in a most distracted condition, and concluded a peace on most favourable terms. On his return he received the title of Father of his People.'

A very different scene from that I have just described soon after agitated the streets of Moscow. All was in gala array; splendid and costly were the dresses of those in the magnificent procession, and the gorgeous spectacle was the attraction of all. Catharine was to be crowned Queen, and what pageantry can be too great for her whom the King delighteth to honour'? The see-saw of life goes up and down. Menzikoff, once the kitchen boy of the palace, heads the army, in uniform glittering with stars, crosses, and medals. Catharine, the Livonian peasant, is arrayed in the regal purple.

Peter devoted himself for his remaining years to the arts of peace; he instituted an academy of sciences, and built many useful and ornamental establishments. There is a curious ceremony observed to this day of blessing the waters of the Neva. The archbishop, after reading some prayers, throws in the cross, and then in a golden goblet offers the water to the emperor. This done, all the people rush forward, and each fills his or her pitcher. Peter, although suffering from a most painful disease, insisted on being present at it. He caught a severe coldhis devoted Catharine never left his bedside-and he finally expired in her arms, January 4th, 1724, and his body was conveyed to the Kremlin, to be deposited in the cathedral of St. Michael, where the czars of Russia repose.

We will not now thread through the reigns of Peter II., Elizabeth, and Peter III., or even of Catharine II., which was the most brilliant and successful Russia has witnessed; we will merely heave a passing sigh for the dismember

ment of Poland, and the cruelties practised on the patriots, whom we seem even now to hear, in their Siberian exile, singing

'Farewell to the mothers who bore us; Farewell to the huts, where as children we grew;

Farewell to the trees that hung o'er us,

The trees, and the streams that from boyhood we knew. Farewell to our friends, farewell to our foes,

For neither friend or foe an exile knows,

Sing no more, never more!

Sing never, never more!'

In Paul I. we see a prince who cruelly disappointed the hopes of his subjects, as previously to his accession he had been a most amiable man, and who was finally murdered in his colossal palace of St. Michael in his forty-sixth year. The number of the conspirators was so great, and his son Alexander's participation SO well known, that no one was ever punished, and many boasted openly of the deed long after. Then while Alexander is sitting in imperial greatness at Moscow, we hear the war cry of Napoleon and his veteran troops on the frontier; we admire the indomitable pluck of the Russians, who committed their capital to the flames sooner than it should fall into the hands of the invader, who, like Charles XII., retired in confusion. With Nicholas I. is associated stirring memories of the Crimean war, and even now many remember the heights of Balaklava and the plains of Alma, Inkerman and Sebastopol strewn with the bodies of the slain, and the soil sodden with the best blood of England and France. We will draw the curtain over those sad days, and light up the foreground with the nuptial celebration of England and Russia

LONG LIVE THE BRIDE AND BRIDEGROOM.

C. BOUCHIER PHILLIMORE.

W

6

"HAT we mean by actresses' will of course be understood, and that we do not for one moment propose to speak of the number of young and middle-aged persons whose only claim to the title is that they are labelled as such in the photograph-shop windows. Details concerning these people are entirely out of place in the pages of this magazine; and therefore it will not be worth while discussing whether or not managers are insulting their audiences by advertising them and endeavouring to foist them on the public as actresses. No capitalist has yet come forward who is willing to take a theatre for the pure furtherance of the dramatic art, irrespective of commercial considerations. Managers are mortal-extremely mortal, some of them-and expect to make their ventures pay; and in these days a very little leaven of art is considered sufficient to leaven a whole mass of tricky melody, silk tights and lime-light. Whether this is wise, even to the narrow limits of present policy, is a question which can be ruefully answered by several disconsolate gentlemen who are at the present moment patrolling the streets of London, and slowly recovering the senses which they must certainly have lost before they plunged into the Charybdis of three act opéras bouffes without actors or actresses, and with nothing but the weak attraction hinted at above to recommend them.

We do not for one moment believe in the theory as to the decline of the drama; but when we have hoardings blazoned over, in

letters of gorgeous hue, with the names of young ladies who have as much idea of the principles of dramatic art as a dromedary has of playing the violin; when we see their smirking faces and figures in the windows; we sigh for the sake of true art. In dozens of shop-windows in London, kept by men who would probably be horribly shocked and offended if we questioned their respectability, we find such offensive pictures. If Lord Campbell's Act were enforced a little more strictly, some of these artistic gentlemen would most likely open their eyes some fine morning and have the opportunity of studying artistic groupings in Bow Street Police Court.

Seeing many things which notoriously take place around us, how can we, enthusiastic lovers of the drama as we are, blame puritanical people for condemning it? Most fortunately some managers have already found out, and others are beginning to discover, why it is that their theatres present such a beggarly array of empty boxes and such vacant rows of stalls. There is a powerful amount of sterling common-sense in public opinion, and it is just beginning visibly to assert itself, we are happy to believe, towards the suppression of these theatrical nuisances. Burlesque grew almost unbearable; then came opéra bouffe, which is rather worse. Let it be understood we do not mean to condemn this species of entertainment in itself. Far from it. It is possible to make opéra bouffe pleasant, artistic, and satisfactory. At the Opéra Comique, for instance, 'Kissi-Kissi' and 'Little

Tom Tug' were perfectly inoffensive; but at some other houses it is very different, and managers absolutely go out of their way to pander to the most vitiated taste.

As for the young ladies themselves, we can only assure them, though they will not believe us, that a thorough exposition of the dramatic art cannot be satisfactorily compressed into a wink at the stalls, nor can the higher principles of acting be exemplified in a leer at the gallery. If the exponent of a female part has a song to sing, and is unable to sing it, kicks and vulgar gestures will not fulfil all the requirements of the art of music.

But enough of this

most painful matter. We gladly turn to the subject of our article, with a strong desire to please every one mentioned in it, but a stronger still to tell the truth.

Looking through the theatrical notices upon the morning we write, it is sad and strange to note that, amongst all the ladies whose names are advertised as forming items of the 'best,' or 'most carefully selected' companies in London, scarcely twenty are in any way worthy to be enrolled in the list of popular actresses. It is further noticeable that several of the very best of our few English actresses are not playing in London. There is something wrong here, though whether the fault is with managers or audiences, we must decline to decide.

Without plainly asserting that Mrs. Hermann Vezin is the first actress on the English stage, we should like to know who could claim precedence over her. This lady is an all round' actress of the very highest ability. Comedy, tragedy, melodrama or light comedietta, is alike within her grasp, and she is admirable in all. There is a finish, a consistency, a roundness in her impersonations

which we know not where to find elsewhere. Mrs. Vezin is good in all lines of business. Study her capacity in her rendering of Lady Teazle of all the various shades of the character. Consider the screen scene: her shame, her indignation against Joseph Surface; her distress that, when she feels how much appearances are against her, she should be unable to demonstrate her innocence: contrast these sentiments, so palpably exhibited, and yet expressed with such reticence and unobtrusiveness, with the girlish, light-hearted scenes with Sir Peter. She plays the character almost to perfection. It is Lady Teazle throughout, and one Lady Teazle. We have seen the part rendered as though Sir Peter's frolicsome wife were three married ladies rolled into one; the screen scene a modified edition of Lady Macbeth; the lighter scenes with her husband à la soubrette, and her raillery with the school and with Joseph before the exposé, a realisation of the style adopted by ladies in 'modern comedy.' Actresses soon learn the conventional, or some other set way of expressing despair, anguish, - the whole gamut of passion, in fact; but only true artists show the delicate shades as this lady does. Perhaps Mrs. Vezin is the only actress on the stage who is entirely equal to the character of Mrs. Beverley in 'The Gamester,' a performance with which we can find absolutely no fault. Her Clara Douglas, in 'Money,' is also an admirable realisation of the character; as was Margaret, in 'Faust,' as played some time since at Drury Lane. The strong situation in 'Miss Chester,' where she declares herself to her son, was given by Mrs. Vezin with unsurpassable truth and strength. A hundred delicate touches of art stood out vividly

remorse

and distinctly throughout the performance. In fact, Mrs. Vezin cannot play badly, and is an artiste of whom the English stage may well be proud.

Miss Fotheringay, in 'Pendennis,' was discovered by a London manager, went to the metropolis, and made a hit; but if it had not been for the strange series of circumstances which induced Major Pendennis to gain the influence of the Marquis of Steyne, the London public would never have seen her. This goes to prove that careful investigation might result in the discovery of actresses in unlikely places. Sometimes by chance an experienced manager comes across, and digs one out from the transpontine theatres and that was, we believe, the manner in which that thoroughly good actress, Miss Lydia Foote, became known to West-end playgoers. The training which this young lady received on the transpontine boards has been of infinite service to her, for undoubtedly she possesses genuine artistic feeling and ability. Miss Foote has not the strength of Mrs. Vezin, but she has versatility in an equal degree, and is able to exhibit it to more advantage, for Mrs. Vezin's position will not permit her to assume some characters in which we should not be surprised to see Miss Foote.

Perhaps the secret of this young lady's success is that she throws herself so entirely into the character she represents. She possesses the great secret of losing her own individuality. If Miss Foote has to show grief, she does not make wry faces as if she had done something wrong, and was afraid of being found out; indeed she realises the position so thoroughly that, if tears are necessary to the fulfilment of the part, real tears are at her command. In 'Man

and Wife,' her Anne Sylvester was perfect; an improvement on the character in the novel, and probably also on the author's intention as to the character in the play, for the original Anne, in the book, was unpleasantly shrewish, and it is easy to imagine from the dialogue that in the drama she would have been no better had Mr. Wilkie Collins been less fortunate in the representation of the character. Miss Foote's connection with the Prince of Wales's Theatre has been fortunate for her, as showing what she can do; but it has also been fortunate for the management, which might have searched in vain for an equally admirable actress to fill the range of parts which has fallen to Miss Foote. The easy

way in which she acquired the exact tone of Robertson's plays was wonderful. How many actresses on the French stage-what actress on the English stage-could have given a better Esther Eccles? As Amanda, the wife of the Chevalier Browne, in 'Play,' Miss Foote showed her value. One speech-to note trifles-especially gave evidence of her ability. The Chevalier, who greedily pouches all the money she earns on the stage, and then abuses her for being an actress, says scornfully, An actress! to be cheered or hissed, as the audience may think proper!' 'Ah, but they never hiss me,' is her reply. We do not like the speech; it is the mistake which Robertson rarely made of appealing illegitimately to the audience; jarring with and spoiling the flow of the character represented. We can imagine how many actresses would have spoken the line, turning to the house as much as to say, "This speech has been kindly introduced by the author for the sole purpose of giving you an opportunity of paying tribute to my general ability and position in

the theatre.' But Miss Foote spoke the lines so naturally and quietly that it did not strike you, until a minute afterwards, that it was capable of a double interpretation.

In many other instances Miss Foote has proved her right to the position we accord her. (Readers will appreciate our difficulty in having so small a space to discuss a subject capable of such elaborate treatment.) The extent of her versatility has yet to be shown; but we believe that if she were cast for Rosalind she would astonish those who have accepted her performances carelessly. In several other pieces of the lightest description, she has given ample reason for supposing that she will fulfil any calls which may be made upon her for comedy characters. Miss Foote is one of those actresses who have been injured by playing parts too well. In consequence of her success in one or two characters, managers have settled that lachrymose widows and broken-hearted spinsters are her 'line.' It is cruel to chain a player down to a narrow range of parts, and call it his or her line. The public would have that pathetic old men were Robson's line, and his success with these parts, which have, indeed, come to be called 'Robsonian,' prevented him from exhibiting his full capabilities. We cannot call to mind any part that Miss Foote has played badly, and probably some day she will surprise people.

That a young lady, within a few months of her first appearance on the stage, should be playing Cleopatra at Drury Lane, and playing it, moreover, in a manner which perhaps could not be touched by three other English actresses, is one of the phenomena of theatrical history. People who do not understand the subject at all will probably call Miss Wallis a 'born actress;' but we decline to admit

that such a creature exists. This young lady has wonderful inherent dramatic aptitude, ability and intelligence; but acting is an art which must be learned, like all other arts. We trust that we are betraying no confidence in stating that, for her histrionic instruction, Miss Wallis is indebted to that admirable actor, Mr. John Ryder. It is in the exits, the entrances, and a thousand trifles, that the novice betrays herself, and the advice of so good a master has, to a very great extent, enabled Miss Wallis to tide successfully over these difficulties, and, united to her innate talent-we might almost say genius-good instruction has landed the young lady in a position which she seems destined to hold firmly.

A skilful master can teach much, but still very little. No one could have taught Miss Wallis the numberless little touches of essentially feminine feeling which characterise the Cleopatra of Drury Lane.

When, in the course of an afternoon, one has seen Antony in an overcoat, with an umbrella in his hand, drinking sherry with Cæsar in plaid trousers and a box hat, it is rather hard to believe in the assumed identity of either when the former appears in a toga and the latter in crown and tunic. Shakespeare, to be efficiently represented, should, we have always thought, be played by actors of whom the spectator knows nothing in private life. In modern comedy, we can imagine the performers in the position of the personages whose characters they represent; but unless Othello is acted with the most consummate art, it is sometimes difficult to distract the mind from following his career when he is off the stage; in his dressing-room, changing his attire, and putting a renovating touch to