6
Some Thoughts on the English Stage.
BY TOM TATLOR.
Tbere are fashions in all arts, as there are
fashions in the jndgmeuts and opinions about
them. As a general role, in a time of abun
dant writing, and widely dili'ased and there
fore snperfluiai;knowledge, the tendency is to
depredate contemporary art in all its forms.
We may note this disposition in current criti
einm, not only of the theatre, but of poetry,
, painting, iculptnre, and architecture. In all
these the spirit of the time is always striving
to express itself in new forms which appeal to
popular appreciation, and obtain a great deal
f it. But those who write about Buch things,
i having, or assuming to have, before their
mindB the labors of a long and illustrious
past, are in the habit of contrasting the pre
sent with the past, to the detriment, almost
Invariably, of the present. This is at once
an easier task, and one more flattering to the
rltlo's sense of superiority, than fairly
and dispassionately to appreciate and
account for the performances aud position of
any contemporary art. But the latter I be
lieve to be a more useful employment of the
eritical faculty. I propose to attempt bucu
an application of it to tne stage, aa ma
ot art of which I have moat intimate ami
practical knowledge. However humiliating,
at first sight, to all connected with the stage,
may appear the comparison of the theatre as
It is. and as it was in what are called its
palmy" dy, br "hlch I suppose is gene
rally meant the fifty years comprising the
last quarter of last century and the iirst of
this, there never was a time of more theatri
cal activity than the present, if measured by
the number of theatres built or building, and
actively occupied, in London and the pro
vinces, and by the prodaotion of new pieces,
whatever their quality. It is a fact beyond
dispute that all the London theatres nowa
days, and the most considerable provinoial
cues, devote themselves all but exclusively
to contemporary pieces. The old rf perloire is
only exceptionally and rarely resorted to.
The Ilaj market Company, on its annual
autumnal tour, gives a series of the old come-
dies in the principal provinoial theatres; and
ene of them is every now and then put up
for a few nights in the interval between the
production of the novelties on whioh the
theatre habitually relies; or a star, or aspi
rant to starry honors, foreign, English, or
American, may from time to time appeal to
publio favor in a play of Shakespeare's, or
some other of the "old masters" of the drama;
but, substantially, the fact is as I state it,
that the theatre sow lives on novelties. So
little is the old drama oounted upon, that,
when it is resorted to, it has none of the ad
vantages or appliances which are lavished on
sew plays. There is no cost or pains in
preparation, and no elaboration of rehearsals.
Any scenery or dresses are good enough for it,
any oast will do, the old stage business is
acquiesced in. There is, in short, except,
perhaps, on the part of the "star" himself, or
herself, no application of mind to the business
in band, whether by actor or manager, scene
painter or coatumer. This shows that those
who are most materially conoerned in theatri
cal property do not value their power to draw
on the accumulated wealth of our dramatio
past. Thus far, at least, the stage asserts
Its vitality, that it is always assimilating
fresh food. This is a frequent subject of
complaint with one school of critics.
They find texts for insisting on the sound
and remunerative policy of a return to the
old drama in the occasional instances in whioh
new life is imparted to old forms by some
striking or unfamiliar interpretation as in
the case of Mr. Fechter's "Hamlet," or Made
moiselle Stella Colas' "Juliet" or when in
terest is excited by the reappearance of an old
favorite as in the instanoe of Miss Helen
Fauuit's periodioal returns to the stage or
where something like completeness of scenic
presentation is attempted as in the recent
run of Macbeth at Drnry Line, with Mr.
Beverley's scenery. But the experience of
managers testifies against the critics. The old
plays, they are unanimous in asserting, as a
rule, and where thtre is no exceptional personal
curiosity to be gratified, do not pay. If it was
not for the provincial theatres, where the
old "stock" plays still form part of the reper
toire, we should not fiud our actors familiar
even with the parts ot Shakespeare whioh fall
in their line of business, still leas with those
of any other old dramatist. The power of
Bpeaking blank verse with music and effect is
iiarcuy ever found among our younger actors;
and with it is gone the whole stage manner of
the ideal or poetio drama. Except Shake
speare, indeed, the famous dramatists of Kli
aabeth and James may be said to be entirely
. banished from the stage to the library.
ThlB shows, at least, that the theatres depend
for support on audiences who are interested
in presentations of contemporary subjects, or
at least of subjects treated in a contemporary
spirit. This is only the reflection in the
theatre of a tendenoy apparent in all the
other representative arts. Old pictures,
if it were not for the demand of
publio and private galleries, would find
but a poor market nowadays. It is only
those of the highest class, Buch as the trustees
of national collections and the possessors of
great family galleries will compete for, that
now fetch prices comparable with those oom
manded by contemporary works. Last oen
tury it was all the other way. Then the
taste, real or affected, for pictures, was con
fined to the genuine or mock virtuosi, the men
who, on the grand tour, had acquired a relish
for the old masters, or the pretension to it.
Mow the great pioture-market is among our
merchants, traders, and manufacturers,
whose sympathy is all but exclusively for
works of their own time. There is some
thing analogous to this in the theatre. Last
ceBtury the stage lived mainly on the old
drama, or on plays whioh in form and charao
ter reflected the past rather than the present.
Comedy and farce had even then, it is true,
the breath of contemporary life in them. Bat
the serious drama was antique, or aimed at
being so. There was no notion of extracting
- matter for deep or painful emotion out of con
temporary life. This was sought exclusively
in the ambitions, treacheries, loves, woes of
remote and dignilted pursouages, expressing
themselves in artificial and stately rhythms.
The Gamester is a solitary exception to this
, rale, and though its subject is contemporary,
its form is studiously unnatural. And even
comedy sought its materials mainly in one
range of eooiety, mat of tne ai tlnoui, high
bred npper classes. If it went lower, it was
to present some foil to these in a lower class
just as artificial, and more unlike any contem
porary reality. The great popular wave had
sot then, in fact, invaded the theatre. We see
the rise of it in the last decade of last cen
tury, and its influence growing through the
earlier cart of the present, but generally in
the shape of some sententious embodiment of
vnworldliness, or some impossible incarnation
of humble, balf-grotesque purity theoountry
bovB. for example, who are stock figures in
- - j. . . , i . i 1 1 ...
tbe plays or me younger cuituau, jmynoias,
Morton, and their contemporaries. The for
mal old comedy whioh bad employed the re
ined wit of Sheridan and the elder Colman,
and the rare natural humor of Ooldatnlth,
gradually degenerated into more and more
trivial bninorg and stagey eccentricities.
THE DAILY E ?. j
Tragedy, galvanised for a time by the ele trio
power of the elder Kean iuto a more
stirring and passionate life than the statelier
art of the Kembles could impart to it, dwin
dled Into dulness. We saw the last of it in
Maoready. But he brought to its aid, besides
his own vigorous, picturesque, aud intelligent
aoting, and excellent stage management, all
the attraction of a more complete aud tasteful
scenery and deooration than had evor till then
been seen ill the theatre. Charles Kean car
ried these aids and appliances still further,
and by help of them kept the stage for a
Shakespearian management of nine years, but
only by dint of immense outlay, and with
great help from burlque spectacle, and such
sensational" melodrama as the Cor.ii
llrothrrs and Pauline. Kven then it is under
stood that, though his large outlay was re
turned to him, it was with little or no profits.
So long as the patent theatres survived,
there was a home in them for artilloial
comedy as for formal tragedy, afid a body of
actors trained to represent both with more or
less finish and completeness. But the same
influences, call thorn popular or democratio if
von will, which were gradually modifying
i . ; i I : ...
manners, political uiuuiuub, auu literature,
were at work in the theatre, both to sap
theatrical privilege and to new-mould theatri
cal amusements. The patents were broken
down; all theatres were opened to all
kinds of entertainments; actors became scat
tered; and whatever of artificial or stately ia
stage art had been maintained by the barriers
of privilege, or the influences of tradition,
began to melt away and make room for ways
of acting and forms of entertainment bearing
a more popular impress. In the change much
was lost which those who look baok will
always regret. But the change was a natural
one, wrought out in obedience to wide-working
natural laws, on the whole of a beneficent
and benefioial kind. And if we lost the sohool
of artificial acting, we turned over those who
would have been pupils in it to the
higher and subtler, if more difficult,
school of life. The teaching in that school,
though less systematio ana less easily en
forced, is immeasurably better than any which
can be obtained in the school which has now
closed forever. But in the interval between
the two syBtems, through which our aotors
are sow passing, there is a time of transition,
when we feel the want of the lessons of the
one, and do not yet see the fruits of the other's
teaching. And what is true of actors is true
of pieces also. We have become impatient of
the highly artificial comedy aud long-drawn,
Btilted, and remote tragedy of the last genera
tion, but we have not yet hit upon the form of
stage art in which our great natural cravings
that for amusement and that for emotion
can be gratified, under conditions which satisfy
refined as well as indisoriminating tastes.
To empioy a pregnant distinction of Goethe's,
our stage has discontinued the attempt to
"realize the ideal," while it has not yet suc
ceeded in the more fruitful ell'ort to "idealize
the real." The condition which every man
ager prescribes to the dramatist is to paint
real life. As all real life is made up of joy
and sorrow, it follows that what is . sought
is neither pure comedy nor unmixed
tragedy, but something which shall move in
turn smiles and tears which shall alternately
amuse, and thrill, and move. It is worth re
marking that there is hardly one of the plays
of Shakespeare which does not fulfil this con
dition. Not one of his comedies but has its
undercurrent of sadness or tenderness, break
ing out in passages of sweetness and beauty
which exquisitely enhance thegayety, wit, and
humor in which they are set; hardly one of
his tragedies but has its note of humor, re
lieving the pity and terror out of which it
breaks; and the Bame thing holds good, in the
main, of all the lest Elizabethan and Jaoobean
drama, l'ure comedy and unrelieved tragedy
are alike growths of a more corrupt and
feebler time. It is so far a sign of health in
the contemporary stage that the demand now
is for drama, which admits the blending of
tragic and comic elements. That this demand
has thus far been responded to mainly by
melodrama by which I understand a form
of piece in which the play of emotion and
character is subordinated and sacrificed to
startling incident and scenic effect is not to
be wondered at. It is not easy, out of the
dulness and decorum, the commonplace,
etaidness, and sameness of life about us, to
extraot matter of amusement and emotion,
or excitement, without trespassing on the
domains of farce, slang, and vulgarity for the
one, or resorting to the dark regions of crime
and forbidden paBBlon, or the thrilling elleots
of physical peril, for the other. These are the,
resources of the sensational drama, whioh for
the moment all but exclusively occupies
the stage. It is the upshot of the demand
for real ana contemporary incident and
strong emotion working together, and is
to be displaced not by any revival of the
dramatio masterpieces of another and widely
different age, but by plays in which the same
elements of dramatio effect are embodied in
more artistio and refined forms. The elements
of tragedy are always at work among us; and
the selection and presentation of them in a
dramatio form, with their due aooompaniment
of the quaint, eooentrio, humorous, and
trivial, whioh, combined with wit, constitute
the comic woof of life, will be the work of
any conspicuous dramatio power to be found
among us at this time.
Thai there are many things working against
the development of such a talent I think may
be shown. The tide of the time sets more to
the writing of novels than of plays. Except
in a few conspicuous cases, in whioh mere
business talent and long experience of the
theatre (before a? well as behind the ourtain)
are combined with marked cleverness in the
contrivance or adaptation of dramatio situa
tions and the clothing them with dialogue,
managers do not pay bo well as publishers,
and are, as a rule, much less liberal-minded,
intelligent, and pleasant to deal with. Then,
whatever vividuess there may be in having
your conceptions set forth in action, there are
the enormous and inevitable disadvantages of
imperfect or bluuderlug presentation. Tor
one character well embodied on the stage,
the dramatist is likely to have ten
marred or maimed by his acters if
he trust them with anything beyond
the most well-worn commonplaces of the
boards. The approaches of the author to the
theatre are dilUuilt aud unpleasant. Mana
gers, most of them actors or ex-actors, are too
busy with the details of their daily work to
give much attention to the dramatic essays of
untried men; aud the tried men are apt to be
content with tb tried subjects and sources of
effect. Few of tbe managers have a standard
of taste a bliaH higher than that of
their public, or ny aim beyond that of
making tbnir theiiti pay by the most obvious
means. They liud or think it easier and safer
to rely for profit at 1 popularity on the olass
wl- ioh now frequents the theatre, than to seek
to attract a more fastidious or refined public,
which they leel would I e at once narrower and
harder to please. A condition of dramatio
Improvement yet lacking to our stage Is a
manager who should combine with activity,
promptitude, aud regularity ia business, and
tbe other requirements for commercial suc
cess, a degree of literary culture, refinement,
and social standing which would enable him,
while consulting tbe taste of bis time, gradu
ally to elevate it, by giving H the test 01 whkL
KG TKLEUItAm nilLADELrillA, WEDNESDAY,
it is capable, and so by degree, to bring bck
to the theatre that class whioh has been alien
ated from it by the bad taste, bad manners,
vulgarity, and extravagance too frequently
presented on the stage. To second the efforts
of such a manager we want a more independ
ent, intelligent, and exacting criticism in the
press. They must be backed, too. by atten
tion to such material conditions as
well-chosen hours of performance, comfort
able sitting and hearing accommodation, aud
the absence of petty exactions by boxkeepers
and so forth. In all suoh matters managers
bare been content to go on in the old grooves,
forgetful of the changes at wof k outside the
theatre, such as the multiplication of rival
amusements, more culture, enhanced fas
tidiousness of manners, and a higher notion
of comfort, later hours of meals, inoreased dis
tances, and difficulties of access to the thea
tre. The influence of suoh a manager as I am
desiderating is required in every detail of the
theatre, behind as well as before the curtain.
Even in matters of which the publio know
nothing, as the ordering of the coulisses, green
room, and dressing-rooms, so as to enoourage
habits of self-respeot and good breeding in the
actors and staff of the theatre, there is great
room for his influence. At present, nothing
can be more depressing, or in the long run
degrading to all in a theatre, than the inatten
tion to cleanliness, politeness, and the usages
of civilized life generally, to be found behind
the scenes. Again, there is a wide field for
the influences of such a manager in the con
ducting of rehearsals. lie ought to be able to
second the directions of the author, or to re
place him, not only in guiding the
business of the stage, but in seeing
that dialogue is correctly given, that
errors of emphasis, faults of pronunciation,
violations of manners and proprieties, are
checked and set right; in a word, that the
author's work is done Justice to by the aotors.
Rehearsals at present are, as a rule, slovenly
and careless, insufficient in attention to the
necessary business of the play, while almost
always cruelly wasteful of time harassing
and wearing to good and attentive actors,
though laxly indifferent to the faults and
blunders of bad ones. In a word, in this as in
other matters of theatrical government, there
is evidence of a want of respect alike for the
actor's craft and the publio requirements. It
is evident that the manager has little sense of
any but a very low kind of taste to be satis
fied, or of any publio opinion to be faced
which is likely to be either exaoting or out
spoken. I place the want of such a manager
as I have shadowed forth in the very front of
the conditions of theatrical improvement.
Many will think ray hope that the want may
yet be supplied a visionary one.
However this may be, I am unwilling to
abandon it. I believe nothing would tend
more to bring about its realization than the
application to the shortcomings of the stage
as it is of a vigorous, honest, and practical
criticism not the kind of criticism whioh
finds, either in contempt or good-nature, an
exouse for abandoning all attempt at discri
minating praise or blame, or that which habi
tually depredates all existing stage art, in
plays or actors, beoause it is unlike the kind
of acting and writing which the oritio likes
better, and which is nothing, in fact, but the
application of inapplicable standards but a
criticism which, if it professes to judge what is
set before it, willjudge it honestly, closely, and
carefully; above all, sever passing over instan
ces of gross impropriety, disrespect, or defiance
of the public, on the part of aotors or man
agers, and never, on the other hand, omitting
recognition of even the humblest merits. If
the critio critioizes at all, he is bound to do
as much as this: if he considers what is before
him unworthy of criticism, he should say so,
and give his reasons for Buying so. I cannot
believe that such criticism would be useless,
and I am certain it would not be superfluous,
At present there is far too close a connection
between critics, dramatists, managers, and
actors, for the former to pass judgment on
the latter with either impartiality or indepen
dence. To show that the hopeB I have expressed are
not beyond the range of possibility, I would
point to the French stage, on which many of
them have found their lulfilment. It is true
that tbe condition of things in the French
theatre is not, at this particular moment, a
very favorable one. Long, showy, and costly
spectacles, like the Diche au liois or Cendrillon,
mere pretexts for the display of nudities, im
modest dances, and showy tcenery, or pieces
in which music is made the vehicle of inde
cent double-entendre, and the slang of the
demi- monde, have recently occupied it, to the
exclusion of better matter. Its comedy and
vaudeville turn more on the violation of the
seventh commandment than is wholesome or
compatible with our notions of decency. Its
drame, like our own, deals too much with
coarse and repulsive forms of crime and law
less passion. But when allowance is made for
all tLIe, and mush of it is temporary, the
French theatre still keeps abreast of the times,
still enlists among its authors many of the
keenest and readiest wits of the age, can still
confer literary reputations and academio
chairs, is the most profitable as well as the
most popular form of authorship, still furnishes
amusement to all classes, from the highest to
tbe humblest, &rA interests all orders of intel
ligence and refinement. Jts actors are still
admirable for finished truth and good taste, its
theatrical administration and government pre
sent a contrast to onr own for the regularity,
order, completeness, and fulness of rehear
sals, and the subordination and discipline en
forced in the theatre. In l'aris, unlike Lon
don, may be seen a sumber of companies,
each made up with a view to a special order
of performances, and fitted to fill the east of
thete with completeness, from the humblest
part to the highest. Some of these theatres,
subsidiztd by the Government for that pur
pose, devote themselves exclusively to the
highest class of performances, serious and
comic, and are associated with a school for the
instruction of actors and actresses, whose
students compete annually for prizes, the
highest of which carry with them the right to
a dtbul, and often the chanoe of au engage
ment at the Theatre Fr&nais or the Odcon.
The difference between the stages of the two
capitals, in all these respects, is reflected, as
might be expected, in their performances.
An Fnglishman, whose etaudard of stage art
is at all high, feels humiliated by the thought
of what Kuglish stage art is, while witnessing
tbe perfoimance in a French theatre. It is
like an entertainment addressed to quite a
higher order of minds than is catered for in
the English theatre; refined where ours Li vul
gar, delicate w here ours is coarse, graceful
where ours is clumsy, and throughout bear
ing that impress of culture, taste, and intelli
gence, the presence of whhh is so rarely
visible on our stage.
In thus praising the French theatre I seem
to be pronouncing the condemnation ef our
own. Comparison of the two is, indeed, most
humiliating to English self-conceit. But I have
referred to the French theatre not so much for
the sake of comparison as by way of example
of a stage which respects and fulfils the con
ditions I desiderate in our own as regards its
art, aud apart from its morality.
I may now indicate what seem to me some
of the chief reasons why these conditions are
satisfied in the French theatre, and wanting to
oar own. fctpme of these reasons are rooted Is
natural character. At the bead ol these 14 the
quick and delicate intelligence of the French
people, their mobility, their ease and graoe of
manners, their aptness to understand a iUmi
met, their volubility of discourse all tending
to make of them good actors and good Judg8
of actlDg. A French audience is critical, from
parhrre to paradis; it sits in judgment on the
play and the performers, aud so helps both
authors and actors Incalculably, encouraging
the one to write and the other to act deli
cately, and, as it were, allusively, in reliauoe
on the ready intelligence which will
appreciate the subtle point in a phrase,
the shade of meaning iu a look, a shrug, a
scarcely perceptible movement or gesture.
This sort of audience puts a premium, so to
speak, on point and incise in stage art. Con
trast our dear British publio in these re3peuts.
The critics, it is said, used last century to
oocupy the two front rows of the pit. I fear
that they might now be oompressed into even
less compass. I am sure lets than two rows
would accommodate them now. The presence
of the critical element in our theatres is not
sensibly felt by any outward sign drawn from
the reception given by the audience to any
thing in play or actors. On the oontrary, if
there is a burst of applause, a hundred to one it
is for some passage of bombast or claptrap in
the play, or some egregious piece of rant or
vulgarity in an actor. 1 need hardly point out
how this recognition by applause of the wrong
thing tends to deteriorate aud vulgarize both
play-writers and actors, leading both to look
te coarser and coarser tricks of effect, and
more and more rankly spiced baits of ap
plause. The very word "claptrap" is exclu
sively English. The French have no equiva
lent for it. The sparlugness in noisy applause
of French audiences led to the introduction of
the tlaque into Paris theatres the organized
clappers, Entrtprennns de succes dramatique, as
their founders styled them and the presence
of the claque has now completely destroyed,
in all besides, the habit of applauding with
the hands. In England we want no claque,
Heaven knows. The publio applauds but too
loudly what is noisy, coarse, and overdone,
without any misguidanoe but that of its own
bad taste. No doubt there is a body of sounder
opinion and more refined judgment in the
house, but it does not manifest itself audibly.
The habit of hissing 1b all but extinct, and,
indeed, much of what is applauded would not
deserve hissing but by way of protest against
the applause. And yet it has often seemed to
me as if appreciation and stupidity were
strangely blended in our British public. They
have certainly a quick and keen sympathy,
especially With anything that appeals to them
as virtue, nobleness, or disinterestedness. I
think I have rarely seen real excellence, even
of the subtler and more refined kind, fail, in
the long run, of appreciation at their hands;
and yet I am certain that any given audienoe
in any English theatre is unable to distin
guish between gold and pinchbeck, in what
is Bet before them on the stage, either in
the way of writing or of aoting. Only
one thing they are intolerant of anything
that to them is dulness. Unluckily, much
is dull to a blunt, coarse slow taste that is
not so to a more refined, subtler, and
quicker one. Make an English publio languor
cry, and you are safe. They ask only to be
moved whether to tears or laughter matters
little; indeed, they like nothing so much as
to be stirred to both alternately. But do not
ask them to follow the development of an in
tricate character, to note the cross currents of
conflicting emotions, or the subtle underwork
ings of human nature in action, unless the
charaoter, emotion, and aotion have, besides
their deeper and more metaphysical interest,
a very palpable, strongly-marked outer side
to them. And yet Shakespeare's work is
here to show ns that the same British publio
may be fitted with a dramatio aliment which
Ehall satisfy its coarsest appetite, and shall yet
satisfy the cravings of the finest fancy and the
loftiest imagination. It is a striking f aot that
Hamlet is the play oftenest acted on the
Kuglish stage. Nor does Hamlet stand alone,
though it standB highest among Shakespeare's
plays, as a proof how that mighty master
could provide in the same dish food for the
humblest and highest intelligences, could
reconcile all the exigencies of a stage which,
in his time as sow, was any thing but sice in
its feeling, with the deepest and highest con
ditions of imaginative creation, could write at
once for British playgoers, down to the sinful
iixpenny mechanic (Ben. Jonson), and for the
loftiest and most far-reaching wits of the
eivilized world.
It must be admitted, with Shakespeare
before us, that no dramatist has a right to say
the British publio are a swine before whioh he
will not fling his pearls. I must, however,
still maintain that it is sot a oritioal publio.
It knows what amuses or interests it, but
cares not to know or consider how it is amused
or interested. It will not, like the French
publio, trouble itself to discever the author's
aim, and then set itself to judge how far he
has succeeded in carrying it out. It sits down,
solidly, if sot Btolidly, before the green our
tain, as if it said, "Here I am. Move me
make me laugh make me cry." The Fienoh
publio asks gayly and eagerly, as it takeB its
place in the parterre, "Voyons, what have you
to show me to-night f What is the mot de
I'tnigme you ask me to set my wits to f De
velop me your plot propound me your
social problem work me out your clever and
interesting situation."
I say, again, that the contrast of moods in
the two audiences involves, and in many re
spects accounts for, the differences of Euglish
and French stage art. It lies at the bottom
of the greater delicacy, finttse, and subtlety of
the latter; of the tendency in our own thea
tre, on the author's part, to fly to violent emo
tiouB and situations, Ind on the aotor's to ex
aggerated delineations: tempts both, in fact, to
the strongest dramatio stimulants those
which, according to the ounnlngwlth which
they are used, may be the uwtivti of a play of
a Shakespeare or the subject-matter of a
Surrey melodrama. The want of quickness
in an English audience is also felt as a hin
drance both by dramatist and actor in the ne
cessity it involves of dolngevery thing which the
andienoe is meant to bear iu mind very palpably
and deliberately, aud, as it wer, with au em
phasis. One of the most expenenoed and suo
cessful of modern dramatists ones said to me:
! "When I want the audience to understand
that one of my characters is doing something,
1 always arrange that the actor shall Bay, in
effect, 'Now, I am going to do suoh and such
a thing now I am doing it now I have done
it.' Then you may hope tbe audieuod will
i nrderstand you." This ingrained dill'reuee
and final fact, and any bad efleot it may have
on English stage art oaonot be evaded or
remedied, except by the general quickening
and refilling of intelligence, in other words,
by education.
But there are other points of theatrical ad
mfsibtration mainly iu whioh our theatre is
suffering from evils whioh have been reme
died, or have never grown up in the French
theatre. Theatres in Far la confine themselves
mainly though by law no longer compelled
to do so eaoh to its special class of entertain
ment, claiBioal tragedy and comedy, drame,
light modern comedy, faroe, vaudeville, pZerie,
and spectacle, musical houfl'onnerie, as the case
may be, and each has a oompany sufficient and
specially adapted for its specialty . Uenoe the
FEBRUARY 10, 1869.
sent of completeness in Yretch peiformances
which ia so rare in this country, though there
ia a more visible aim at it now than there used
to be within my remembrance. The good
actors and actresses of Loudon are so scattered
that it is hardly possible to oat-t any full pieoe
completely; and their number, in proportion
to tbe theatres, is so small that it is almost im
possible to keep any sufficient body t,t them to
gether against the temptation of high salaries
and the prospect of being "cock of the walk"
in some rival establishment. Till a com
pany of aotors have worked together
for some time they cannot aot their
best. A body of even second rat
actors, by working in company under good
guidance, may come to give very creditable
and satisfactory representations. Ia London
it is rare for a company to hold together
above a few seasons. The Hay market com
pany is a conspicuous example of the good
of working together, though it exemplifies,
perhaps, not less strikingly, the need of Judi
cious infiltration of more new blood from time
to time, than its manager has found or
thought it desirable to infuse. It is not to be
lost sight of that there may be a keeping
together of bad aotors as well as good ones,
and a steadiness in evil habits, and confirmed
stinginess and slovenliness whioh is really
rninons, while it is apt to pride Itself on
being respectable.
The frequent migration of actors is con
nected with another pregnant evil of our
Btoge the unsatisfactory mutual relations of
actors and manager. Instead of a body of
liege subjects under a paternal government,
or devoted and obedient soldiers under a
loved and trusted general, our theatrical
companies, with rare exceptions, are homes
of strife, bickering, and insubordination,
where the constant struggle seems to be on
the part of the manager to get the most he
can for the least out of the actor, and on
the part of the actor to turn the manager to
account, as exclusively as possible, for his
own gain and glory.
The sense of a common interest, of a duty of
eaoh to other, cheerfully rendered beoause
certain of acknowledgment and return, I have
rarely seen governing the relations of manager
and actors. Our theatres are eminently com
bative and competitive as distinguished from
from co-operative associations. Ilenoe the con
stant difficulties about parts, and the interne
cine struggles between the pretensions of
actors, the frequent refusal of characters, and,
as a consequence, the impossibility for either
manager or dramatist of making the best of
even the poor materials supplied by our
"scratch" companies. For this state of things
the result of a chronio disease of the theatri
cal system actors and managers must share
the blame between them. It would, I believe,
otase under my ideal manager.
I believe this difficulty is not experienced in
France in anything like the same degree as
here. There the rule is that the aetor en
gaged as principal for a line of charaoter plays
in each piece, if it be the best part in the line
assigned to him, whatever the absolute merit
of the part may be. The working of this rule
is helping by the system of what is called
"feux" that is, payments made to the actor
on each sight of performance, in addition to
weekly or monthly salary.
The inattention, slovenliness, and Insuffl
cience of rehearsals is another besetting sin ef
the English theatre whioh is sot found in the
Frenoh. Oar managers and actors seem sot
to have even an idea of the pains and thought
bestowed on this indispensable preliminary to
performance by French authors, managers,
and actors alike, thanks to whioh a piece
sometimes undergoes almost complete "re
modelling," in the progress of rehearsals.
Here I must conclude this paper, sensible
that it by no means exhausts the subject. As
far as it goes, it represents honestly acme
results of a long and varied experience.
FIRE-PROOF SAFES.
PROM THE GREAT FIRE
IN MARKET STREET.
HXK KING'S I'ATEXT SAFES
Again the Champion!
THE ONLY BAFE THAT PRESERVES IT3 CON
TENTS UNCHABRED.
LETTER FROM T MORRIS PEROT A CO.
Philadelphia, Twelfth Month 8th, IMS.
Messrs, Farrel, Herring & Co., No. 2tf Chesnnt
street uenlR: It Ib with threat pleasure that we add
our teitlniouy to the value of your Patent Champion
bate. At the destructive lire on Murkel street, outlie
evening of the Hd lust., tour store wna the centre of the
conflagration, and, being filled with a large stock ot
druiiii, oils, turpentine, paints, varnmh, aicobol, etc ,
u.nuc " oevere iuu tryiuK teafc. x uur cubru bioou iu an
exposed situation, arid leil with tne burning lloora
1 Into the cellar among a quantity ot combustible rua
' terlalH. We opined It next day and touud our books,
papers, bank notes bills receivable, and. entire
, contents all sate. It Is especially gratifying to ustuat
: yonr bafe cams out all rlgnt as we had entrusted our
I most valnHble books to It, We shall want auotbur of
Vr t'fe 1 a 'w days, as they have our enure coo-
Yours, respectfully,
T. MUitRIB PEROT A CO.
HFRRING'S PATFKT CHAMPION SAFES, the
victors in more tbau 6U0 accidental fires. Awarded
the Prize Mraals at the World's Fair, Loudon:
World's Fair, ew York; and Exposition Uulvcraeue,
Manufactured and for sale by
FAHItEL, HERRING & CO.,
No. 029 CIIESXCT STREET,
12 9wim3nirp PHILADELPHIA.
fl . T. . M A T n t
-I w - A A 0
Fill hi AND BUKULAlt-PiiOOF SAFES,
LOCKSMITH, BFXIVHANGKR, AND DEALER
LSI JJfJJLLJULMU HARDWARE. t0J
-16 Ko. 434 BAcs Street
GAS FIXTURES, ETC.
CORNELIUS & DAK Eft,
MANUFACTURERS OF
CAS FIXTURES.
LAMPS,
BRONZES, LANTERNS, Eto.
ST OH 12.
Xo. 710 C1IESXUT Street.
MANUFACTORY,
ft'o. 831 C'lIUISKY Street,
1 lOsmwlui
PHILADELPHIA.
jN T LWI N DO W RATTLER..
for Vu'vlliuKH, Cam, Steamboats, Etc.
rrevmls Rati ling and Slinking of the Wln
(luwn by lue wiud or other cauHOM, lightens lue
taftb, pievt uis lue wluilaiiilduM from etUerluu,
tablly itttaclied, aud require but aluaie
glance to Judite of Iib merits.
Call on tiie Ueueral Agent,
O. P. ROSE
ISo. 727 JAYXE Street,
Between Market and Cheanut,
U 11 faawim lUdelpbia.
GENT.'S FURNISHING GOODS.
H. 8. K. G.
Harris' Seamless Kid Gloves
EVERT PA IB WABBAHTXDi
EXCLcarvii agehts fob qentet qlovkq
J. W. SCOTT ft CO.,
piTBNl B II 0 0 LDBR-BHAU
SHIRT MANUFACTORY,
AND GENTLEMEN'S FURNISHING STORE,
PKRFECT FITTING BHIKTS AND DRAWKBfl
made liom measurement at very abort notloa.
All other articles of UENTLEMEM'S DaSflr
GOODS - mu n. &
H No. 71X1 fcHKriNCr Btrot.
MEDICAL.
RHEUMATISM,
N E U B A L O I A
Warranted rcrmancnllj Cured.
Warranted Permanent! Cured. .
Without Injury to the Sjstem.
Without Iodide, Potassla, or Colchlcum
lij Using lawardij Unlj
DR. FITLER'8
GREAT RHEUMATIC REMEDY,
For Rheumatism and Neuralgia in ail iu form.
The only standard, reliable, positive, lnfalllbl per
manent cure ever discovered. II la warranted to ooa
tain notblnc hnrtful or lnjnrlons to the system.
WARRANTED TO CURE OR MONEY REFUNDED
WARRANTED TO CURE OB MONET REFUNDED
Thousands ot Philadelphia references of onree, Pit
pared at
No. 29 SOUTll I'OUETH STREET,
BMstnthtf
BELOW MARKET.
SHIPPING.
iffftft LORILLARD'S STEAMSHIP
FOR NEW YORK.
Balling Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays aj
coon. The winter ratea at which freight la box
takes la 20 cente per loo pounds, gross, Scents pet
foot, or 2 cents per gallon, ship's option The Line k
now prepared to contract for spring rates lower thaa
by any other loute, conitneuolngon Match is, 18V
Advance charge cshed at olhua on Pier, Jfielgtil
teceivea at au times on coverea wnan. ;
JOHN F. OKL, I
. Ofi Am PlAr la Wnv.l. txri j
w - w.u T I li Ml V OB. K
N, li. Extra rates on smaU packages Iron, metals, et. !
FOB LIVERPOOL AND QTJEEHH-
aiv Kfm ten i hiii h iuiiows;m
Cl'l x OJr' BALl'iAluKjii, (jturday, February A
CITY OF COM.., xueoaay. FeOru.ry . w
C'li'Y OF PARls, baiurua, j-ebruary IS.
CITY OF ANi YVEup, oaiurday, Feomary SO.
ETNA, Tuesday, ieomary w. w.
CITY OF 1.UWUOJN. Hatuiday, January SO.
and each succeeding Saturday aud alternate Tuesday,
at 1 P, M from Pier 46, Nona Klver.
RATES OF PAbHAUE By TUi HA'L nMAMMM
6A1LJMO XVSUtT SATURDAY,
Payable In Oold. payable In Currency,
FIRST CAM1N .....1008TEERAUE........4ai
to Ixindon,m.,M io& to LondonMnMmM 40
to Paris 116 1 w Paris
PASS AUK BV i H a rviUUAt BTSAMKB via hi urAJt,
IBHT CABIN, BTBSIIlAas:.
Payable In uold. Payable In Currency.
Liverpool..-..- H u verpool........ .41
Halllax ttalliax 1
bl. John's, N. F 1 i it. Joun's, N. F- I M
by Branch ateauier.... oy Rranoh Hleainer... m
Fasseugers also lorw ardeu to Havre, Hamburg, ra
rnon, etc, at reduced rales.
Tickets can be bought here by persons sending lot
their lrlends, at moderate ratos.
For further Information apply at the Oompany'g
Omcea.
JOHN Q, DALE. Agent, No. 15 BROADWAY, N. Y.
Or M O'boJNfijLLI. A FAULK, Agents,
No. 411 CHKaN UT btrut t, PnUadelphla.'
r- . 7...... .... 1 1 - . . . - iimri
ONLY DIRECT L1NE.IQ FBINCC.
'Ij.ji. Oi.i'.EBAL TRANBai'LaNTIO COMPANY'S
am) Havre, callinu a( hkest.
ThespleuUtd teiv vesmsisou mis Uvorite route foe
tbecunilneut will tall from, Pier in o. MAfortn river,
asioiluwa: '
BT. La U KH NT Brocande....6aturday,Oot S
V il.Lk. i)K FAue.... .touruioui Uaiuriiay, Oct. 17
PEiUklRE.,,,-. Hucnesue jsatiuuay, oot. U
PRICE OF PASSAGE
In gold (Including wine),
TO liRiv&r OR HAVRE,
First Cabin M iiu oecoud Cabin .............. 181
'IU 1'AlllS.
(Including railway ucke.s, lurnlshed on board)
First cabin .Ho eecaud cuoid 8i
1 nthe sttaiueis do i.01, carry steeiage paatengeria
M edicul attendance (1 ee ot charge.
American travellers going to or retnrnlng from
the continent of Jb-urope. by taklug the sletmers of
this line avoid onntcessary rwks iroia transit by
KngiUh railways aud crukaing tne channel, besides
Saving time, trouble, aad expense.
UJkORUE MACKENZIE, Ageat,
. No.68RROALWAY.New Voik.
For passage In PnUaaelphia, appiy at Adame
Express Company, to fl. L. LEAF,
1 it; No. 820 CHKHN U 1' (Street.
PH I I A IlKI .fH I 1 Uintlll Ann
Wltd tUii i'KjKlUHT AIR LINE TQ TILS
1M) AloUh'm.K M'I'u:a MHU I a 1 uiu
OOU'i'H. Aril) WK8T.
. , . KvitRY Saturday,
Btreo? " UaiT "L-Uf above MARKET
THROUGH RATES and THROUGH RECKIPT
toaUpontsta North ana South CaioIlnaTvU Sea
board Air Line Railroad, connecting at PorumajST
and te Lynchburg, V., T'ennessee. and the w1S?vla
IXrT eaniiUcM
The regularity, sateiy, and cheapness of this ronta
commend It to the puullo as tue most desirable mZ
dlum lor carrying every description ot freight,
otransfer" '0I oomm,aloIi lray age, or any .Trtnit
Bteautshlp Insured at lowest ratea.
VMl.htMUibltriiillli-" '
W J LLIAM P. CLYfTjB A OfiU
w v BiSfi ?orlil nl Hou,a WHAJtViA
Point. Ageut at Rluluuoud and City
T, P. CROWELL A CO.. Agente at Norfolk. 1 1
lftEf NEW BrKESS LINE TO ALEXj
iifWmtfn 11 andrla, Ueorgetown, and Washington
n'ft....V1,Kp6ak.e u2 Aeiavrare Canal, with ooa.
E!5i Alexandria from the most direct route
adfbouis.!"101' K-aovUle' Kaahvllle. JtoUu
Bteamers leave regularly every Saturday M nooa
from fbeam wharf aou-eMamSt tttw). "
Freight received dally,
,WM- CLYE-E ds CO.;
in t in.v' I Norttt " South Wharves;
DATIDSON, Ageut at Ueoruetown.
glnla.XiiU1OJC Aun AJexaldrla, Jig.
Mi l ll't' Vl t , nn.
a Uli ICVV IIIKK VIA
" amoUiH WMKANY.
Ilie faieam Propellers of tnu Una il,. Vht.
from nxbtwhurf below Maraei OAXItt
THROUUU IIS to HOURS.
Goods ionvartled by all the Hues olu Ant nf
York. North, Earn, and West, tteaai ouufn?,!
ITrtlgUU revived at our uau " Vil.
wi I.I.I am p . .! .,U.V fatPSi
Mo. lis WALL Street, corner Of Bonth. New j
aMUMKii hiijiTratiaportatlon Comoau rw.TzT
a-.u bwlimure Lines, via DeliwarJ T in.i i?u,'ott
For freight, which will be taken on aoonmmniiaii.a
apply to WILLIAM U. BaTwaixx"'
-ii! WO. llij H. UKLA W ARK Aveunal
IRE GUARDS,
FOB ITOBE FRONT, AHTLIM, F4f
XOBIKSI, ETC,
Patent Wire RaJllng.:r,on Bedsteads, Oraamsnta
nr w Makers' Wires, and every Varit
Of Wire Work, mannfaotand by
HWALUrj A HO us
nwl UNortit &LXTH StreeW i
i