YOU HAVE BEEN POISONED," was all he would utter. Had the brandy and Hollands been genuine there would have been no harm-but they were imitation, and "YOU ARE POISONED." Feeling myself very faint, I asked, naturally enough for a woman in my situation, for a glass of wine. It was brought-but Mr Accum was at hand to snatch the deadly draught from my lips. He tasted what used to be call ed my genuine old port. And in the scowl of heaven his face Grew black as he was sipping. "It is spoiled elder wine-rendered astringent by oak-wood, saw-dust, and the husks of filberts-lead and arsenic, Madam, are" but my ears tingled and I heard no more. I confessed to the amount of six glasses a-day of this hellish liquor-pardon my warmthand that such had been my allowance for many years. My thirst was now intolerable, and I beseeched a glass of beer. It came, and Death in the Pot detected at once the murderous designs of the brewer. Coculus indicus, Spanish juice, hartshorn shavings, orange powder, copperas, opium, to bacco, nux vomica-such were the shocking words he kept repeating to himself and then again," MRS TROLLOPE IS POISONED." 66 May I not have a single cup of tea, Mr Accum," I asked imploringly, and the chemist shook his head. He then opened the tea-caddy, and emptying its contents, rubbed my best green tea between his hard horny palms. "Sloe-leaves, and white-thorn leaves, Madam, coloured with Dutch pink, and with the fine green bloom of verdigrise! Much, in the course of your regular life, you must have swallowed!" "Might I try the coffee?" Oh! Mr North, Mr North, you know my age, and never once, during my whole existence, have I tasted coffee. I have been deluded by pease and beans, sand, gravel, and vegetable powder! Mr Accum called it shamcoffee, most infamous stuff, and unfit for human food! Alas! the day that I was born! In despair I asked for a glass of water, and just as the sparkling beverage was about to touch my pale quivering lips, my friend, for I must call him so in spite of every thing, interfered, and tasting it, squirt ed it out of his mouth, with a most alarming countenance. "It comes out of a lead cistern-it is a deadly poison." Here I threw myself on my knees before this inexorable man, and cried, "Mr Death in the Pot, is there in heaven, on earth, or the waters under the earth, any one particle of matter that is not impregnated with death? What means this desperate mockery? For mercy's sake give me the very smallest piece of bread and cheese, or I can support myself no longer. Are we, or are we not, to have a morsel of breakfast this day?" He cut off about an inch long piece of cheese from that identical double Gloucester that you yourself, Mr North, chose for me, on your last visit to London, and declared that it had been rendered most poisonous by the anotta used to colour it. "There is here, Mrs Trollope, a quantity of red lead. Have, you, madam, never experienced, after devouring half a pound of this cheese, an indescribable pain in the region of the abdomen and of the stomach, accompanied with a feeling of tension, which occasioned much restlessness, anxiety, and repugnance to food? Have you never felt, after a Welch rabbit of it, a very violent cholic?" "Yes! yes-often, often I exclaimed." "And did you use pepper and mustard ?" "I did even so." "Let me see the castors." I rose from my knees-and brought them out. He puffed out a little pepper into the palm of his hand, and went on as usual, "This, madam, is spurious pepper altogether-it is made up of oil cakes, (the residue of linseed, from which the oil has been pressed) common clay, and, perhaps, a small portion of Cayenne pepper (itself probably artificial or adulterated) to make it pungent. But now for the mustard," at this juncture the servant maid came in, and I told her that I was poisoned-she set up a prodigious scream, and Mr Accum let fall the mustard pot on the carpet. But it is needless for me to prolong the shocking narrative. They assisted me to get into bed, from which I never more expect to rise. My eyes have been opened, and I see the horrors of my situation. I now remember the most excruciating cholic, and divers other pangs which I thought nothing of at the time, but which must have been the effect of the deleterious solids and liquids which I was daily introducing into my stomach, It appears that I have never, so much as once, either eat or drank a real thing ables, which he assured me he had analyzed, subjected to the test-act, and found them to be conformists. But I have no trust in chemistry. His quarter-loaf looked like a chip cut off the corner of a stone block. It was a manifest sham loaf. After being deluded in my Hollands, bit in my brandy, and having found my muffins a mockery, never more shall I be thrown off my guard. I am waxing weaker and weaker-so farewell! Bewildering indeed has been the destiny of SUSANNA TROllope. P. S.-I have opened my mistress's letter to add, that she died this evening about a quarter past eight, in excruSALLY ROGERS. ciating torments. NOTICES OF THE ACTED DRAMA IN LONDON. DRURY LANE THEATRE. MR KEAN has played Coriolanus; and he has played it very badly. We are not at all sorry for this. If the event had been much otherwise it would have gone nigh to overturn all our favourite theories respecting the nature of his genius.-The Roman character was a splendid work of art,-like the Apollo Belvidere. As grand and inspiring to look at; formed on nearly as fixed and precise rules, and of nearly as cold and hard materials. Coriolanus was a fair example of that character-though rather an extreme one: And Mr Kean can, therefore, no more represent Coriolanus than he can Apollo. Nature has forbidden him. The fault was not in failing, but in trying to succeed. We have been told that the experiment was made against Mr Kean's judgment; and we can easily believe this, because we wish to believe it. Coriolanus was but a repulsive sort of person, after all. If he was above his fellow beings in some things it was precisely because he was below them in others. He fought for his country like a god, so long as she treated him as one; but the instant she remembered that he was only a mortal he forgot that she was his country; and then he fought against her for the very same reasons, and with the very same spirit that he had before fought on her side. And when he had conquered her, and she was lying bound before him, he forgave her-not because she was his country, or because she deserved to be forgiven but because his mother pleaded her cause, and because she by bound and humbled at his feet. Wo to the state that can produce such men as this; still more to that which can glory in them. It was folly to give the people the power of banishing such a man; but it was wisdom in the people to use that power as they did. Mr Kean is exactly the last person in the world to play such a character as Coriolanus; and, accordingly, his performance was a total failure. We speak this in reference to our pre-conceived notions of the character. He was hot where he should have been cold-vehement where he should have been calm-angry where he should have been contemptuouspassionate where he should have been proud.-Thinking so highly as we do of Mr Kean's judgment, we should be at a loss to account for all this, if he had not treated us in a similar way once before. In fact, we ought not to have called the performance a failure. It was, like his Richard II., a splenMr Kean did mis-representation. knew that he could not play Coriolanus; so he played something else: and the exhibition was in the highest degree powerful and interesting. The more interesting from its not disturbing our remembrance of the Coriolanus of Mr Kemble-which we would not lose for any one thing that even Mr Kean could substitute for its place. The opinion may seem bold; but we really do think that Mr Kean has shewn more genius in mis-representing Shakspear as he has done in these two characters, and in parts of others, than any one else but Mrs Siddons has in representing Shakspear. -It is a perfect Transmutation of metals. He takes the dialogue of a character as it is written in Shakspear, and finding it not suited to his powers and purposes, he, by some "happy alchemy of mind," transforms it into something which is-yet without diminishing its weight or value. This is the true Philosopher's Stone, after all. We hope that the discovery is accompanied by that of the Elixir Vita: but we beg, nevertheless, that he will keep both the secrets to himself. The Hebrew. Ivanhoe has been dramatised at both theatres; and has been successful at both without deserving to be so at either. In fact these adaptations of the great Novelist's works are undertaken merely as money-getting speculations, and they succeed only because they administer to an idle and senseless curiosity. People go to see them because they "wonder what can be made of them on the stage ;" and to try if they can find out in what they agree with and differ from the originals. But those who truly admire and appreciate these splendid works feel that it is a species of profanation to touch and tamper with them at allmuch more so to cut and carve them about, and transpose the language and sentiments, so as to adapt them to the taste of modern audiences, and the talents of favourite actors! But how is it possible, and if it were, how is it desirable, to think of Meg Merrilies under the disguise of Mrs Egerton ? Mrs Fawcett, with all her good sense and spirit, interferes in a very troublesome manner with our recollections of Helen M'Gregor. We never see Miss Stephens without delight, except when she disturbs our conceptions of Effie Deans or Diana Vernon. And even the irresistible jokes of Liston's face are rather impertinent when it is palmed upon us as that of Dominie Sampson or the Baillie Jarvie.-And when the dramatisers of these works choose to depart from the originals in costume or spirit or character it becomes still worse. We will not say it is like falsifying the truth of history and of nature for it is doing so. This latter is the chief fault of the drama of The Hebrew at this theatre. In order to adapt the character of Isaac of York to the talents of Mr Kean it has been totally changed and made what it could not by any possibility have been in the times during which he lived. He is bold, generous, sensitive, and grateful at first; and towards the end he goes mad for horror at his daughter's dangers, and at last dies for joy at her escape from them! In like manner Ivanhoe is made to declare open and honourable love for Rebecca-the son of a Saxon noble for the daughter of a proscribed and polluted Israelite! This could not have been. Love is almost omnipotent: but Nature-that "second Nature" which is created by Custom, and frequently becomes more powerful than the first-absolutely forbad it. For the rest,-the delicate and touching beauty of Rebecca's character is, of course, totally destroyed by making the love between her and Ivanhoe mutual and avowed. And, to sum up the whole, Robin Hood is enacted by Mr T. Cooke !-So that we have, for the present, got quite out of conceit of our once favourite freebooter; and are no longer disposed to question the assertion of Mr Wordsworth, that “Scotland hath a thief as good." COVENT GARDEN THEATRE. The Antiquary. Mr Terry has dramatised the Antiquary; and it has been performed with considerable success. As a drama it pleased us better than Guy Mannering or the Heart of Mid-Lothian, but not near so well as Rob Roy. It would be superfluous to detail the particulars in which the play differs from or agrees VOL. VI. with the Novel. And indeed it is almost a pity that we are compelled to speak and think of the two together; for however meagre and inefficient they may be as dramatic representations of the Novels themselves,-these dramas are certainly very obvious improvements on the wretched farrago of cant and common-place that we have 4 K been obliged to endure whenever we were disposed to hear any of our delightful English singers. and common-place. It is called Too late for Dinner. The first part of it is droll enough. A younger brother— Most of the characters in this opera mad-headed, merry, and mischievous are mere unfinished etchings of the -but proud, pennyless, and named originals: like those impressions which Poppleton-meets with a lovely girl at are thrown off from fine plates at an a ball-which is very likely; and falls early stage of the engraving. This is in love with her which is very natnot the case, however, with Mrs Faw- ural; and gets half tipsy with chamcett's Elspeth-which is really a most paigne-punch on the strength of his finished and impressive copy of the passion-which is very pleasant; and original picture. Her costume and gets taken to the watchhouse in conface are absolutely perfect. They are sequence-which is very proper; and the only things in this or any of the contrives to escape from it-which is preceding dramas which do not detract very proper too or we know nothing from our recollections of the same of casuistry: which, by the bye, is things in the novels. Mr Liston played very probable. However, he does esMr Jonathan Oldbuck with a good cape, and takes refuge in a house the deal of chasteness and discrimination; door of which is accidentally standing and accordingly, the performance was open-probably in consequence of some neither very characteristic nor very one having gone in or out and neglectentertaining for the power of this ed to shut it. (There's nothing like a actor's genius consists, not in embody- habit of accounting for things.) This ing and illustrating the droll thoughts house happens to be the residence of of others, but in exhibiting his own. his unknown fair one, who is living It would be a fine thing to see a farce with her aunt-as many unknown fair in which no part of Liston's character ones do-the more's the pity! Frank should be "set down for him," ex- (that is the scape-grace's name), findcept the exits and entrances-the ing no one stirring, lays himself down blanks being left to be filled up by on a sofa-covers himself with a wothe inspiration of the moment. It man's pelisse which is at hand—and would be played every night for a takes a little "horizontal refreshmonth, and we should go to see it ment," as he calls it. In the mean every time! We did not at all ad- time the aunt has heard a noise-for mire Mr Emery's Edie Ochiltree. It your aunt is an animal gifted with unwas much too bluff and blustering. commonly sharp ears when there are This piece is also extremely deficient pretty nieces, and such small deer," in the musical department of it-a cir- in the case-so she comes down stairs, cumstance difficult to be accounted and mistaking Frank for the maid who for, considering the fund of Scottish had been sitting up for her young and other national melodies which still lady-rouses him from his nap. He, remain absolutely unknown to a gene- in turn, mistakes her for one of the ral audience; but which a general au- watchmen about whom he was dreamdience would be quite as able to ap- ing; and she, not to be behind hand, preciate and enjoy as a select one-if mistakes him for a thief; and the surnot better for the beauty of old na- prise, confusion, and terror are very tional music-and particularly of Scot- mutual and very amusing. So far so tish-is of a kind that demands no- good. But the rest of the Farce does thing but an unsophisticated ear and not keep pace with the beginning. heart to understand and feel it: And The fun-such as it is-consists in the if musical science succeeds in improv- younger brother Frank, being mising the one of these requisites, it per- taken for his elder brother Fred, a sohaps quite as often throws a wiry net- ber, steady, quietly-disposed person, work over the other, which, while it of moral habits and moderate income excludes imitative beauty, obstructs who is saddled with all the expenthe entrance of the true. The only ses-mental, bodily, and pecuniarystriking song in the Drama before us, of Frank's jokes and extravagancies. is one sung by Miss Stephens, in very slow time, to the air of Ally Croaker. The New Farce. THE Farce at this theatre is said to be by Mr T. Hooke; and it possesses his characteristic liveliness, impudence, - Besides these characters there is a Cockney calico-printer, who is rather a poor epitome" of Lubin Log. It is, of course, played by Liston. This Farce is, upon the whole, rather indifferent. The dialogue is not so smart as Mr Hook's generally is; but it has one very good hit-and only one. Mrs Thomson, the aunt, is the relict of an East India captain: but Frank thinks her husband is still alive, though abroad; and in order to make friends with the old lady, pretends to be in correspondence with him. He says, "I've heard from Captain T. since you did, I dare say.". "Heard from him!" she exclaims."Yes," F. adds, "he complains very much of the heat where he is now!"This told very well; but Mr Hook must take care it does not tempt him into too intimate a familiarity with such ticklish subjects. We know what a smart hand Mr Hook is at practical jokes; but the devil is a devilish deal smarter. We believe Mr H. though a dramatic author, does not yet know what it is to be damned.* Ivanhoe, or the Templar. The drama of Ivanhoe, or the Templar, is much better managed at this Theatre than that on the same subject at Drury Lane. The characters are better marked and sustained throughout-not excepting that of Isaac ; and the costume, scenery, &c. are much more carefully and skilfully attended to. But we are again compelled to think of the whole in connection with the novel; and then all becomes comparatively feeble, flat, and spiritless. We might probably have been highly amused and interested by this drama, if we could have forgotten the novel-but, fortunately, that cannot be. Ivanhoe is given to Mr C. Kemble; and though there is little for him to do, it is at all times a treat to see this gentleman in characters connected with the days of chivalry. His noble head and person, his fine voice, and his "gallant bearing," leave nothing to be desired. Mr Macready played Sir Reginald Front de Boeuf, who is made a Templar; and part of Sir Brian's character is not unskilfully amalgamated with that of the Norman Baron. All the scenes with Rebecca are given to him instead of to Sir Brian; and these---together with the remorse he feels at the remembrance of the events of his early life in connection with his murdered parent, and Ulrica-make his character the most prominent in the piece. Mr Macready played it with great judgment and ef The fect; and the last scene-where he is confined in the burning turret by Ulrica, and left to perish in the flames was very powerful and fine. character of Isaac of York was most admirably played by Mr W. Farren. There was all the sordid and grovelling humility of the original---all the habitual appearance of age and helplessness till terror and misery had goaded him to despair; and then his slumbering passions and paternal feelings seemed to burst and blaze forth with a strength and vividness proportionate to the power which had kept them down, and to the length of time they had remained in that condition. There were two or three very fine bursts of real passion in this performance-particularly where he starts up from his posture of humility on finding that no ransom will induce Sir Brian to release his daughter. On these occasions there is a total absence of that hard and wiry manner which is the only fault of Mr Farren's acting; but which at present very much detracts from the value of the most of his performances, and assimilates them too much to each other. If he could get rid of this-and he easily may, for he is still very young-he would be the most classical actor we have in his line. There can be little doubt that this gentleman has all his life fed on nothing but the Clerk of Copmanhurst's ostensible fare of dried peasehe is so parched and withered. He is like one of those Italian figures of baked clay. We would advise him to addict himself a little more to the aforesaid jolly friar's real fare of venison pasty and canary. Let him, by all means, dine two or three times a week at Brunet's or George's. But let him be moderate; we limit him, in the article of wine, to a pint of Hock at dinner, a pint of old port after, and a pint of La fitte after that. (He will get all these in pints at George's-rather slim ones, by the bye.) After these he may take one demiet-tasse of Coffee, and one petitver of marasquin. If this should encroach upon his salary a little too much at first, the effects of it will entitle him to demand a proportionate one hereafter. He has "that within" which meagre diet and thin drink will never bring out. He should, also, Since writing the above we find that the Farce is by Mr Jones, who plays Frank Poppleton. |