Public ledger. [volume] (Memphis, Tenn.) 1865-1893, 1874-01-08
THE DRAMATIC LOGAN.

many to deride their best friends is fond
of pooh. pooling the present as an age
of pushing mediocrity wherein true
genius is neglected and contemned.
This is a mistake. True genius now
and always fails of proper recognition
only by failing to make itself known. If
Shakespeare, for example, lacked appre-
citation in his own time, it was because
he neglected to advertise his greatness,
and to let people know how much thete
was in him to admire. Of such an error
Mr.. Dion Boucicault at least. is deter
mined not to be guilty. In a published
manifesto he gave precise notice of the
valuation at which he is to be assessed,
so that hereafter nobody will have an
excuse for miscoHceiving or undertaking
him. he is not to be held up to the ad-
miration of the present and the envy OF
future ages merely as the most brilliant
or the most fertile or the most taking or
the most anything else dramatist of his
time. This might satisfy ordinary men.
But Mr.. Boucicault is not an ordinary
man, and when he tells us with calm
severity that he " happens to be the
only dramatist living whom the English
speaking world have been pleased to ac-
cept as capable of writing legitimate
comedies that have been ranged among
the standard dramas of the past, he
evidently speaks from profound convic-
ton and knowledge Of the object.
To superficial observers this might
seem like egotism and vanity. But, as
Mr.. Boucicault indulgently explains in
another part of his remarkable letter, it
is not. There would be" he says
mildly but firmly, egotism and vanity
in the assumption that | alone am the
person capable Of undertaking this task,
if there we're any other individual living
who could be associated with me in it.
Unfortunately there is not. :" 1t may
be-, he adds with touch OF real pathos,
"a lamentable fact-but it so happens.
Indeed, as he goes on, the contempla-
ton of his loneliness quite oppresses
him. II am alone, he says sadly. 1t
is not a merit to be alone; it is an acci-
dent. The 75,000,O00 people speaking
our language have not furnished me du-
ring the last thirty years with compan-
ion"
That must be a hard-hearted reader
who does not at this point pause to wipe
away tear. Remembrances of Logan,
and of Marius sitting in the ruins of
Carthage, crowd upon his mind, and
with his handkerchief pressed to his
eyes, he waves to Mr.. Boucicault his
sobbing and speechless sympathy. ln-
deed we know OF no reason why Mr.,
Boucicault, sitting alone in this vast, un-
do kbar nc
of distinguished French dramatists,
with no cempanionship but his own
seven or eight hundred plays, is not
as worthy OF sympathy as either Marius
or Logan. He gazes despairngly about
the dreary horizon, and can discern no
approaching help in the task of fur
nishing a succession of fve-act comedies
and plays to constitute modern drama
of this day" A faint mirage of Ameri-
can society-comedy" or drama Of con-
temporaneous human interest may for
awhile arouse his eagerness, but present
ly it melts into thin air, and leaves him
to the agony Of producing three FIVE,
act plays during this month" Think of
It'll Thirty.six ive-act plays in a year
Will there be any one left to mourn for
Logan, Boucicault?
1t is true he afterwards cools our pity
by the admission that some of these
plays are to be produced in collaboration
with fellow-laborers, not furtively, but
openly promise which appears to
conflict with the previous statement that
there is no living individual wAo can
be associated with him." But, with all
deductions, there is enough in the pros
pect to excite genuine compassion and
admiFation-how much, Mr., Boucicault,
wrapped in the solitude of his own
originality" may never know. Perhaps,
indeed, it would pain him to know, for
his letter shows no less of the modesty
than of the frankness of genius. He con-
tesses his superiority, indeed, but he
does not boast Of it, Indeed, he rather
apologies for it, and it is evident that
he would be less superior il other drama
lists would allow him. This union of
perfect sincerity with no trace of AFRO.
gance is rare and beautiful combina-
ton of (which Mr.. Charles Read is the only
other shining eXemplar. Even he IS less
frank than Mr.. Boucieault, for he has
never asserted, what he undoubtedly be-
lieves himself to be, the only living
novelist" Now that we know what Mr..
Bouccault is-the "only original Ja-
cobs, SO 10 speak, the sceptered hermit
of the legitimate drsns=let rs hasten
to do him proper homage, Let All the
other theaters but that where bis last
fve-aot play, furtively. elaborated or
openly original, is for the moment
persons who will say, perhaps, that sl'
though all that Mr.. Boucicault says be
true, it would have come with a better
grace from another, let it be widely
known as we know fro4 bic letter, that
all such persons are " bilious and
worthy of punishment. Let them be
condemned to hear an eternal success
sion of Mr.. Boucicault's new hve'act
plays, beginning with Led Astray, aud
ending with, lei US say, The Crack OF