drama . «• Catullus " is going to be married ; " Iiesbia " hears of it and is plunged in grief ; her sparrow—his present—dies in its golden cage , and the lovers are reconciled and the marriage put off . It is a mere trifle , but Rachel ' s acting makes it a gem . Tenderness is not her forte ; gaiety is quite beyond her ; nor will her thin and tragic face—beautiful as it is under certain aspects—adapt itself to the luxurious indolence and voluptuous languor of a Roman courtezan . But the irony and superiority of her bearing towards the gallants , and the touching truth and naturalness of her grief and joy in the scenes with " Catullus " were equal to any of her finest passages .

    On Monday Adrienne Lecouvreur was produced . The fact of its being a modern drama and " not one of those stupid classical" pieces had excited considerable expectations ; not that the audience knew anything about Adrienne as an historical person , or about the drama as a drama—enough for them that the piece was not classical ! Yet , to those familiar with the name of ** Adrienne Lecouvreur , " there were associations of a quite peculiar interest . In the first place we were curious to see how Rachel , the great tragedian , would invest herself with the personage of Adrienne the great actress ; Adrienne who

    produced a revolution in style not less remarkable than that produced not many years since by the little Jewess whom we now applaud ; Adrienne who , while the Duclos was in all her favour , dared to be simple , natural , passionate , and carried the audience by storm ; Adrienne , who , like Rachel , was so great in " Pauline , " " Roxane , " " Cornelie , " " Camille " —Adrienne , in short , who named among her admirers , friends , and lovers , the critic and poet Voltaire ! In the next place , Adrienne , among her numerous lovers , selected one as the object of profound idolatry , such as no ill-treatment , no infidelity ,

    could diminish ; and that lover was Maurice Marechal de Saxe , the hero of Fontenoy , whose progeny was extensive , one of them being Marie Aurore , afterwards Countess de Horn , whose son Maurice was the father of Marie Aurore Dupin , Baronne Dudevant , illustrious all over Europe as George Sand ! Here was interest enough , if Scribe had but done his part . Unhappily , we cannot say much for Adrienne Lecouvreur . It is a melodramatic commonplace , admirably constructed , but vulgar and prosaic to the very core ; all the old conventional stage effects are gathered together , without a spark of life

    to animate them , and yet placed with such stage tact that they amuse . Intercepted letters , closets , meetings in the dark , misunderstandings , poisonings , and delirium are stage " properties ; " and Scribe , like an old hand , has availed himself of them adroitly , if mechanically . This is the story : —The Princess de Bouillon ( wretchedly represented by Mademoiselle Avenel , who , so far from representing la grand dame , was both pert and greasy , shrewish and cookmaidish ) is in love with Maurice de Saxe and suspects that she has a rival ; accordingly she

    employs her " abbe galanf to discover the secret . Her husband , the Prince , protects La Duclos , the tragic actress , and has furnished a charming house in the suburbs , whither they occasionally repair . To this house the Princess invites—we had nearly said commands—Maurice ; meanwhile the Prince himself believing that Maurice has robbed him of La Duclos , and that they are both to be found at his petite xnaison , invites the whole of the Comedie Franchise to sup there and expose Maurice . Adrienne , unconscious of the fact that her Maurice is the " Comte

    de Saxe , " and anxious to see that young hero , consents to accompany them . The invention here—as throughout—is very clumsy , but the dramatic effect is certain . The Princess and Maurice are interrupted in their tete-a-tete ; she flies , of course , into a closet , and Maurice assuring Adrienne upon his honour , that he does not love the woman concealed in that closet , begs her to ensure her escape . Adrienne promises . She blows out the lights ( the old trick ! originally worn threadbare by Lope deVega ) and in the dark has an interview with her rival . This is a good situation , but it is feebly wrought . The two women become aware of their rivalry , though ignorant of each other ' s names : the Princess in her rage

    exclaims " Je vous perdrais . " Adrienne haughtily replies , " Je vous protege ! " The Princess is forced to hurry away , but in the confusion lets fall her bracelet ( novel incident !) which Adrienne keeps as a clue to discover her rival . In a subsequent scene — the most dramatic of the whole—the Princess discovers Adrienne by her voice , and Adrienne discovers her by the bracelet . The two bandy sarcasms , till at length Adrienne , being called upon to delight the audience with a recitation from Phedre , chooses the passage beginning " Mon 6 pouxva paraftre" ( Act III ., scene 3 ) , and closing with these lines which , by unequivocal gestures , she apiilies to the Princess , branding her with them : —

    " Jo ne suis point de cos famines hardies Qui , yoQtant dans le crime une tranquille paix , Out su se faire un front qui nc rougit jamais . " The Princess , stung by the insult , determines upon vengeance . She sends Adrieane a poisoned

    bouquet ; the result of which is that Adrienne , just as the author needs her , is delirious or calm , in agony or at her ease , until finally she expires in the company of her lover and friend . Now this poor , mechanical , prosaic work , composed out of the very frippery of the stage—a work without invention , without life , without style ; written in a language fit only for such ideas , with no force , felicity , or melody ; with no wit , no passion , no movement ; the sort of style which seldom lowers into absurdity , but never rises into excellence—this work , we say , produces greater effect upon our public d'ilite

    than Phedre , Bajazet , or Andromaque ! People rush to see it , salute it with salvos of applause , and retire convinced of its superiority to the " frigid classical tragedy . " We say it with grief , not unallied with contempt . To think of a small public like that of the St . James ' Theatre , one necessarily selected from the educated classes , actually being so dead to all the claims of Art , in its highest expression , as to prefer the vulgar frippery of Adrienne Lecouvreur to the chastened style and distilled essence of beauty of Phedre is quite exaspeerating . We shall be told , perhaps , that Adrienne is

    more amusing . Perhaps so ; but amusing to whom ? and amusing wherefore ? The Ethiopian serenaders were more amusing than Beethoven , and drew greater crowds ; the " Lions of Mysore" were more amusing than Hamlet ; the Pantomime is more amusing than Antigone , True , most true . If you are not amused by French tragedy , say so , by all means ; but submit to be told that the cause lies not in it , but in your ignorance . Madame Tussaud ' s waxwork would beat the Vatican out of the field upon your mode of reasoning ; it appeals to the vulgarest faculties , and is amusing to them ; the

    miracles of ancient sculpture require something more than the vulgarest perceptions before they can be relished : would you compare the two ? Phedre is separated from Adrienne by a chasm as wide , deep , and impassable as that which separates Phidias from Tussaud . Nevertheless opinions are free ; there is no disputing tastes ; take your choice ; only if you do choose the lower style , do not talk about Art . If you really prefer that long exhibition of physical agony with which the poisoned " Adrienne" excites your applause , to the exhibition of mental agony in " Phedre , " " Camille , " "Hermione , " or " Roxane , "

    say so ; we have no objection ; we merely tell you that it is the pathos of the Hospital , not the pathos of Art ! We tell you that such effects are vulgar , cheap , within reach of inferior actors who could never move a pulse in your heart by any exhibition of mental agony , and , therefore , not to be mentioned as the triumphs of a great artist like Rachel . But let us hasten to say a word about her , since for her the piece was written : she is the piece . Decidedly Jules Janin has pushed his malice beyond the limits of prudent hostility in attacking Rachel's comedy so virulently . Gaiety , the comedy of animal spirits

    and geniality , we never expect to see her represent ; but there is enough in the earlier scenes of her " Adrienne" to show that a refined and exquisite actress of high comedy is within her range . Neither her voice nor her face adapt themselves to comedy ; but with her intelligence , exquisite elocution , nice sense of delicate shades , and general truthfulness , we suspect she might surpass all the Plessvs , Allans , Nathalies , and Denains . In " Adrienne ' she was charming : tender , playful , graceful in the early scenes , impassioned in the closing scenes . We

    would merely suggest en passant that her recitation of Les Deux Pigeons is altogether a misconception of the naivete of the original ; assuredly Latontaine would have been greatly astonished at hearing his fable made a bit of tragedy 1 Her fourth act was fine , but not great . Her fifth act , a painful simulation of physical agony and delirium , which with all its elaboration did not produce half the effect upon us of the one word * 'je crois , " uttered in Polyeucte , or of any one scene in the Phedre . But , after all , why should the critic stand alone , speaking about Art to a public which does not care a jot about it simply because it does not understand it ? We are rich and can

    " patronise" Art : what need , therefore , to feel it ? We can talk about Art , vote money for it on occasion . As for our own oegthetical taste—why— "

    Tuppence more and tip goes the donkey . '" - —Ay ! that is amusing : the donkey balanced on a ladder on a human chin , and " only tuppence" I

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    BEQUESTS TO SCIENTIFIC INSTITUTIONS . It is in the nature of man to worship . In the midst of vice he admires virtue ; and in the midst of lies he loves truth . He has laid his gifts before the altar of his gods since time has been , and now he seeks systematically to worship and to love all that is good and true . We might follow his thorny path , a path that has been pursued in spito of difficulties , straight forward from the time that he adored the concrete emblem of an unknown mystery , till he could abstractly contemplate the essentially beautiful

    and good . We see him carefully considering every point of belief , constructing for himself carefully theories of thought and action , modelling his mind to the appearances of truth around him , carefully unravelling the difficult problems continually presented to him , and when he has to his own satisfaction discovered the truth , founding institutions as means of preserving it through all generations . A few centuries pass and we find that the fabric is despised although built most carefully , and man again sets to work to pull every piece carefully down , builds again , a new one still firmer than before , and the great and the rich pour money into its treasury . Fearful lest it be not correct , how often does he attempt a new

    one ; every slight mistake he looks on as a great and serious evil , as an insult to Divinity . And again , time after time he constructs and pulls down , models new ones and breaks his models , for nothing seems perfect in his eyes . All our religious and political institutions are mere attempts of this kind , our municipal and family arrangements are so likewise in some measure ; the arts and sciences also are painful scrutinies of Nature to see what is to be found fitting in the storehouses of God for the great object of man's life . What the laws of life are , and what its purposes , is man ' s constant study ; codes are made in abundance , produced and administered by the greatest minds , by obeying which man expects to do his duty , and to be kept from

    . Man ' s life viewed in this way becomes a noble structure for worship ; his misfortunes also a noble history of his enthusiastic wishes to attain that height the love of which is implanted in us . He has tried the experiment of ruling under various forms , and sacrificed whole generations to the generous faith of his time . He has tried inequality and equality of men , and whole nations have willingly submitted themselves as experiments and sacrificed themselves to justice . The same men have not been sorry for their losses , they have even died rejoicing , and the living continue to admire them . Man is dear to himself , his inmost feelings are to him the greatest truths ; how willingly he dies for a belief , for an opinion , or a

    sentiment , for the liberty of acting and thinking even when he does not choose to use it . The history oilman is a struggle for truth , nations have died for an idea . The great have been humbled when they have become too proud , the poor elevated when they have been oppressed . Religions have been endowed according to their apparent nature , and now in England we have before us so many institutions well endowed and long-tried , so many living on the daily support of sympathizing men , that we feel sure that nothing which promises good will be lost sight of unless it be neglected among the immense mass of cares with which the poor man is always weighed down , and compelled to bide a longer time than would otherwise be allowed . Faith comes before reason . Some

    reasoning men may deny this ; but even the scientific man , who looks scientifically on history as well as on the objects of sense , will see that faith has a priority , because it has done its work first , because it has done its work most effectually , has used reason as a help , and gone where reason could not follow . The institutions for faith have been well endowed . It is not as a matter of policy that we can say it is fortunate that it was so , or it is a great misfortune that it was so . What man loves must be endowed with his wealth ; what has vigour will grow into power . We should rather admire every endowment ,

    however corrupt the receiver of the money ; it is the faith of man . But the church of the future will be different from the past , and the faith of the future be more blended with reason , and we begin to grumble at our models , to pull down again , and to build something new . How glad we should all be to know what this new thing is . It will surely have something scientific in it for a long time to come ; the current of man's mind is on science ; he has looked too little at the earth on which he walks , and has forgotten that he is part of its dust . Science is merely a more accurate thinking on all things previously studied ; a new model is once more wanted , whereby the study of science may

    be carried on , men again begin to throw money into the treasury and the model will be built . Since the London University was built how many institutions have risen up , many self-supporting , many supported by the liberality of the rich , or the bequests of those who in dying have not left it to the church but to the scientific model which is now rapidly making a new attempt to reach truth r The endowments of the coming years are probably to be for this and for charitable purposes ; and another bequest , that of Henry Hartley Robinson , who has given £ 99 , 000 for literary and scientific purposes in Southampton , has suggested to us the propriety of speaking in this manner on tho subject .

    Such a bequest can be put into a small sentence ; but it deserves more . Literature and science embrace all that elevates the feelings , and all that invigorates the understanding , and the institution will no doubt give mental vigour to thousands who would otherwise have wasted their lives along the mud of Southampton , or spent a useless life skulking about the docks , shooting without an aim in its fine foreatB t ox fishing lazily in its beautiful water .

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    Jolt 13 , 1850 . ] QL ttt fLt& ' ittt . 379

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• Citation
  • Leader (1850-1860), July 13, 1850, page 379, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/vm2-ncseproduct1846/page/19/