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now the GREAT CLOWN, applauded and wondered at, shines forth

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fictitious woe: but there is a sea-
son for all things; and we see no
reason why Harlequin should be
ousted from his ancient throne to
make room for Melpomene, or the
gay Thalia. Mrs. Siddons is gone,
and Miss O'Neil, and Mrs. Jordan,
and they have left the stage un-
provided with successors: but the
Clown from the " Aquatic Theatre
(silent comedian!) still lives, un-
rivalled and alone; and shall we re-
fuse to enjoy that part of the Drama
which is still so completely and sa◄
tisfactorily filled? It must not be.

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Like a re-appearing star, Like a glory from afar; the Lord of the ascendant for a lunar month. Hail to the peerless and sage Grimaldi! The mover of the muscles of men,---whose quaint monosyllables (sudden as the thunder shock, and potent as the word which opened the cave in the forest of Bagdad,) can banish seriousness and put sorrow to sleep: he comes, once in a year, with an influence fatal, as the Syrian Star,---to the pockets Here are we, then, in the merry of servants and scholars; and yet piping time of Christmas, enjoying we welcome him and wish him long. idleness even as though we were still Can our graver readers pardon us boys. --- How gay are the shops! this involuntary apostrophe? --- We How full are the streets,---the cartrust they will; for Grimaldi is a riages, the confectioners' chairs! great man, and merits more praise all the journeymen of all the tailors than we have given or can give.--- are put in requisition. The hatter Oh! in this holiday season, a little brushes up his hats: the milliner låtitude must be taken (if not al- beguiles young ladies of their coin lowed) by us weary writers on the with scarlet and winter colours: the theatre: we cannot go on eternally furrier's shop has in it a world of lauding the same high talent, toler- comfort.---There is an odour hauntating the same mediocrity, and la- ing the corners of streets, where vishing our wit or anger on the old women selling baked apples sit, and offenders against truth and nature. pyemen loiter with their hot tempLet us be allowed to break our tations. There spiced-gingerbread bounds for once, and enjoy a Num- is vauntingly proclaimed, and the ber of the Magazine as well as our contractors for lotteries confess, in readers. We would have this ar- large letters, that a few tickets ticle even taste as it were of the "may still be had." But, above all, mirth and manner of the times,---be the play-bills flaunt about, (like crowned and frosted over with new beautiful coquets environed by images and sparkling jokes.---And lovers) careless, as it were, of ad(if it may be also) we would fain miration, because secure of notice have it somewhat substantial too--- from all.---First "Covent Garden," spiced and yet not heavy,---elegant, in mighty capitals, discloses the sethough it certainly is not expensive. crets of the coming night. Then We heard two gentlemen discus- "Drury-lane" in rival letters speaks sing a play-bill the other day :also of itself, and, perhaps in smaller one observed to the other, that we type, acknowledges its own attracshould soon have those d- pantions. Then the Minor Theatres,--tomimes and nothing else; and we the Olympic---the Surrey ("'twas immediately set him down at 0 in called the Circus once, ")---Astley's, our private estimation. What! abuse---the Sans Pareil, &c. &c. follow in a pantomime when Christmas is coming it is a treason against the reign of merriment: it is in bad taste, as well as an offence against things established. We have surely enough of tragedy and farce throughout the other quarters of the year, either on the stage or off. It is true, that we like to read a tragedy, and to be occasionally stimulated by it till we forget our manhood, (do We then forget it?) and weep at

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gay and gaudy lines, pouring out their profusion of entertainment, in titles which the vulgar can neither understand nor resist:---Wood Demons, Brazen Shields, and Fatal Masks:---Dancers, and Horsemen, and Vaulters: --- Fire Eaters, and Jugglers, and Quadrupeds of various shape and intelligence,

White, black, and gray, with all their train,

may be seen at---really a too cheap

a rate. The modesty of these gifted artists is in proportion to their merit: they own their talent (what else can they do, when "crowded audiences" applaud?) and yet you are charged a mere nothing. We are ashamed to mention the trifle that is demanded to witness the high mysteries of legerdemain; and a lusus naturæ (a giant or a dwarf) may be seen for a piece of coin, of which Brummel knew not even the name or value. But, amongst all the varieties of Christmas, the Pantomime, with Grimaldi at its head, stands ever, and must ever remain, preeminent.

PANTOMIME was the child of an Italian brain. It is true, that, in the ancient dramas, there were pantomimic exhibitions; but they were for the mere purpose of affording illustrations, or supplying defects in the regular tragedies, and were not a separate and independent amusement. Harlequin-Columbine-Pantaloon-and Clown (titles sacred in youthful fancy) are of modern race, and Italy was the birth-place of all. The "Commedie dell' Arte" from which our pantomime sprung, were not originally confined to dumb show; but Harlequin and his merrymen tossed about their wit upon the stage, and embodied in their plots the story of the day. They did not speak from book, but relied upon their faculties to produce something humourous, and seldom failed. They were the improvisatori of the stage: and, dressed in pantomimic costume, like our present worthies, and confined to a single character, they shot forth their arrows of satire, under the entrenchment of a mask and a coat of folly.-It was thus, indeed, with our old English Motleys, who were the true wits, and almost the only moralists of their time. Now, our Doctors in Divinity assume the responsible part of the Motley's task, and their lectures are "tedious and brief," and sometimes even to the purpose: but the wit is divided between the Reviewers and the "Gentlemen," who write on the drama. It might have been better, perhaps, for the stage, if the authors of Comedy and Farce had caught the mantle of wit when it dropped from the shoulders of its old possessor; but "it was not to be" we suppose :-as YOL. III.

it is, they have gathered together the coarser particles of humour, while we have acquired that which is more ethereal; and with this dispensation of fate we are disposed to rest content.

Although pantomime has lost its speech, or only (like the son of Cræsus) utters in the person of the clown an exclamation on extraordinary occasions; yet we do not repine. The tongue is still, but the muscles are put upon double duty: the dancing is more abundant: the leaps more lofty, and the grimaces of the clown are beyond comparison more effective. Nothing can be more disagreeable than that mixture of talk and dumb show, which we see in some of our Melo-dramas. We wish either the words or the distortions away, and we don't much care which. In pantomime we have the pure unadulterated silent comedy. Were Harlequin to speak, he would be nothing. At present, he is a glittering mystery,--a thing between fairyism and humanity, to be admired and not comprehended; a word would cause him to fall from his elevation, and we should see, in his stead, a mere man, throwing himself into ridiculous attitudes:-the thing would be absurd. What is there, we should like to know, in that round black ball of a head, by which he could hope to attract the notice of his gentle Columbine, or to acquire the reverence of every butcher, and baker, and toyman with whom he deals? absolutely nothing. He would be like a lord stripped of his title; and would be despised without ceremony, as a creature below the ordinary standard of men. Columbine too, and Pantaloon-they were born for nothing but to dance and smile,-the one in an irresistible, and the other in a ludicrous manner: we hate any innovation on the established system, and Miss Tree does not please us (though she is encored by the galleries,) when she departs from the silent beauty of Columbine, to whistle, or shake tremulous notes from a single or double flageolet.

Of all the Harlequins, Bologna is the best: he is not now quite so active as some of his younger rivals, but he has still the most grace, and he understands what is called "the

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business of the stage ;' that is to say, he is always moving about, and almost always expressive. His excursions are not confined to one quarter of the stage: he never stands as an idle spectator, but, when still, his attitude is to entice admiration, or to betray some feeling appropriate to the scene. Barnes is the best Pantaloon; but we have no good Columbine; and, with regard to Clowns, there is only one-Grimaldi. Of him we have spoken before.

We purpose for the future to make our dramatic article more a chronicle of theatrical events than we have done in this present number. We shall at present leave Mr. Elliston's new entertainment of " Pocahontas," and Friar Bacon or the Brazen Head, and so forth, for the purpose of saying a few words respecting the new tragedian.

MR. VANDENHOFF.-This gentleman, who had, we hear, acquired high provincial reputation, has performed several characters in London. He made his debut in Lear; but we cannot think that he succeeded in giving a faithful portrait. Lear is not a mere fretful querulous old man, with a "voice shrill as an eunuch's,"-tottering about the stage "in full possession of his incapacities:" his wrongs have made him mad, and his madness has sublimed and lifted him, for a time, beyond the ordinary weaknesses of age. His frame is no longer delicate, nor his voice tremulous, nor his step weak; but he is able to outface the storms which would have withered him in his hours of silken happiness. Frenzy has done this for him ;-if it had not, it must have killed him. Lear is seen

Contending with the fretful elements which would have blown his aged limbs aside, like the weak and youngling branches of a sapling tree, had they not been strengthened and upheld by fever. It is true that he says he is

A poor, infirm, weak and despised old man, but this is said rather with reference to what he was, when he knew himself, than to what he is. He has the full recollection of his injuries upon him, and of the infirmities which

made those injuries doubly heavy; but since the era of his madness, he has lived without the knowledge of himself: Mr. Vandenhoff gave us the picture of an old man, tetchy and weak, but the voice with which he claimed alliance with the heavens, and bade the thunder" singe his white head," and

Strike flat the thick rotundity of the world, was thin and powerless. The passages in which he succeeded best were those of the tenderer cast, and we think that he mistook his forte, and neglected the knowledge which his partial success in Lear might have given him, when he selected the fierce and sordid character of Sir Giles Over-reach, for his second performance. Altogether, though there were certainly some indications of genius, we are of opinion that Mr. Vandenhoff's Lear was a failure, partly from a misconception of the character, and partly from causes arising from physical defect. He acted throughout in an artificial tone,imitating Mr. John Kemble, evidently, but with little of that internal working of the soul, which (we are told), made Mr. Kemble's curse so tremendous,-shaking his frame and convulsing it, while he groaned up the bitterness of his spirit, and in stifled accents, and with shaking hands, called on all "nature" to hear him :-it had little of this, and it was entirely without those overpowering bursts of passion which at times rendered Mr. Kean's Lear so startling and effective. We did not entirely approve even of that gentleman's performance of this character, but it is impossible to place Mr. Vandenhoff's acting for a mo◄ ment, either in Lear or Sir Giles Over-reach, by the side of that wonderful tragedian, who is now "wasting his sweetness" on the other side of the Atlantic. Mr. Charles Kemble's Edgar was admirable. It has been so often criticised that we refrain from doing more than merely adding our brief testimony to corro◄ borate the praises of others. Miss Foote looked very pretty in Cordelia.

We have seen Coriolanus also, and the New Way to Pay Old Debts. We are told that Mr. Vandenhoff was the representative of Sir Giles Over-reach; but we protest that we

should not otherwise have known it. In Sir Giles he spoke in his natural voice, which is rather deep (not very powerful), and thick, and altogether distinct from the weak shrill notes which he produced on the previous Saturday. As Mr. V. will probably not perform Sir Giles again, we will not go into the unpleasant task of detailing what we conceived to be failures. This gentleman has very considerable talent, but we think he wants forming; his action and manner are frequently constrained, and his voice seems to say that he has prescribed for it a limit which it must never overstep. If Mr. Vandenhoff could see Mr. Kean in Othello, or Mr. Macready and Mr. C. Kemble in Virginius, he would perceive that they give themselves up to the passion of the moment without fear, and this is the secret of their success. Mr. C. Kemble's Wellborn was entirely excellent: there was an easy, airy, cavalier spirit in it, that we think no one else could have given: he seemed at first as though he would have given away his goods and chattels for an old song, and afterwards that he would have fought with a lion to have regained them. We confess that we like Farren's Marall it was too lean perhaps, and too like Dr. Pinch, or the worthy seller of medicine in Romeo and Ju

liet, but it was well played: Munden's Marall was better; he looked like a thriving villain (Mr. Farren did not), and his villainy and meanness were rounded and shadowed off in the true spirit of a comic_artist= he seemed as though he had dined with Mr. Justice Greedy frequently, and come away better for his fare.

The Coriolanus of Mr. Vandenhoff was less original than his Lear, but more effective: it was a plain imitation of Mr. John Kemble, but it was nevertheless better than Mr. V.'s portrait of Sir Giles Over-reach. Upon the whole we think Mr. Van◄ denhoff a meritorious actor, but de cidedly inferior both to Mr. Mac◄ ready and Mr. Charles Kemble. The latter gentleman " played him down" as it is called in Massinger's play :with Mr. Macready he has not yet come in collision.

If it be not impertinent we would fain ask the managers of theatres why Shakspeare's Lear is not per formed. The trash which Tate has had the impudence to mix, like base alloy, with the fine ore of our great poet, is not only bad, but frequently un-dramatic. We wish that some performer would have the spirit and good sense to revive the Lear of Shakspeare. We will promise him our best word if that be worth any thing.

A.

BELZONI'S NARRATIVE OF HIS OPERATIONS AND RECENT DISCOVERIES IN EGYPT AND NUBIA.*

We have never seen a work that more palpably bore on its face evidence of being dictated by a fearless, candid, and naturally judicious character. The author introduces himself to our acquaintance in a very unaffected manner, in a short preface. He tells us that he is not an Englishman, but that he preferred writing his book himself, to running the risk of having his meaning misrepresented by another: it is our duty to say, that he has succeeded in giving us a very perspicuous, amusing, and manly narrative; in which the manner is as lively as the details are important. No single individual has yet effected so much in the way of

discovery and elucidation of those celebrated monuments of an antiquity, which was also antiquity to the generations that we term anci ent; and the monuments of which surpass, in stupendous character, those of Greece and Rome, as much as these latter surpass our modern productions. Mr. Belzoni seems to be in possession of some absolute and peculiar faculty, at once adapt ing him for this sort of research, and impelling him to the perils and la bours which are inevitably connected with it. He seems to have been directed to some of his most valuable conclusions by a sort of instinct, sharpening his external senses to in◄

4to. Murray, 1820.

dications that existed not for common observers, and suggesting a strain of deduction from them quicker and surer than the usual course of reasoning.

His style of narrative has the effect of exciting a strong interest in what relates to himself personally: and this is increased by the remarkable fact of his having been accompanied up the Nile by Mrs. Belzoni,-with· out the accommodation of servants and equipage, but as a married couple, taking by themselves a jaunt of pleasure or business in a civilized country! Their only attendant was a young Irish lad.—Mrs. Belzoni is, on more than one occasion, introduced to us in the attitude of presenting a pistol when necessary, and she seems to have made very light of the inconveniences and dangers of the journey. We owe to this lady an amusing appendix to her husband's work, under the title of "Mrs. Belzoni's trifling Account of the Women of Egypt, Nubia, and Syria."

The following is Mr. Belzoni's account of himself, his family, and the principal results of his labours in

the East:

My native place is the city of Padua: I am of a Roman family, which had resided there for many years. The state and troubles of Italy in 1800, which are too well known to require any comment from me, compelled me to leave it, and from that time I have visited different parts of Europe, and suffered many vicissitudes. The greater part of my younger days I passed in Rome, the former abode of my ancestors, where I was preparing myself to become a monk; but the sudden entry of the French army into that city altered the course of my education, and being destined to travel, I have been a wanderer ever since. My family supplied me occasionally with remittances; but as they were not rich, I did not choose to be a burthen to them, and contrived to live on my own industry, and the little knowledge I had acquired in various branches. I turned my chief attention to hydraulics, a science that I had learned in Rome, which I found much to my advantage, and which was ultimately the very cause of my going to Egypt. For I had good information, that a hydraulic machine would be of great service in that country, to irrigate the fields, which want water only, to make them produce at any time of the year. But I am rather anticipating. In 1803 I arrived in England, soon after which I married, and,

after residing in it nine years, 1 formed the resolution of going to the south of Europe. Taking Mrs. Belzoni with me, I visited Portugal, Spain, and Malta, from which latter place we embarked for Egypt, where we remained from 1815 to 1819.

Here I had the good fortune to be the disthat primitive nation. coverer of many remains of antiquity of I succeeded in opening one of the two famous Pyramids of Ghizeh, as well as several of the tombs of the Kings of Thebes. Among the latter, that which has been pronounced by one of the most distinguished scholars of the age to be the tomb of Psammuthis, is at this moment the principal, the most perfect and splendid monument in that country. The celebrated bust of young Memnon, which I brought from Thebes, is now in the British Museum; and the alabaster

sarcophagus, found in the tombs of the kings, is on its way to England.

It is due to the interests of science, as well as to the reputation and interests of this very meritorious individual, to enter an indignant protest against the cabals and persecutions, to the evil influence of which he has been exposed by the envy and cupidity of beings, who, destitute of his sagacity, courage, and industry, grudged him the precious results of these qualities. The French Consul, Drouetti, and his agents, renegadoes, &c. of various nations, conducted themselves towards this solitary and inoffensive traveller, in a spirit of intrigue and injustice, that, we regret to say, there are but too many examples of, under similar circumstances, staining the name of the nation in question. By Count Forbin, too, the present director of the Museum in France, our traveller has been most meanly treated. That weak-minded, small-souled person, had neither the sagacity to do any thing worth mentioning himself, nor the honour or gratitude to acknowledge what was done for him by another. Mr. Belzoni, however, unfortunately for these parties, can tell his own story in a plain but strong way he has the ability to put the facts clearly before the public,—a circumstance which his enemies did not probably suppose likely, in consequence of Mr. B.'s not being a man of what is commonly called learning. He is, however, a man of shrewd sense, and that is often more to the purpose. A direct attempt to assassinate him was the cause of his quit

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