The Press. — London, England, 1856-05-10 00:00:00

scribing the origin and progre3s of the work, from which the reader may see that the pursuit of Entomology is as exhilarating as it is curious. The book has had the good fortune to become at once popular and authoritative, from its union of scientific precision, most careful origin al research, multitudinous facts, and an easy, unstudied manner of description. Modern Society in Rome. A Novel. By J. R. Bests, Esq. London : Hurst and Blackett. Tins is one of those books in which the roal events of modern days are introduced under the disguise of fiction. It is extremely difficult to define what is le gitimate and illegitimate in literature. It is ridicu• ions for criticism to depreciate compositions which fascinate the public mind, and which will be read though, as Goldsmith says in his preface to " The Vicar of Wakefield," a thousand faults be found in them. If a writer of genius chooses to take the last Queen's Drawing-room for his subject, and can make out of it a romance which shall engage the sympathies of all readers, what pedantry would it be to object to it that it violated rules of art, in confounding what was purely real with what was purely fictitious. But when these elements of fact and fiction, of reality and romance, are mingled together, we have a right to require that some purpose shall be answered, though the purpose be no higher than to enchant us for the time. It will not do for a writer to throw reality into the shape of romance merely that he may not be brought to task for the accuracy of his statements, and that he may indulge in a looseness of narration which in memoir-writing would not be permitted. His work should be one thing or another—it should have the solid value of true statement, or it should have the interest and art of novel-writing. Mr. Beste's book is one which, though clever, fulfils neither condition ; as a novel it is contemptible, as a memoir it is not to ba depended upon. Yet the siege of Rome, which it is intended to commemorate, one of those terrible episodes of modern history, uniting in itselt so much to admire and so much to deprecate, so much to at tract and so much to repel, so much to give hope and so much to inspire despair as regards the future of Italy, that, let it be related in however clumsy and imperfect, and even unreliable a manner, it will still be likely to obtain readers and fasten it , elf on the mind. The history of that siege truly related, with all its events day by day and hour by hour, would be one of the most striking books ever written. Even Mr. Beste's rude framework of fact, with his ex tremely artificial, waxwork sort of inventions, is not without such merit as the novels in penny periodicals possess. He does not tell us, however, while speaking of his familiarity with Roman glnciety, whether he was present at the siege of Rome; and, if he was not, it cannot be conceded that his representations have the worth of reality. The latter portion of the book, describing the flight of Garibaldi from Rome, his wanderings when hunted down as a brigand, with his poo; high-couraged wife, Anita, sharing all his dan gers, and her death at last from sheer exhaustion and fatigue, will most powerfully seize the reader's atten tion. Many stories have we heard of him and her which strongly moved our sympathy, but that mist of time which magnifies while it brightens must gather about them and the scenes in which they played their part before romance can appropriate them. The sunrise and sunset are more favorable to poetic aspect than the noonday ; and perhaps, to pursue the figure, vision is truly clearer when light is oblique than when it is vertical, when objects cast the longest rather than the shortest shadow. The composition of Mr. Beste's work is good, and there are reflections in it, resulting from the autho►'s familiarity with the Roman character, well worth reading. The following, suggested by the crowding and confusion in St. Peter's on a high festival, is amusing : " Wherefore, your Eminence," asked Mr. Agelthorpe a few days later of the President of the Council, Cardinal Antonelli, for whose superintendence nothing seemed to be too great or too little ; " wherefore do you issue more tickets than the tribunes really contain of seats?" " We so avoid giving offence," replied the Minister. " The French Ambassador, for example, sends for one hundred tickets to distribute among his friends and coun trymen, the Tuscan Minister will send for fifty, the Aus trian Ambassador for one hundred and fifty, Prince Tor lonia for one hundred ; it is easiest for us to give all they ask to all, and to let the holders of the tickets fight it out afterwards among themselves." It is remarked, to the honour of the Roman revo• lutionists, that, "during the whole course of this " siege, the persons and property of foreigners of " every nation were scrupulously respected." In his last chapter the author reviews the present state and future prospects of Italy—both gloomy enough. Pied mont upholds the cause of constitutional freedom, but it is doubtful whether her Government—" struggling " with the members of its own Parliament, who re " proach it with having undertaken a bootless and " Quixotic adventure to support France and England " —will be able to hold its ground. At present, it seems not unlikely that the temptation held out to Piedmon t THE PRESS, to make common cause with the allies in the war, may prove the overthrow of the last refuge of free government in Italy. Ce que c'est qu'une Actrice I Par le Baron Frederic) de Reiffenberg fils. Paris : Levy FrAres. WHAT is an actress? To judge from the seventy pages offered us by the Baron Frederic de Reiffen berg fils as a solution of this enigma, the question must be as difficult as Sir Robert Peel's famous inquiry, " What is a pound ?" Is an actress really what she seems to be—a fairy being ascending through a trap-door to right the injuries of innocence, and to consign the guilty tyrant to endless misery ? Is she a Pen, with a mind as spotless and pure as her floating drapery? A more decided negative than that contained in the volume before us could hardly be pronounced. M. de Reiffenberg shows us the actress courted by every one during the spring-time of her life, smiling on bankers, and confessing naively that she likes their profession ; dispensing her favours to the rich, but also courting the drama tists that she may get good parts, and dramatic critics that they may praise her acting in their feuille tons ; worshipping " Monsieur le Directeur ;" with a duenna whom she appoints herself, who takes the nams and duties of a mother at a salary; married sometimes to a man who is Doctus spectare lacunar, Doctus et ad calicem vigdiutti stertere uaso; finally, all her beauty gone, prematurely old, standing outside the doors of the theatre selling playbills. Such is an actress; such is, we fear, only too faithful a picture of a life so much envied by the uninitiated, so much regretted by those who have exhausted its fleeting pleasures. We need scarcely wonder, after reading the record of such a life, that a celebrated actress on quitting the stage said that the reprobation of the Church, the absurdity of being French without enjoying the rights of citizenship, the silence of the laws as to the slavery and oppression of actors, made her feel the weight, the danger, and the degradation of her chains so heavily that she could not consent to bear them any longer. Mlle. Mars, "a queen on whom every " one smiled for sixty years," earnestly counselled a friend not to let her daughter go on tire stage while she was rich enough to make her an honest .woman by marrying her to an honest man. A vaudeville lately produced in Paris represents Sophie Arnould vainly seeking a companion to share her New Year's day dinner among her numerous admirers, and draws thence a moral the truth of which the greatest actresses have been compelled to acknowledge. Having shown us what an actress is, M. de Reif fenberg sketches "Monsieur le Directeur," whom lie calls the sultan of the theatre, an autocrat only second in power to the Czar of Russia. See how the performers bow down before him, how prodigal the actresses are of their smiles ! Talma called this worship sacrificing to Baal. Then the director's favorite actress, what powers she exercises ! Every play that has a part for her is sure of acceptance. Every author makes her the heroine of his piece ; so that Clytemnestra, as represented by her, is no more a Greek queen, but a French actress. We have gathered, rather than quoted, these facts from M. de Reiffenberg's pages, because he is unne cessarily verbose, and writes in that elliptical style that defies translation. To cut up every thought into half a dozen short paragraphs is the chief cha racteristic of this style, which seems to some French authors the highest and most perfect species of fine writing. We quote the following passage as an exem plification of our meaning : Puisque vous me deinaudez ce que c'est qu'une ac• trice, je n'eutrerai pas dans les subdivisions, et ie ne me deciderai pas it individualiser, car it y en a trop d'especes . _ L l actrice de hon ton, et l'actrice de mauvaise compagnie ; L'actrice qui jure, et cello qui pule la bouche en cceur: L'actrice qui se vend, et cello qui achete ; L'actrice qui rit, et l'actrice qui pleura ; L'actrice qui dense, et l'actrice qui chante ; Et ccetera, passez. THE NEW 'RUSSIAN BOUNDARY.—A very useful map, lately published by Mr. Wyld, shows on one side the whole extent of the Russian empire, with the acqui sitions it has made from its neighbours for more than a century past ; and on the other side is a map of the Danubian provinces, with Bessarabia, and the new line of boundary as determined by the treaty of peace. This map is also useful for its notes on the trea ties by which Russia has secured her amazing increase of territory. Another map, of smaller size, pub lished by Stanford, shows very clearly the new boundary as settled by treaty, and the exact extent of territory Russia will give up. The line set tled is much more favorable to Russia than the one proposed, as she will have to yield less than half the territory originally contemplated, and will retain the eastern bank of the Truth, from the point where it enters the Austrian territory down to Kotimore—a distance of more than a hundred miles. mu SATURDAY, lint 4rts. ROYAL ACADEMY. - (Second Notice.) THOUGH many of the ordinary contributors furs' nothing this year, the collection on the whole rilsi above the average in general excellence. There is no great work, either in subject, style, or treatmentt but the general impression in the mind of the visitor is certainly one of perfect satisfaction. Neither East. lake, Mulready, Creswick, Cope, nor Herbert furnish a single work, while the contributions of Landseer, Webster, Leslie are either scanty in number or in ferior to previous efforts. To begin with the works of' that class of artists which, whatever be its actual merits or demerits, cer • tainly somehow manages to attract a larger share of public attention than any other—we mean the Pre• Raphaelites—by far the finest work for power of ex pression and effective telling of a story is one to which neither description nor artist's name is affixed in the catalogue (No. 413). A wounded Cavalier lies on the ground supported in the arms of a Puritan girl, who clasps one of his hands in her own; from behind a tree, in the trunk of which is sticking a broken sword•blade, a young Puritan looks gloomily down on the fallen Royalist. At the feet of the dead or dying man is scattered a pack of cards, the handle of his sword lies on the ground, his armour is slightly rusted, a butterfly basks with wide-opened wings on the sword-blade, while between the tree and the body a spider has spun its web. Out of these few facts, powerfully placed before him, the spectator has to construct his theory of the subject. Our own version is this :—The Cavalier has been gambling in the wood, a duel has arisen, he has been wounded, and, staggering, has struck a wild ill-directed blow at his antagonist, which, taking effect on the tree, has bro• ken his sword in his hand; he has fallen dying to the ground, where he has lain so long that the dew has stained his bright cuirass, and a spider slowly wound her web rround his limbs—so still, that even a butterfly, in perfect confidence, has not feared to settle close to his body. His Puritan "true love," innocent of the fatal brawl, wandering into the wood with a godly admirer and tutor, has found the wounded Royalist,fallen on her knees beside him (with. out startling the butterfly), and now anxiously seeks to call back the colour to that ghastly face and warm those pale shrunk hands, which lie for once so cold and passive in her own. The other admirer looks grimly on—he has discovered the truth—but, mingled with natural jealousy, is the haughty look of self righteousness, the triumph of saint over sinner, as he turns his glance to the fallen Cavalier from the cards, the crushed fern, and the broken blade. His expression is a fine study. We cannot quite decide whether the hero of the picture be dead or no. His face has all the ashy paleness of a corpse; the half opened lids just reveal the dull, glazed eye, and the lips are parted in that smile which is peculiar to death ; a sad smile, as it were, of gentle pity for those who are left behind in this" rough world" to struggle on alone ; but in the manifest sinking or drawing-in of the abdomen we seem to have one symptom of re turning animation ; for after an exposure long enough to have rusted metal, we should be inclined to believe that in summer cricl that it is summer is evidenced by the butterfly) a visibie enlargement of that part of the dead body would have taken place. The girl looks away from her fainting lover's face; her expression is that of anxious breathless atten tion, absorbed and waiting some new sign of life, since no hope can be gained from the rigid stillness of those marble features. There is the usual fault of the pre-Raphaelite school here ; so minute an elaboration of dress, so intense and painful a reality in colour, texture, and arrangement of garments, that the human beings in the picture, in spite of the wonderful force and truth of expression in the heads, look like ghosts in real clothes. Bat it is, minus this obvious fault, a most remarkable work; and we willingly overlook its few weaknesses for the sake of its numerous and striking excellencies and undoubted power and truth. The known apostles of the new pictorial faith are all eclipsed by the success of Mr. Burton, whose future career will, we hope, bear out the full promise given in this remarkable picture. Mr. Millais spreads his strength over five dir ferent works, of which " Peace concluded in ISM ° (No. 200) is the principal. A little girl places in mamma's lap—who is very uneasily seated on papa's lap, and looks absent and generally uncomfortable, papa again lying with his knees elevated on a sofa, and a newspaper in his hand—some toys out of' a " Noah's ark," one of which, a dove with an olive branch in its mouth, she holds up by way of illus trating the ratification of the treaty of peace. Her sister looks straight out of the picture, and seems to be contributing very little to the family jubilation, which however is very calmly expressed by all. We "I