dilatation of his muscles, the wild disorder of his features, were such as I cannot attempt to describe. You may form a just idea of them, however, by recalling what you have occasionally witness ed, of the same modes of delineating si milar emotions, from Cooke, the English tragedian, who, in fact, at particular moments is, I doubt not, equal in this respect to any actor that has ever been known, although inferior to Talma in point of general merit and uniformity of excellence. Kemble enjoys over Cooke the like advantage; that of being more equable, as well as more chaste and dignified in his performance: but he has less of genius than either his countryman or Talma, and is incapable of reaching the heights, to which the former sometimes attains. The French Roscius, it would seem, engaged zealously in the republican cause, at the commencement of the revolution, and signalized himself on various occasions, by the violence of his opinions. I have been much amused in the pit of the Theatre Français, in listening, between the acts, to the anec dotes kindly and gratuitously related to me by my neighbours, of the early political feads of the corps dramatique. Talma occasioned, by his revolutionary doctrines, a schism in the company to which he belonged, and seceded to a different theatre, with one half of their number. Those who remained behind were afterwards imprisoned by the jacobin leaders, and, as it was said, (unjustly however,) at the instigation of Talma. It happened at times, that he and his colleagues, particularly Duga200 and Naudet, interrupted the regular performance of the stage, to accuse each other of aristocracy, before their audience. The appeal seldom failed to oc. casion violent tumults in the house, and to end in the precipitate retreat of the party, against whom the majority pronounced judgment by something more, in general, than mere acclamation. On one occasion, Talma was called upon, in order to repel a charge of the kind, to recite some passages of a republican tenor, from the play of Voltaire, called "La Mort de Brutus." This he did, with so much fire and so keen a zest, that his innocence of the crime of aristocracy became self-evident, and his judges acquitted him, with the most cordial unanimity. GEORGES AND DUCHESNOIS. 137 Français, are Mdlle. Georges and Mdile. ́ Duchesnois. Talma has confessedly no rival of his own sex, but these ladies contest with each other the empire of the stage in their walk, and it is, I must confess, difficult to decide between them, so equally balanced are their pretensions. Both, in my humble opinion, are not much above mediocrity; but this is far from being the sentiment of the Paris sians, and to them we should submit in such matters. Duchesnois is compared to Duclos and Clairon, and Georges to Le Couvreur, the three most celebrated of the French actresses, in the time of the monarchy. I should be sorry to think, however, that so many volumes had been written in commemoration of talents, no greater than those which I could discover in the Phedres and Ca milles of the present day. Mdile. Georges is tall and graceful, and has a head of the true Grecian model. Her countenance is at the same time exceedingly fine. Nature has been far less bountiful to her rival, whose stature is low, and whose face is revoltingly ugly. She is said, indeed, amply to supply these de fects, by the superior force with which she conceives her part, and the more overpowering energy with which she declaims. As a compensation, also, for the harshness of her voice, her intonations are uncommonly judicious, and studied with unremitting care. Much pathos is ascribed to the acting of Mdlle. Georges, but I must acknow ledge that I never felt it. Her declamation is too drawling and tearful (larmoyante), to borrow the idiom of her critics. If there be any defect in the elocution of Mrs. Siddons, it is something of the same nature, although not by any means carried to an equally reprehensible excess. Both the French actresses transgress all bounds in the violence of their rant, and the variation of their tones, where they think it necessary to display strong feeling, or great ani mation. This is the general vice not only of the tragic actors of Paris, but of all public speakers in France They do not wax warm by sufficiently slow des grees, for a due correspondence of emo tion on the part of the auditor, and then go much beyond his utmost pitch, parti cularly if his constitution be one of the sluggish cast, which we have inherited from our progenitors. The competition of Georges and Duchesnois, had divided the French metro The principal heroines of the Theatre polis into two parties, scarcely less vioMONTHLY MAG. No. 238. T lently lently inflamed against each other, than the factions of the Circus, which distracted Constantinople in the reign of the Emperor Justinian, under the (denomination of Greens and Blues. It was hazardous, even for a stranger, to express an opinion on the merit of either of these actresses, in the pit of the Theatre Français, or, in fact, in any other theatre of the capital. I have known, in several instances, the disputes on this 'subject to become so general, and to assume so serious an aspect, that it was found necessary to claim the interference of the guard stationed at the doors. The feuds of which I am speaking, began with the stage heroines themselves, and extended to the decrotteurs, or shoeblacks, who took an interest in the question of their supremacy, little less profound than that of the professed critics. All the gazettes and journals were enlisted on one side or the other, and waged the most acrimonious hostilities. A temporary reconciliation was, how. ever, effected between the two rival queens in person, before my departure from the capital, and led to a general truce. The event was signalised in this way-They were prevailed upon to consent to act in the same piece, a proceeding which they had before studiously avoided, and the "Horace" of Corneille was chosen for the occasion. My curiosity to know how they and their au dience would acquit themselves, induced me to brave a fiery trial at the door of the theatre, in order to obtain a seat. I procured one after great exertion, and was much amused. While the fair competitors laboured to extort the suffrage of the majority, by the most violent efforts imaginable, their separate adherents seemed to be endeavouring to outvie each other in mutual condescension, by bestowing indiscriminately upon both favourites, plaudits without end or mea sure. At the termination of the play, the "tragic Duchesnois,” and “inimitable Georges," were summoned to appear before the audience in the usual manner, to receive an individual tribute of admiration. Immediately after this ceremony, they shewed themselves arm in arm in a side box, and were no sooner descried by the pit, than a new chorus of plaudits burst forth, and continued until the lungs and ears of the enthusi asts themselves could hear no more. It was said that the government had inter fered to produce the reconciliation, to which this scene was owing, but I cannot answer for the truth of the statement. Such an interposition, had not the domestic peace of the capital been seriously threatened, would appear to be a deviation from its ordinary and true policy, which is, to keep the Parisians as deeply engaged as possible in these weighty mat ters, in order that they may be less mindful of the less important concerns of state. Extracts from the Portfolio of a Man of Letters. DANCE OF DEATHS. HE French historians relate, that in the year 1424 the English Regent gave at Paris a show, or spectacle, after the manner of his country. The scene of this entertainment was the church yard of the Innocents. Persons of both sexes, splendidly dressed, and represen ting the different conditions of human life, began to execute various dances. A number of figures personating Death, whose limbs were concealed in tight dark clothes, upon which were sewed the resemblance of dry bones, so that they seemed to be walking skeletons, came and mingled in the dance, and led away now one and now another into the chambers and cellars about, where refreshments were provided. This odd allegory was called La Danse Macabrée, -Can any of our correspondents ex plain the derivation of the name. ZANY. Dr. Johnson, after Skinner, makes sany to be a contraction of Giovanni it rather derives, through the Italian zanne, from the Latin sannio, which means a buffoon. In barbarous Greek the word zunnos is found, which, according to Riccoboni, has the same signification. ANTIQUITY OF THE HUMAN RACE. Among all the specimens of fossil bones dug up in the different quarters of the world, says Cuvier, there is not a single fragment of a human skeleton. This indicates a recent origin of human population. The earlier inhabitants of our globe, some of whom we can no longer trace upon it, appear to have be longed 1819.] The Portfolio of a Man of Letters. longed to the races of elephants and of sloths. EARLY ENGLISH GEOMETRY. The quaint title page to the geometri eal work of Robert Ricombe, practitioner in physicke, printed in 1551, and dedicated to King Edward the Sixth, in the black letter, is literally as follows, being the first geometrical book printed in English. "The Pathway to Knowledg; containing the first Principles of Geometrie, as they may aptly be applied unto practise, bothe for use of instrumentes geometricall and astronomicall, and also for projection of plattes in euerye kinde, and therefore much necessary for all sortes of men." "Geometries verdicte." "All fresshe fine wittes by me are filed, All grosse dull wittes wishe me exiled : Thoughe no mannes witte reicct will I, Yet as they be, I wyll them trye." And the dedicatory address runs as follows; being very curious, as well for the orthography, as the style and composition. may "To the Gentle Reader. "Excuse me, gentle reader, it oughte be amisse, stroong paths ar not troden al truly at the first: the way muste neides be comberous, wher none hathe gone before, where no man hathe geuen light, lighte is it to offend, but when the light is shewed ones, lighte is it to amende, If my light may so light some other, to espie and marke ny faults, I wish it so lighten them, that they may uoide of. fence. Of staggeringe and stomblinge, and vnconstaunt turmoilinge: often of fending, and seldome amending, such vices to eschewe, and their fine wittes to shew that they may winne the praise, and I to hold the candle, whilst they their glorious works with eloquence sette forth, so cunningly inuented, so finely indited, that my bokes maie seme worthie to cc. cupie no roome. For neither is mi wit so finely filed, nother mi learning so largly lettred, nother yet mi laisir so quiet and vncombered, that I maie perform iustlie so learned a laboure, or accordinglie to accomplishe so haulte an enforcement, yet maie I thinke thus: This candle did I light; this lighte haue I kindeled; that learned men maie se, to practise their pennes, their eloquence to aduaunce, to register their names in the books of memorie I drew the platte rudelie, whereon thei maie builde, whom God hath indued with learning and linelihood. For liuing by labour doth learn 139 ing so hinder, that learning seruith liuing, whiche is a peruerse trade. Yet as carefull familie shall cease hir cruell callinge, and suffre anie laiser to learninge to repaire, I will not cease from trauaile the pathe so to trade, that finer wittes maie fashion themselues with such glimsinge dull light, a more complete woorke at laiser to finishe, with inuencion agreable, and aptnes of eloquence." "And this, gentle reader, I hartelie protest, Where erroure hath happened I wisshe it redrest." CRANIOLOGY. Dr. Gall, an itinerant German lecturer, has published a singular book with this title, which treats of those inferences respecting moral disposition and babit, which may be drawn from examining the skull. It is notorious that men are born with conformations originally distinct; and that on these conformations depend se veral of our tendencies and qualities. One man receives from nature the organs of sight peculiarly perfect. Consequently, he grows up with a habit of attending to visual ideas; with a love of prospects and paintings, and of contemplating beautiful forms; with an imagination stored with figures, and a phraseology tending to picturesque metaphor; with a memory, which performs its functions by associating ideas of sight with the objects to be recollected, and which therefore performs them more quickly than when the less rapid ideas of hearing are employed. Another man receives from nature the organs of hearing in a state peculiarly perfect. Consequently, he grows up with a habit of attending to auditory ideas; with a love of music, and of serious order; with a deference for oratory, and a facility at learning languages. The tones of feeling, being more nicely distinguishable, awaken, perhaps, in such persons a more delicate and alarmable sensibility. The reflection tends more to abstract than to picturesque ideas and the memory recalls its boards with comparative sloth. A third receives from nature the or gans of taste and smell (they ought to be classed as one sense) peculiarly perfect. Consequently, he grows up with a habit of attending to ideas of the palate; with a proneness toward the pleasures of the table, of society, of friendship; with a tendency to affection, and hospitality, and providence. There are other sets of organs, whose orig ual original conformation likewise influences considerably the number, the vividness, the proportion, and the tendency, of our ideas, and consequently of our volitions, which are stimulated by them. Now it is not improbable that, from mere inspection of a skull, some guess may be formed of the relative influence of the different sets of organs on that mouldered corporeal system to which the skull belonged. In proportion to the mass of idea communicated through the optic nerves, may be the quantity of brain formed and employed for the preservation of such knowledge. This secretion of visual brain (if one may so express it) may distend a peculiar part, and influence the form of a peculiar cas vity, of the skull. In like manner the ear may keep its library in a particular place, and may shape its room to its wants. According to Dr. Gall, the sexual organs have for their head quarters the cerebellum; and is for measuring by its protuberance, the tendency to libidinous affections. If Dr. Gall had confined his speculations to this sort of observation and analysis, he would at least have been pursuing an attainable end. Those physiognomical marks of the skull, which are connected with the condition of the tributary or dependent organs, seem to admit of definition. But, instead of seek ing merely to infer our moral habits, he professes to be able to infer our moral accidents, from our skulls. That an animal has an angry pugna, cious character may well be recorded in its frame. That its combat was success ful or unsuccessful, depends on the ac cident of its match. Yet Dr. Gall is for finding not merely an organ of fighting, but of slaughter. He visited a prison, it is said, and selected a man not merely as bold and cruel, but as a mur derer. Like Lavater, Dr. Gall, notwithstanding his errors, his hyperbole, his quack→ ery, and his absurdities, has, however, made some truly new and curious obser vations; and will have the merit of directing attention to various phenomena hitherto passed over too heedlessly, A biographer of Dr. Gall refers his cranioscopic passion to his having seen early in life the grave-digger scene in Hamlet. INSCRIPTION. On a tomb-stone erected to the memory of J. Joslin, in Raine church-yard, Essex, is the following singular inscription: "This I have done for an indulgent Husband, near and dear to me; And what I have done is nothing to you, Nor what I do." ORIGINAL POETRY. M. The thought for satire, sir, is well enough, To please a reader predisposed to laugh, But you must prove. In form.— G. With all my heart. Then doctor answer, attend your part. Say, what is wisdom? M. An attemper'd heart, Which passion ne'er inflames, nor cares molest, Whose calm resolves slow graduate to deeds, As up the aisle the dean to pray'r proi ceeds. G. This equanimity that sages praise, Who less than man its influence obeys? The ant, which every year the field ex plores. With Ceres' treasures furnishing her stores; When Cold and Boreas their sway resume, And Nature languishes beneath the gloom; This insect, snug in her obscure retreat, Enjoys her wealth, nor heeds the winter's threat; But whoe'er saw her govern'd by caprice, In winter busy, and in spring remiss, 1819.1 Mr. Gali's Imitation of Boileau. A fortnight after be himself display'd, 141 Though more your wealth than all the **** lost, Nor guest, nor menial, must your mansion boast; Midst heaps of wheat exist on oats and rye, And grudge a penny even life to buy." "Why all this misery? "What! don't you know, When you are dead, your heir, a squan d'ring bean, Will make the riches, thus so dearly won, But, should persuasive Mercy plead in Then comes Ambition and her gorgeons train, To violate the bosom of repose, And send you frantic forth in quest of foes; At morning loathing what he lov'd at The hero's virtue do you call a vice? night, A plague to others, to himself distress, Changing his fancies as he shifts his dress; The slightest wind, the softest touch prevails; And deeds he did in red, in black bewails.. But then to see him when his mind di lates, Full of the vapour he himself creates ! He o'er all creatures boasts the sovereign sway! Who dare deny, say you? Perhaps I may, Without inquiring if near caves and lairs Bears dread the traveller, or the traveller bears; Or, by an ediet of the Nubian swains, The Libyan lions would avoid their plains. This monarch, chosen by his own decree, This king of all-how many kings has he! Ambition, Avarice, and Love, and Hate, Enslave his mind, and rule his fetter'd fate. The needful sleep descending on his eyes— "Awake," cries Avarice, "get up, arise." 'Leave me,' says Man, 'leave me to my repose, The sun has not yet made the shops un close. With whom must Alexander then be plac'd? G. What! he, the madman, that laid Asia waste? The headstrong fool, that lov❜d to bathe in gore, Who sack'd one world, and wept to ruin, more? A god in fancy, see the maniac roam, And still his madness desolates the earth- tell, Had Macedon possess'd a maniac's cell, And guardian sage, with providential care, Advis'd by friends, had chain'd the madman there. lice or law, The sheriff's warrant, or the bailiff's paw; Who ever heard, like man's inhuman brood, Of plund'ring wolves besmear'd with kin dred blood; Or tyger despot war and want declare, The pouncing kite upon the kite descend? |