The Press.
London, England, 1856-11-29 00:00:00

THE PRESS.

wife ! The piece is of too dark a nature to be
acceptable to our English feelings ; and such
black chapters in human nature can never be
adequately treated in prose upon the stage.
In order to make them endurable, the medium
of poetry is absolutely requisite, with its as-
pirations and elevated language. But it is not
to the literary merits or failings of this piece
that we desire to draw attention. Its histrionic
presentation, and the admirable acting of Miss
Herbert and Mr. Alfred Wigan, have been
previously noticed in our columns. Let us
rather see how this wonderful and much-
vaunted secret of "form" is attained.

The piece opens with a salon in Paris, and a
crowded evening party. Mine. de Beaupre is
interrogated by one of her female friends about
a certain Count Priuli, a dark Venetian Count,
who had bowed to Mme. de Beaupre in her
morning drive. The general conversation
then turns on Priuli and his extraordinary
appearance, and M. de Beaupre says that
Priuli is to be at the party, and that he shall
be introduced to the company. In comes
Priuli soon afterwards, an insinuating and
brilliant personage, with an air of mysterious-
ness. He is introduced, and converses care-
lessly with some of the parties, when suddenly
a young gentleman, M. Victor de Mornac, goes
up to Priuli, and, recognising him, says,
" Rodolphe! You in Paris? " Upon which
the mysterious stranger replies with asperity,
" My name is not Rodolphe de Mornac ; we
" are not brothers—we are strangers here."
The younger man than asks, " What mystery
"is this ? " and the other replies, " A mystery
"of life and death. Here is my card. At five
to-morrow. Not a word now—go." Then the
dialogue is taken up by M. Oscar de Beaupre,
who reveals to his friend, Count Priuli, that he
(De Beaupre) has an intrigue with the wife of
M. Morisset, one of the company now in the
room, and that Mine. Morisset is now at the
Opera, and that he (Do Beaupre) wants to go
there, and therefore he begs that Priuli will be
good enough to see Mine. de Beaupre to her
carriage.

Accordingly, Priuli approaches, and a dia.
logue ensues, in which he not only makes love
to Mme. de Beaupre, but in which it is dis-
closed that some passages of flirting had been
previously exchanged between them. She
implores of him not to pursue her, and con•
fesses that she had been much to blame.
Priuli alarms her by whispering that her
husband, Oscar de Beaupre, is at that moment
at the Opera paying his attentions to Mme.
Morisset. This statement will not be believed
by Mine. de Beaupre until she asks her young
friend, Victor de Mornac, to go and see
whether M. de Beaupre is at the Opera, under
the pretext of her wishing to take him up in
her carriage 07-1 her return home. Some by-
play and conversational effects are skilfully
introduced, and Victor de Mornac returns
with the news that M. de Beaupre is at the
Opera, and is absorbed in the conversation of
Mine. Morisset. The jealous wife is tortured,
and tells Priuli that she 'll write to him, and
the first act closes with Priuli's exclaiming,
" She's mine at last ! His heart is in my
" gripe." Thus the first act, with its double
intrigues, and its Exhibited antagonism be-
tween De Beaupre and Priuli, is essentially
one of strong situations and powerful emo-
tions. On the hard, stern, and repulsive
features of its subject, on its double immorali-
ties, and the vicious atmosphere in which the
dramatis persona move and breathe, we need
say nothing.
It is in the second act that the skill in
dramatic " form "is seen. The scene opens on
the next day with the appointed meeting be-
tween Priuli and Victor de Mornac, at the
apartments of the former, who has to explain
to his 3 ounger brother the reason for his dis-
guise as a Venetian Count. He thus relates
his tale :

COUlli.—Ten months ago, after two years' cruise in the
Pacific, I landed at Toulon. You can conceive my eager-
ness to see my home, my wife, once more after such an
absence. It was a stormy night when we cast anchor.
was the first man on shore. The cold rain swept along
the streets as I hurried through them to the home where I
had been so happy. I ',,leased every household fire that
glowed ruddy through the window panes. I, too, was
returning to my own hearth-stone—to my wife—whom
every night of these two long years I had prayed for, and
whose sweet image had been my beacon in storm, and
darkness, and danger. I reached the house—my breath

1143

came so thick and fast, I was forced to pause on the
threshold. I looked up—there were lights in the window,
and shadows moved behind them? Could Ibe expected?
Was she looking fur me ? I sprang up stairs. There
were women in the anteroom, so busy, none saw or ques-
tioned me. I passed on to my own room : through the
open door I saw a strange disorder—lights, a crucifix, a
priest by the bedside. They knew me then : they stood
between me and the room. I forced my way in. She was
there, Victor—the wife of my heart, of my prayers, of my
two years' longing love—a white figure on that white bed
—so pale, so still—

The brother interrupts him with some ques-
tions, put in to break the length of the speech,
and Priuli continues thus :
Count.-1 called her by her name—l implored her to
look up—to speak to me—only one word. I lifted the
thin and clammy hind that lay upon her heart. A minia-
ture fell from the relaxing fingers. Victor de Blomac, it
was not my picture !
Viclos.—Brother !

Count.—l sprang up, blind with agony, and staggered to
the door: the priest drew me back to the bedside, and
implored me, as I hoped for forgivenesss myself, to forgive
a dying sinner. I relented—l bent over her for one last
kiss of pardon, when, on my very lip, she breathed another
name. " Oscar " was the name. Scared back to life by
my cry of rage and despair, she opened her eyes : she
knew me, Victor—l saw that in the terror-stricken look
that watched me from the threshold of the torah. " His
name !" I cried. She heard me ; her eyes turned to the
priest; slowly she put her finger on her lip, and so, with a
smile of dreadful meaning, she died
Priuli, having resolved to discover his injurer,
thus concludes his story, which occupies about
fourteen minutes in delivery :

Victor.—You discovered the seducer ?
Count.—No—the guilty secret was well kept. The
priest would not betray his penitent. To question others
might have divulged her shame ; and I loved her still,
Victor—l love her now. But his life was mine. His
portrait furnished the only clue. The painter's name was
on the back. I stabbed the ivory with a knife, and took it
to him for repair of the damage. He looked at it, recog-
nised it, and pronounced the name. Need I tell you that
name? Have you not guessed it already? (He takes a
miniature case from table, opens it and presents it to Victor.)
Look !
Victor.—De Beaupre !

Count.—Ay, De Beaupre !
this was ten months ago, and De Beanpre
still lives. You pass for his friend. How is this?
Count.—Boy, you do not know the alphabet of vengeance.
Rage is sudden; revenge, that deserves the name, is slow
as it is sure. I found her destroyer the husband of a
young and beautiful wife. My plan was soon formed. On
the plea of ill health, I got leave of absence for a year, and
took up my quarters at Nice. There I borrowed the
passport of an Italian friend, and came to Paris under his
name. I had been all my life at sea ; no one knew me. I
easily procured an introduction to De Beaupre ; we became
intimates—what the world calls friends. For these eight
months I have been tracking him silently, stealthily as an
Indian follows his game. At length my quarry stands
fair in view. I may rear my head from behind my screen
of lies, and strike him down.

Here in this skilfully placed narrative is exhi-
bited the main secret of the art of compressing
the events and plot of a novel into the day
and half necessary fur dramatic form, accord-
ing to the Parisian canons. A novice in
writing for the stage would commence such a
piece by the foregoing speech of Priuli, and
then endeavour to follow up the action taken
consecutively according to time. He would
have an interval between the incidents, and
you would read in the playbills " Twelve
" months are supposed to elapse between the
" acts." Far differently does Mr. Tom Taylor,
or a French playwright, proceed. They take
up the action when it is at full swing, just
when the events are on the point of being pre-
cipitated, and right in the middle of the play
a scene is interposed in which a retrospective
narrative or a dialogue is poured forth, for the
benefit of some one of the dramatis pei sone in
particular, and greatly to the advantage of
the audience in general. It is much the same
way, of course, in the standard tragedies of
the French stage ; but in them the form is not
so obvious, because a reader in the closet, or
a playgoer at the theatre, may suppose that
the long narratives were put in with the double
purpose of exhibiting the poet's power of
sonorous versification, or of giving roles for
some brilliant elocutionists of the order of
Le Kain, Talma, or Rachel.
In conclusion, we could desire that the
literary amateurs among our English gentry
would cease writing novels, and unimportant
tours to places that everybody has seen, and
endeavour to write pieces for the stage which
might exhibit freshness and originality. Should
any amongst them be desirous of seeing the
method in which a tale is reduced into dra-
matic form, they need not
example' than in La Pei*:

--

look for a better
du Talion turned
- .

1144

into Retribution ; and the choice of such a story
showed a thoroughly dramatic mind. Until
the stage is raised higher in social estimation,
it is vain to expect an active regeneration of
the drama; and fashion in our aristocratic
country might do something for the Dramatic
Muse. We have amateur actors and actresses
of considerable talent ; why should not we
have amateur dramatic writers ? The capital
burlesque of Midas was originally written for
private theatricals ; and General Burgoyne is
now better known by his posthumous fame as
a dramatist than as a senator or a warrior.
His Maid of the Oaks was composed for private
performance at the Oaks, and played there in
honour of the marriage of the grandfather of
the present Earl of Derby with Lady Elizabeth
Hamilton. No small amount of genius and
wit sparkles in the original prologues an d
epilogues written for private theatricals, as we
could prove by several instances. The whole
subject of " amateur dramatists " we reserve
for another occasion.

Armoires du Due de Raguse. Paris : Perrotin.

(Second Notice.)

Tnz following tale has been told before, but
it is worth repeating, if only to show how
saints may be made in the Popish Church :
A branch of the Bonaparte family is established in
Tuscany, and it was then represented by a canon, residing
at San Miniato, a little town between Pisa and Florence.
We stopped at his house. He took great delight in the
éclat which his cousin gave to their name, but he saw
with a different eye to ours the glory of the earth, and he
wished to see it take root in heaven. A Bonaparte had
been declared " blessed " by some Pope or other, and that
was the first step towards canonisation. The canon de.
aired to see him sanctified, and he took General Bona-
parte aside to supplicate him to employ his influence,
which he supposed to be without bounds, to obtain the
glorious title of " Saint " for his family. Bonaparte
laughed a good deal at the desire of his cousin ; but he
did not satisfy it, and in the negotiations which he subse-
quently entered into with the Pope, he preferred to obtain
some millions and a few pictures to the right of citizen-
ship in heaven for a member of his family.
The Marshal expresses an opinion of French
cavalry, which is ❑ot in accordance with that
of most military writers :
French cavalry, having a good deal of impetuosity, is in
my eyes the best in Europe. I have met many persons
who have contradicted this opinion ; I have even seen
French officers who placed the Austrian cavalry above ours,
but they are mistaken. The Germans are superior to us
for order and the spirit of conservation, but in action
they are much beneath us. French cavalry, with equal
force, has always beaten foreign cavalry, and in a decided
success it has destroyed the enemy—a thing which, to my
knowledge, has never happened to German cavalry.
He thus speaks of the savans who were
made to accompany the army of Bonaparte :
Monge and Berthollet, celebrated ravens, followed head-
quarters, and every evening we spent in conversation with
them. He who has not lived familiarly with sauces of the
first order, simple and cordial in their manners, on
account of their immense superiority, has not known one of
the greatest charms of life. These estimable men initiate
us in the secrets of nature, explain with lucidity the phe-
nomena it presents, study and observe constantly; their
Words are without price.
Bonaparte at the head of the army of Italy
is thus described :--
From the moment Bonaparte was placed at the head of
the army, there was in his manner an authority which im-
posed on everybody. Although he was wanting in natural
dignity, and was even awkward iu his bearing and
gestures, there was something of the master in his atti-
tude, his looks, his manner of speaking, and every one
feeling that was disposed to obey. In public he neglected
nothing calculated to maintain and increase this die-
position ; but at home, with his staff, he displayed great
tare and good nature, which he carried to familiarity. He
liked to joke, and there was never any bitterness in his
jokes—they were gay and of good taste. He often took
part in our games. He got through work with ease ; had
no regular hours, and might always be approached in his
hours of repose ; but when once he had returned to his
study, admission, except on matters of service, was inter•
dieted. When he occupied himself with the movements
of troops, and gave orders •.o Berthier, the chief of his
staff, and when he received important reports requiring
long examination and discussion, he kept near him only
those who were required to take part in the discussion,
and sent away all others, whatever their rank. It has
been said that he slept little, but that is incorrect : he
slept a good deal, and had :great need of sleep, as in the
case with all nervous and active-minded people. I have
often known him pass from ten to eleven hours in bed.
But if it were necessary to sit up, he could do so, and even
take rest in advance for fatigues he foresaw. He pos-
sessed the precious faculty of being able to go to sleep at
will. Once freed from duty and business, he willingly
took part in conversation, certain as he was to shine in it.
The subjects chosen by bite were rather of a moral and
political than &scientific nature; his knowledge of science,
'Notwithstanding all that has been said, was not profound.

THE PRESS.

He liked violent exercise, and was fond of riding, but he
rode very badly.
_

In the account of what took place after
Bonaparte's return to Paris, we read :

The war continued with England, and all efforts were
naturally directed against that power. A descent into
England was talked of. This scarecrow, which had often
been employed without being believed in—this menace,
which had been often renewed without effect—was some
years after likely to be realised; and it would probably have
changed the face of the world. On this occasion General
Bonaparte, who stood so high in public opinion, could
alone be charged with it. He was accordingly nominated
" General-in• Chief of the Army of England," an ambitious
title, which, however, proved our impuisance. The
general desired to obtain detailed information as to the
defensive means of the English, as to the different locali-
ties—all that information, in short, which an able general
knows how to obtain before acting, and which was neces•
miry before fixing his projects. He conceived a strange
idea for procuring it. A certain M. Gallois, a respectable
and eminent man, had a mission unto England about an
exchange of prisoners. At the moment of leaving he,
accompanied by M. de Talleyrand, called on General
Bonaparte. All at once the general flung open the door
of his room and called me in :—" Marmont," said he, " M.
Gallois is about to leave for England with the mission of
treating for the exchange of prisoners ; you will accom-
pany him; you will leave your uniform here; you will
pass for his secretary; and you will obtain such and such
information, make such and such observations," &c. &c.
And he detailed to me my instructions. I listened to him
without interrupting him, and, when he had concluded, I
replied—" I declare to you, general, that I will not go !"
" What! you will not go ? " said he. " No, general," I
answered. " You give me the mission of a spy, and that
is neither within my line of duty nor to my taste. M.
Gallois exercises a mission of admitted espionage; what
you propose to me is out of the pale of accepted conven-
tions. My departure with him would be known to all
Paris, and it would be known in England that his pre-
tended secretary is one of the principal officers of your
staff, your confidential aide-de-camp. Not being protected
by international law, I should be arrested and hanged, or
sent away in disgrace. My life as a soldier belongs to you ;
but it is as a soldier that I must lose it. Send me with a
score of hussars to attack a fortress, and, though certain to
fail, I will go without a murmur, because it is my duty to
do so ; but what you propose is very different." He was
thunderstruck by my reply, and dismissed me, saying, "I
shall find other officers more zealous and docile." This
bold conflict with such a powerful man, this flat refusal to
obey his will, made a great impression on M. de Talley-
rand. When the latter and M. Gallois had left, the
general called me in, and said, "How could you reply to
me in such a way before strangers?" " General," said I,
" I feel that my reply must have made you suffer, from its
apparent impropriety ; but permit me to tell you that you
rendered it necessary. You did not fear to make to me
before them an insulting proposition, and I could not free
myself from the insult except in rejecting it with indigna•
tion before them. If in private you had spoken to me of
the matter, I should have discussed it with you with the
respect I feel for you." He understood me, but for a long
time was very cold to me. Duroc, to whom I gave an ac-
count of what had taken place, cried, " I am very glad that
he did not address himself to me, for I should not have
dared to refuse " Sulkowsky, who was present at the ex-
planation I had with the general, and who feared that he
might be selected for the mission, hastened to prevent any
proposition by saying, " General, none of us would have
undertaken such a mission!" There was no more talk of
the matter.

Bonaparte visited the different dock} ards to
see if the projected expedition were possible,
and on his return he said to Marmont :
There is nothing to be done. . . We should want
a flotilla for the expedition, and the Engli3h have more
vessels than we have. The preparations indispensable for
our success are beyond our power.

With two more quotations we must con-
clude, and we make them because they are so
peculiarly French. Who but a Frenchman
could thus complacently relate an intrigue
with a married woman ?

At Chalons I met a charming woman, whose husband, a
captain of artillery, had emigrated. She joined remark-
able intelligence to all the seductions of early youth. She
consequently quickly inspired me with a great passion—
it was the first I ever felt. These amours made a greet
deal of noise. The rigour of parents, and the follies it
caused impassioned young people to commit, contributed
to render them public. A circumstance subsequently gave
them an extraordinary celebrity.

At this time Marmont was a mere lad, a pupil
in the Military School ! And who but a
Frenchman could thus speak in a book of his
wife?—

I did not accompany General Bonaparte in his visit to
the dockyards, because I had conceived a project, the suc-
cess of which rendered my life unhappy. Some friends
conceived the idea of marrying me, and they proposed to
one Mlle. Perregaux, daughter of a banker of that name,
destined to possess a large fortune. Mlle. Perregaux was
of an honourable family, and she was pretty and agree-
able. She found me •o her taste, and in two months
everything was prepared and executed. I was very much
in love, and was so for a long time ; but in marrying her
I drew down on myself a thousand misfortunes. I was
only twenty-four years, and was destined to passing life in
running about the world—two fatal circumstances in such
cases. At twenty-four, a young man has not the maturity

SATURDAY,

necessary to feel the value of domestic happiness ; passions
are too impetuous not to lead him to compromise that
happiness. On the other hand, prolonged separation,
giving to a young woman the habit and taste of indepen-
dence, causes her to regard as unsupportable the yoke of a
husband when he returns; whilst during his absence she
remains without defence amongst those who wish to
seduce her. I shall say little of this unhappy union—the
least that I possibly can, though it has played a great part
in the history of my life. Often has it been to me an ob-
stacle by aggravating my woes, my sorrows, and my em-
barrassments; never has tt given me joy, succour, or
consolation : but it has always thwarted and obscured my
destiny. Mlle. Perregaux, with great inequality of cha-
racter, had all the faults of a spoiled child; she was not in-
capable of good movements, but excessive vanity and a
great deal of violence destroyed the effects of them. At a
later period flatterers ruined her, and her wrongs towards
me have been without measure and of all kinds I

We shall not neglect the forthcoming
volumes of the Marshal.

Adventures in the Wilds of the United States and
British American Provinces. By Charles
Lanman. Two Vols. London : Sampson

Low and CO.
Mn. LANMAN is well known for his explorations
in different parts of the United States. He
generally chose for his excursions those tracts
of country where Nature exhibits her grandest
forms, and where cultivation has but partially
interfered with her wildly picturesque aspects.
With nice propriety of expression, Washington
Irving congratulates the author on the merits
of his descriptive sketches :—" They carry us
"into the fastnesses of our mountains, the
" depths of our forests, the watery wilderness of
" our lakes and rivers." No part of these
volumes is more attractive than the
author's account of his tour in the lake coun-
try of North America. The more we read of
this splendid region, the more satisfied we are
that it is surely destined to become the seat
of populous and flourishing settlements and
stately cities. The account given here of the
British lake territory is, on the whole, highly
favorable to its capabilities, to its progress,
and to the surpassing beauty of much of its
scenery. The author travelled with rifle, fish-
ing-rod, and sketch-book, his love of spurt and
art contributing to gi atify each other. He writes
generally in an amiable spirit, with a strong
leaning to the great " domestic institution"
of the South—slavery. His notices of natural
hisi.ory, mainly rounded on personal experience,
at the end of the second volume, are interest-
ing and, in sonic cases, imp( rtant. The secu-
rity with which travellers may wander through
the wildest regions is a striking testimony to
the habits of order, and respect for right, cha-
racteristic of the Anglo-Saxon race.

The volumes are divided into distinct excur-
sions. The first is to the Upper Mississippi
and Lake Country; the second to the great
Canadian streams ; the third to the Alleghany
Mountains ; the fourth to the sources of the
Potomac; the fifth to other districts of the
Canadian rivers, St. John and St. Lawrence ;
the sixth records a winter in the South ; and
the remaining chapters are devoted to subjects
connected with the natural history or social
habits of the United States. All these
divisions are full of readable matter: the
author's adventures are told with modesty,
but are not deficient in spirit; and the leading
features of the countries he visited are de-
scribed with the keen observation of air artist,
perpetually on the watch to seize the most
picturesque and characteristic aspects of
Nature. Some Americanisms of expression
are noticeable, but scarcely offensive; the
a•ithor should get rid of his practice of using
" quite " so continually as an expletive.
His winter is the South seems to have been
passed pleasantly enough. Slavery appeared
to him a beneficent patriarchal custom. He
saw only jolly, well-led negroes, and kind-
hearted proprietors. The chastisement ad-
ministered to slaves was little better than a
formality
The mach talked•of " lash" is nothing but a piece of
leather eighteen inches long and two and a half wide,
which is attached to a wooden handle, and never could
draw blood.

Wu are not so sure of that. Much would
depend on the strength and animus of the
arm that wielded this strap. The author pro-
ceeds :
But not more than one in ten of the slaves on this
plantation were ever touched even by this harmless wrap.

- Ine muen raiseu-er laNll 1/5 limning MIL a piece or
slept a good deal, and had 'great need of sleep, as in the conceived the idea of marrying me, mil 'they proposed to
leather eighteen inches long and tiro and a half wide,
case with all nervous and active-minded people. I have one Mlle. Perregaux, daughter of a banker of that name,
which is attached to a wooden handle, and never could
often known him pass from ten to eleven hours in bed. destined to possess a large fortune. Mlle. Perregaux was draw blood.
But if it were necessary to sit up, he could do so, and even of an honourable family, and she was pretty and agree-
Much would
take rest in advance fur fatigues he foresaw. He pos. able. She found me so her taste, and in two months Wo are not so sure of that.
'eased the precious faculty of being able to go to sleep at everything was prepared and executed. I was very much depend on the strength and animus of the
will. Once freed from duty and business, he willingly in love, and was so for a long time ; but in marrying her arm that wielded this strap. The author pro-
took part in conversation, certain as he was to shine in it. I drew down on myself a thousand misfortunes. I was ceeds :
The subjects chosen by him were rather of a moral and only twenty-four years, and was destined to passing life in
political than &scientific nature; his knowledge of science, running about the world—two fatal circumstances in such But not more than one in ten of the slaves on this
stotwithatanding all that has been said, was not profound. cases. At twenty-four, a young man has not the maturity plantation were ever touched even by this harmless strap.