The Sun.
London, England, 1863-11-02 00:00:00

THE SUN, LOADON MONDAY EVENING, NOVEMBER 2, 1863,

for Mr. BEECHER to tell us since 1850 he
has stoutly maintained that " the Union with
slavery is a lie," but we are all very
well aware that. such is not the predominant feel-
ing of the Federal States or of the LINCOLN Govern-
ment. The main object of the North undoubtedly
is to secure the continuance of the immense profit
which they have hitherto derived from Southern
slave labour by the vast trade which passed through
New York. Let this be restored with its con-
comitant advantages, and the Fugitive Slave Law,
the refusal to hear blacks in evidence, and every
other atrocity of the slave trade, will become part
and parcel of the Constitution for an indefinite
period, It is this hypocrisy and inconsistency
which has disgusted England in the principles of
the North, no less than the savage cruelty of the
Federals has shocked her in the practice of the war,
Long ago one of our sturdy English poets told us a
fable of the sort, pointing his moral with the well-
known lines—

" He blamed and protested but joined in the plan,
He shared in the plunder but pitied the man."
We have now a striking instance of the same elas-
tic sort of theoretical virtue, but it is a little too
much to hear it styled "self devotion, love of coun-
try, and love of God." When we hear of commer-
cial jealousy, timeserving, ignorance, and misre-
presentation, suppression and distortion of the
truth, quietly ranked among English iofluences,we
aro inclined to think that Mr. BEECHER'S own
nation has sat for the likeness. This, it must be
remembered, is a specimen of such mild and peace-
ful oratory as has given great offence to his Ame-
rican friends. We are inclined to ask, with the
peasant who preferred an indirect request to a
somewhat hasty tempered monarch, having been
assured he was in a particularly good temper, and
narrowly escaped with his head for his pains,
u What must his Mijesty's bad tempered mornings
be ?"

" BEL DEMONIO. "

Mr. Pechter at the Lyceum,

a
Theevreencienption accorded to Mr. Fechttr en Satur-
dayat the Lyceum Theatre, upon the
opening of that popular house foiethe new season,
1863:1864, afforded signal evidence of the estima-
tion in which that great artist is held by the Lon-
don public, both for his rare, in some respects, his
consummate, genius as r.n Actor, and for his almost
equally rare combination of taste and enterprise as
a theatrical manager, Other tokens there were of
his popularity—visible at a glance on Saturday—
even before the rising of the curtain. The densely
crowded state of the house from floor to roof was
one. Another and a still more noteworthy attes-
tation of the intellectual stand he has taken amongst
us, was the fact that, upon scanning the audience in
almost any direction, we could not but recognise,
scattered amongst them in stalls, boxes, and dress
circle, men of mark in London society of almost
all the intellectual profess:ens without one exception.
Even the popular preacher was there, in defiance
alike of one brief, momentary glimpse of the ballet
(the Tarentella in the fifth tableau), and in spite
of the threatening that the lengthened hours might
eneroach upon the Sunday, a threat so unavoidably
realised by reason of the first night's performance as
to scare him and others away shortly before the
actual arrival of midnight. Plentifully sprinkled
amongst the audience, however—to return to our
former remark—were celebrities of all the more
intellectual professions—drawn thither as ardent
admirers of Mr. Fechter as an artist, and, many
of them, as warm personal friends of his as an
accomplished scholar and gentleman. There, con-
spicuous amongst even these, was the great realistic
Novelist of the Age, the greatest Humourist in
English Literature. There, moreover, were the
leading members of the theatrical profession, rival
managers,contemporary actors, distinguished artists,
dramatists, authors, critics (as a matter of course).
members of the Academy and members of the Legisla-
ture, members of the bar, and members of the press in
abundance. Curiosity had been piqued in regard
to the entertainment itself, and, in a peculiar man-
ner, also in regard to its very appointments. Before
entering into any particulars, however, we might
say here, at once, that the curiosity thus excited
Was in no way disappointed. We will even add
that the eager hopes and expectations of the majo-
rity were, for the most part, realised and, where
realised, were realised to the full. Of the opening
piece we should prefer to say nothing whatever.
Meaning the comedietta, preposterously entitled
" Uncle Baby." That the first piece should
have been listened to with impatience, what-
ever its character, was only, it may be said, what
might reasonably have been expected, what was
all but inevitable, under the circumstances. But
then, unhappily, the dramatic trifle selected as a
stop-gap between the filling of the house,
at seven, and the commencement of the piece,
at twenty minutes after eight on Saturday
evening, was one intrinsically laying only too dis
tinct a claim already applied by us to the title of it.
One stentorian voice in the very midst of the per-
formance of it, called with evident disgust for
the descent of the curtain at once ! The courtesy of
the rest of the audience, however, permitted it to
wind its reel of nonsense out to a close—the curtain
falling then, however, amidst evident signs of dis•
satisfaction. Then, at length, he it added—
more than in compensation—came what was
more than the mere bon bouche of the night's feast,
came in fact (literally enough) the piece de
resistance. The advent of it, as a grand attrac-
tion for the new season had during some weeks been
announced upon the walls and hoardings of
the metropolis by mysterious placards,
reading simply in huge gaudy letters "Bel
Demonio, a Love Story." What Bel Demonio
might be (even when it had become known that it
was the title of the new play at the Lyceum, and
not, as some had supposed, the name of another
sensation romance) was left until Saturday evening
purely to the imagination. This drama of " Bel
Demonio," however, had not very long commenced,
when the more discerning playgoers, who happened
to be gifted with retentive memories, found it to be
no stranger at all requiring any very ceremonious
introduction. It turned out to be a sufficiently old
friend—though one coming to us now with a very
new face indeed. The beautiful romantic drama in
Four Acts or Twelve Tableaux, now performing
nightly at the Lyceum, was first performed
in this country no less than a dozen
years ago, under another title, it is true,
and according to another version, at the Olympic.
In 18M the play was entitled Sixtus the Pi fth—
virtually the same play now, in 1863, entitled Bel
Demonio. Then, in 1851, in was announced as
dramatised by Mr. Boucicault and Mr. Bridgman,
the former of whom was recognisable in the stalls
on Saturday, looking on, we may rest assured, with
no unfriendly eye at this new and charming double
of his own " Sixtus the Fifth." The drama of " Bel
Demonio" was announced upon the playbills as
" taken by Mr. John Brougham from Stendhal's
Italian Chronicles." Before the plot of the love
story, thus twice told dramatically, had, however,
been taken, even twelve years ago, by Mr.
Brougham's predecessors from those same old Italian
Chronicles, it had been made the theme of a roman-
tic narrative, if we mistake not, by the vivid pen of
M. Paul Feval. However this may be, here is the
lovely old story beheld k gain under a newer an dmore
beautiful aspect than ever—dramatised with singu-
lar ability by Mr. John Brougham, and put upon
the stage of the Lyceum Theatre with a splendour
of appointments, of costume, and of scenery that
has rarely, if ever, been witnessed, that, in some
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arrangement. In several of the tableaux it is far
more than anything that has hitherto gone
by the name of scenery. The interiors often,
the landscapes always, being built up in a
wonderful manner—presenting to view in some
instances, as in the opening scene of the Old
Abbey Ruin, or still more in the exquisite moonlit
scene of the Mountain Torrent, with the bridge and