The Sun.
London, England, 1848-06-22 00:00:00

ENGLAND AND SPAIN.
TO THE EDITOR OF 7'HE SUN.
• Sett,—ln the correspondence which has recently
taken place betws en Lord Palmerston and Senor
Isturitz, his Lordship admits that the position
of British ambassadors at Madrid is injuriously
affected, and their influence compromised, by the
fr. quent reclamations they are under the necessity
of making in reference to the claims of British sub-
jects on the Spanish Government. That Government
acknowledges the justice of those claims as well as the
sacred obligation it is under to satisfy them, and for
years past has been repeatedly promising to do so.
Those promises, however, yet remain unfulfilled; awl
why then, I would ask, does our Government not put an
end to these evils, by taking possession of the Spanish
colonies, and retaining them until Spain shall think fit
to fulfil the obligations she has contracted with British
subjects ? Does it refrain from so acting for the pur-
pose of disproving the allegations of the Spanish Minis-
ters, that England was actuated by selfish motives in
rendering assistance to Spain? Even this end will not
ba obtained by its forbearance, for those Ministers,
through their organs of the press in Madrid, boast that
England is now too powerless and her Government too
pusillanimous to dare to assume a hostile attitude to
wards them. Let our own Government, then, concede
to Spain the right to boast she is under no obligation
fbr the assistance she received from us, at her own urgent
entreaties; hut let it now at least consult British in-
terests by-taking efficacious measures to compel Spain to
fulfil the obligations she contracted with England and
with British subjects. By adopting this course, it will
not only perform an act of justice towards thousands,
who have a just claim to its protection, but our own
suffering colonists would thereby be relieved, the horrors
of Spanish colonial slavery be mitigated, and a fatal
blow would be struck at the iniquitous and diabolical
slave trade.—l am, Sir, your obedient servant,

AN ENGLISHMAN.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE SUN.

SIR, I cannot refrain from expressing to you the un-
qualified pleasure with which I have read all you have
written on the question at issue between Lord Palmers-
ton and the Duke de Sotomayor. It is characterised
throughout by a knowledge of the real merits of the
case, and by what I may term an intuitive sagacity,
which are beyond all praise. You alone, of all our daily
press (so far as I have been able to judge it), have seen
this matter in its true light. The Times, Daily News,
Morning Chronicle, and I think the Morning Advertiser,
have all been on the wrong scent; of course the Morning
Post, Herald, and Standard have no further or higher
idea of the matter than how they may may turn it to a
party advantage, and accordingly they bark at Lord
Palmerston's heels. Of the hebdomidal papers, which I
see here and there, my general impression is that they
have not c,inprehended the true merit of the case.
The rock upon which the whole of the press, and a
large portion of our not over-well informed Members of
the Houses of Parliament have split, has been that Lord
Palmerston did wrung to vex " the proud Castilian" by
writing his celebrated note to Sir H. Bulwer, in which
his Lordship authorised his Minister to give some good,
plain, perhaps unpalatable advice to Sotomayor (mean-
ing always Narvaez), as to his mode of carrying on the
Government of Queen Isabella.
The Peers in the House of Lords, the gentlemen in
the House of Commons, and the writers in the English
press, who have run a tilt with Lord Palmerston, on the
ground that he had unnecessarily wounded the Castilian
pride of Narvaez, Sotomayor, and Co., are merely the
many Don Quixotes running with lance in rest against
windmills.

The Spanish people, considered in their aggregate
character, are a tine people ; but, unhappily, they have
fallen upon evil days, in regard to their rulers and pub-
lic men. These are venal, unprincipled, arrogant, igno.
rant, selfish, and mean, and they misgovern Spain. I
speak generally, and I am happy to say that there are
exceptions, proving the rule.
Well, Narvaez—an unmitigated tyrant, and the
meanest of mankind—comes to the conclusion in
his own addled brain, and in the ignorance of the
affairs of England, that the Chartists are about to reign
paramount, and that at all events Lord Palmerston and
Sir Henry Bulwer (ese Lord Palinerston, con. su amigo
Bulver) are about to fall, and that accordingly the time
had arrived for the ass to kick the dead lion. So in his
magnanimity he sends Sir Henry Bulwer off, but, per si
acaso, in case of accidents, he also sends Count Mirasol

to explaie.
Be assured, Sir, that if Narvaez and his clique could
for one moment have foreseen the denouement of their
dismissal of Sir Henry Bulwer, they would sooner have
chopped off their little fingers than have proceeded as
they did. They committed, as we say now, " a grave
mistake."

Narvaez will fall in consequence of his arrogance, his
meanness, his folly, and his ignorance. Lord Palmerston
will be recognised more clearly than ever as the most
consummate diplomatist, and what is more to his honour,
the most dignified and best defender of his country's
rights that modern times has produced for this happy
nation.

That you may know that these are the sentiments of
one long acquainted with Spanish character and feelings,
and in no way connected with Lord Palmerston, I in-
close my card, which you may show to any one you
please. To y ourseli lam wholly unknown, but I repeat
that your mode of seeing, or rather foreseeing, all the
bearings of the question, displays an insight into na-
tional character, an observation of diplomatic detail, a
sagacity in analyzing it, and a wisdom in anticipating
the ultimate judgment which is to be pronounced upon
it—all deserves the meed of praise from those who wish
to see the best interests of England well understood and
we 11 handled by the press.
London, June 19, 1848. R.

ST. JAMES'S THEATRE.
THEATRE HISTORIQUE.
Lait night, at the above house, the members of M.
Dumas's " Theatre Historique" fairly bad their revenge
on the British public who had so boisterously interrupted
their intended exhibition at Drury-lane last week. They
sent them all to sleep, except thuse (no inconsiderable
number), whom they had previously sent out of the
house. We had a shrewd suspicion, having read the
play, that this would have been the result at Old Drury,
if the British lion had allowed for once the Gallic cock
10 crow upon the "legitimate" dunghill. We la-
boured under a strong impression that if the much-
dreaded evil were suffered to work itself out in the
usual way, uninterrupted, it would have carried with
it its own antidote, and left
" native talent " nothing
to dread in this line at any rate, however it
may have to compete with our vivacious neigh-
bours in the lighter species of dramatic performance.
410 lite Cristo is a very dull drama, quite as common-
place as anything ever produced at the ,Surrey or Co.
burg Theatres, end extending over more than twice the
ordinary space of time. The performance commenced
at eight, and did not terminate till a quarter to one, and
contains less of " striking" incident, less of " strongly
marked " character, less of the " tableau" matter than
any melo-drama we ever sat out. For the language (we
have read it through with dogged industry), we may say
that a greater amount of pointless small talk, only re-
lieved occasionally by very heavy fustian, was never before
submitted to the perusal of the Lord Chamberlain of her
Majesty's household. But the great point upon which we
complain of M. Dumas is, that although he states in his
play-bill that each part of his ten-act drama is complete
in itself—we can discover no completed idea in the first
which we last flight sat out. There are certain require
meats to completeness in a story; one of which is, that it
should have a beginning
and an end, to say nothing
of a middle.
.Now M. Dumas's story has a be-
ginning, but it has no end, and no middle. It is,
as far as the part is concerned, a beginning
" run mad." The second part, perhaps, will bring all
those who assisted at the first to their senses, including
the author, should he be so fortunate as to be present.
But let us try and give an idea of the tedious vicissitudes
in the story, as far as it goes. The first act opens with
the deck of the Pharaon, a merchant vessel, which has
just arrived at Marseilles, the captain having died on
the voyage home. On comes the owner, who is very
sorry tor the loss of the captain, and appoints Edmond
(afterwards Monte Cristo), second in command, to the
eerth. Edmond is very grateful; but, having a father
and a sweetheart on shore, takes leave to go ashore to
see them—father first, sweetheart afterwards—not very
gallant, but doubtless very proper and moral. Mean

time, it appears that Edmond has an enemy on board,
a mesamate, Danglars, wbo is jealous of his advance-
ment, and also an enemy on shore, Fernand, a Catalan,
who is jealous of the favour he receives from the
sweetheart. These two gentlemen meet together
just before the repas des fiancailles, and resolve to
put Edmond between tour stone walls. So they
concoct a letter to the Procureur du lloi, partly
founded on fact, stating that Edmond en the way home
has stopped at the Isle of Elbe, and brought a letter
from the mareschal of the usurper (Napoleon) to
his agent in Paris; and so prompt is, or was, the execu-
tion of justice upon suspicion in France, that in the
. midst of the feast poor Edmond is marched off to prison,
where he languishes three years and nine months; the
fair sweetheart, Mercedes—dear, ingenious, devoted
creature!—in the mean time marrying the aforesaid Fer-
nand, the rival and deadly enemy of the man she was so
very fond of. We could willingly pause to contemplate
this domestic picture; but unhappily, we have only one
glimpse at Madame de Moncart's salons (her husband
has been ennobled for his exploits in Greece), before we
are immured, a perpetuite, in the dungeon of the forlorn
Edmond in the Chateau d'lf. We will skim over this
painful period as hastily as possible, not dwelling upon
poor Edmond's long and vociferous descriptions of the
horrors of solitary imprisonment, delivered by M. Me-
lingue, by the way, in much too passionate a tone fur
one who had felt the slow-killing effect of such a
course of treatment. We come to the denouement,
which consists in the escape of the hero from prison
under the following circumstances:—An old gentleman,
long a prisoner in the next cell, dies suddenly, having
previously revealed the existence of certain treasures of
much value in-Monte Christo; he dies, and his body is
put into a sack, in order to being thrown into the sea,
by way of burial. Edmond seizes the opportunity—
takes the body out of the sack, which he appropriates to
himself; and so concealed is carried to a high point out-
side the battlements of the chateau, and thrown into the
sea. An agitate movement in the orchestra follows; and
Edmond having got out of the sack, mounts upon an in-
hospitable rock, in the midst of the roaring ocean, ex-
claiming "Je Buis satri‘!" and then the curtain falls.

It would be unjust to deny that -iii7aC;;;
engaged in this tedious performance showed con

sieleiable merit, in a certain
me-
lodramatic ; but it would be untrue to say that
in this line of business they displayed anything
to eclipse that which has been done, and is
done every day over the water, by our vehement native
melodramatists at the Surrey and Victoria theatres. M.
Melingue is an energetic man of considerable status,.
In the earlier scenes be is a sorry counterpart of our
Long Tom Coffins, whilst in the latter he rants and gri..
maces after a fashion which would only provoke laughter
at either of the classic houses we have lately named.
The most amusing part of the performance was a little
bit by M. B utin, in the second act, who, half mali-
ciously and half friendly inclined towards the hero, who
is an old friend of his, gave a good specimen of the
growth and progress of drunkenness in weak vessels.
The play was applauded occasionally with vehemence
in the earlier scenes; but towards the end the interest
gradually decined, and by the time the curtain tell, the
house, which was but poorly filled at the commence-
ment, was nearly empty.