papier-maché and japanned goods, by Japan and China; in coloured satin, by both countries; in carved woods, by the East generally; in gold and silver filagree work by Malta, Algeria, Persia, India, and Italy; in inventive machinery by the Americans; and in silver repoussé work by Russia. But, on the whole, France and England stand at the head of the greater industries, and, while rivals to each other, leave all the rest of the world behind. SHAKESPEARE AND TERPSICHORE. To the British tourist, whiling away the spring days in fair Florence, waiting, it may be, to witness the festivals in honour of a royal marriage, or pausing on his northern flight from Rome or Naples before finally taking wing across the Alps, this announcement on the public bills and placards of the Pergola Theatre is not without interest: ROMEO E GIULIETTA, TRAGIC OPERA. To be followed by or, A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. GRAND BALLET. chore, and not with her sister muse, speak of that performance, which, indeed, but too evidently serves as a mere prelude, or "lever du rideau," for the main business of the evening. Be it recorded, too, that we, sitting in the pit of the Pergola, did altogether judge of the argument or conduct of the ballet by the unassisted light of nature, having neither libretto nor programme to refer to, in case of doubt or bewilderment. And such cases did arise, even rather frequently! But in this way, perhaps, the British tourist may be enabled the more faithfully to report to his countrymen the impression made upon him by "Shakespeare; a grand ballet." The libretto of a ballet is at best an arbitrary document, so to speak, and one from which there is no appeal. It being evident that should the libretto set forth that when the prima ballerina, nicely balanced on the great toe of her right foot, raises her left leg in the air at right angles with her body, and gently waves her arms to and fro, to soft music, such action means, and shall be held to mean, that the weather is beautiful; that we may look out for squalls; that she is in love; that she never will marry the count; that she would be glad of a little refreshment; that she never felt better in her life, and will be happy to favour the company with a pas," expressive of unlimited He is here, then, in a new guise, this Proteus-rapture; or any other conceivable statement, like "Divine Williams," "Swan of Avon," or the spectator has no choice but to submit and howsoever he be named in the various dialects acquiesce. Nay, if he be of a flexible and conof men. Rossini has given to the world that formable cast of mind, he may even by-and-by exquisite dying lay (the last notes of the ill-fated trace in the wavings and pirouetings some faint Desdemona, ceasing in sweetness like a crushed shadowing forth of the meaning given to them flower), Assisa al piè d'un salice. Verdi has in the libretto! We, however, in our character Italianised the "blasted heath," and made of British tourist, cast aside all such leadingLady Macbeth bid her guests to their revels strings whereby the ballet-master cunningly with a rousing brindisi, Si colmi il calice! sways the mind of man hither or thither as he Of Romeos and Juliets, Montecchi e Capu- will, and sturdily take our "posto distinto" in leti, there is no end. And in these latter days the wide pit of the Pergola, unprejudiced by any doth not Hamlet himself "discourse most elo- ex-parte statement as to what we are going to see. quent music," and a fair Swede warble forth the lovely lunacies of Ophelia until all hearts be melted by the pouring in of sad sweet song at the ears? And now, painting, poetry, and music, having each in turn seized the inexhaustible Shakespeare, and "played upon"-if not "fretted"-him, up rises the goddess of the dance, and, circling the astonished Bard in her gracefully rounded arms, whirls him away to tread a fantastic measure under her guidance. Shakespeare; or, a Midsummer Night's Dream. Grand Ballet. Shakespeare, from an Italico-histrionico-terpsichorean point of view! Allons! To the Pergola! Let us thither on this 25th evening of April, 1868, to see what we shall see. Note first, that the theatre one of the most elegant and well-proportioned in Europe-is at the beginning of the evening nearly empty. Romeo e Giulietta, or so much of M. Gounod's opera as the powers that be condescend to give us, is evidently not attracting the public. Neither will we, whose business is with terpsi The curtain descends on the first scene of the fourth act of Romeo e Giulietta; and now the buzz and hum of talk grow louder, and the rows of crimson chairs are dotted more thickly with sombre coats-black, brown, blue, or mingled pepper-and-salt. Some sprinkling, too, there is of brighter feminine garments, gossamer bonnets, glossy folds of silk. The white and gold frames of the private boxes-in Italian theatres all the boxes are private boxes-begin to show within them, groups of heads. Heads pretty or ugly, smart or dowdy, young or old, furnished or empty, as the case may be, but all addressing themselves with considerable attention to that canvas screen which divides us as yet from "Shakespeare." The opera has been cut sheer in two, and between its severed portions is inserted the bonne bouche of the evening. Layers of bread and mustard, as it were, on either side of the dainty slice of roast meat. Bread and mustard, not in themselves appetising, but serving to give an added relish to the really savoury and succulent morsel. Also, to drop metaphor, the acts of the opera which hem in the precious ballet at either end are useful, in that they enable us-not British tourist merely, but Florentine of Florence, born under the shadow of Giotto's campanile, heritors of the artistic glories, &c. &c., natives of the "land of song," &c. &c., countrymen of the Pergolesis, Palestrinas, Rossinis, Donizettis, Bellinis, and a great many more too numerous to mention to enjoy our after-dinner coffee at our ease, and stroll in coolly, bringing with us ambrosial odours of cigars, in time to witness a performance so entirely responsive to our artistic proclivities and perceptions. Christmas pantomime without beholding the twin brother of that cook. On a placard hanging at one side of the stage are these words, "Questa sera si rappresenta Macbeth." This evening, Macbeth is to be performed. But where? By whom? No matter. The nondescript hilarious ones trip a gay measure, and then there enters a gentleman in black. Hush-sh-sh! Silence in the house! During the opera a little gentle gossip (let us in honesty state that it must, however, be gentle gossip) does no harm. But now that the ballet has begun, we need to concentrate all our faculties. Sight alone suffices not. We must be undisturbed in our breathless attention even by the dropping of a pin. Know ye not this black velvet apparition with a peaked beard? Dense British tourist, who has never seen anything quite like him, stares bewildered. Stupid, stupid, thrice stupid, Saxon! 'Tis he! 'tis Shakespeare! And if you do not recognise your Williams, so much the worse for you. Williams, the divine one, is a personable fellow enough. Not ungraceful, and with well-turned legs cased in black silk hose. Descends from his throne the "maestro di capella," who wields his bâton over solo and chorus. Enters in his place the director of the dance music. Rap, rap, rap. Attention in the ranks ! One, two, three, four-crash, clang, rub-a-dub-dub-dub! The prelude, &c., symphony to "Shakespeare; a grand ballet," is beginning. Fluttering of fans, rustling of robes, general inspection of pocket-handkerchiefs. The audience in the pit-not "noi altri" of the posti distinti, but the citizens on those hinder benches-seize this opportunity, almost to a man, of pulling forth, each his pocket-handkerchief, and either blow-show of welcome by the landlord, the cook, the ing his nose with some emphasis or wiping his manly brow. The symphony is not peculiarly melodious, nor indeed peculiarly anything except loud. One has a great deal of noise for one's money; and it is, too, rather military in its character, so that one would not be surprised to be told that it had been originally composed for "Julius Cæsar; a grand ballet," or Marshal Blücher; a grand ballet." Shakespeare is received with much friendly landlord's daughter, and the hilarious assembly. These latter individuals, however, smile dumbly from a distance on the Bard, and linger tena ciously around the tables, as though expecting a supply of victuals by-and-by. But soon it appears that Shakespeare, despite his wellturned legs, his graceful mien, and his inky cloak, is not free from blemishes of temper. For no reason whatsoever that we can discover, he quarrels with the landlord, and invites him then and there to box! The landlord turns up his cuffs, and they set-to with a will. The hilarious ones look on smiling, with pointed toes. At all At length-and truly at no great length-it ceases, and the canvas screen rises; rises slowly, deliberately, almost, one may say, in a cold-blooded manner, as though there were no colto pubblico, no cultured public anxiously Of the style in which Shakespeare and the host awaiting Shakespeare and the twinkling of display their knowledge of the noble science of innumerable legs. Scene the first is clearly self-defence, I feel myself incompetent to confestive in its character. The stage represents vey an idea to the minds of my compatriots. -according to all the light of nature we can Perhaps it is historic. Perhaps it was thus bring to bear upon it-the interior of an inn. men boxed in the Elizabethan era. There are tables. Tables on the stage usually events it has this advantage—one, alas! not to mean one of two things: banquets, or docu- be numbered among the merits of our modern ments. Here are no documents. There is, if P.R.-it can hurt nobody! Babes and suckmemory serve us, one bottle; may be more. lings, with puffy pink fists, might box each Groups of nondescript hilarious individuals other so, and come off scatheless. Each man stand near the tables. There is present, the keeps his elbows well in to his side, and makes landlord. Him we recognise by his white apron his clenched hands revolve rapidly over and and rubicund nose. Mine host is an universal over one another for some time. Ever and character-a citizen of the world. Besides, is not anon he stretches forth his arm and taps his this "Shakespeare; a grand ballet ?" And does foe lightly on the chest and shoulders. Shakenot the scene lic in England? An English land-speare's features express fury; his lord whose nose should not be inflamed with his brows are knit. But still his fists reliquor, would indeed show us to be ignorant of our subject. By all means let us have couleur locale. And in this case let the colouring be red, and the locality the landlord's nose. Present also, are the landlord's daughter-a pleasing young lady in the costume of the early part of Henry the Eighth's reign-and the cook. The cook need not be described. Never from our tenderest childhood did we witness a eyes roll; volve harmlessly for the most part. At length the landlord unwarily turns his back, and quick as lightning, with the unerring instinct of genius, the Bard seizes the opportunity thus offered to him, of decisive victory. One thump skilfully administered behind, and the landlord falls heavily into the arms of his backer, the cook! The combat is over. It had no apparent cause, neither does any result seem likely to There enters a tall female figure draped in white with flowing gauzy sleeves and veil. She contemplates the Bard with a soft melancholy, and then, pressing her hand to her heart, raises her eyes to Heaven. Then, she steps on a flowery bank at one side of the stage, and seats herself at a harp. An Erard's patent grand we should judge the instrument to be, by its aspect. The lady throws back her veil. Surely we know those features! Stay; at the first notes of the harp a numerous corps de ballet trip lightly forth, headed by the airy maid of honour, now attired as Titania! That white-robed figure is the queen. Elizabeth Tudor as she appears at the Pergola Theatre in the year of grace 1868. Ye gods, could I but faintly image forth the spectacle of Queen Elizabeth in scarlet wig and white muslin garments, strenuously playing the harp for dancing girls on the banks of the Thames by lime-light! follow from it. But as a picture of national-with prophetic lustre. Moreover, she shines manners it has been interesting. It boots not upon the divine one, still drunk and still sleepto follow the "grand ballet" throughout all its ing. He has been carried by majesty's command many incidents neither would space permit. to this romantic spot, chair and all. For the ballet is in three acts. But we may select one or two more striking situations" as being calculated to give the English reader what we may call a new idea, and vision of several historical personages. Before the inn disappears to make way for other pictures, it becomes the scene of some rather complicated events. Two ladies-one in a long flowing train, the other in the briefest of tarlatan skirtsenter masked, and go through a great deal of exertion. On the long-robed lady removing her mask and black domino, we discover her to be no less a personage than the Virgin Monarch herself. She has a face of ghastly paleness, surmounted by a flaming wig of the hue vulgarly called "carroty": the towering stiff curls of which are piled high above her majestic brow. Her manners are vehement, and free from anything like the stiffness of court etiquette. Her toleration of her attendant's very scant and airy clothing, may suffice to show that Elizabeth's notions on the subject of costume were much more latitudinarian than we are accustomed to suppose. We soon discover, moreover, that her majesty is the victim of a sentimental passion for the wayward Williams! Unhappy Bard, canst thou not control thy notorious infirmity, so far as to appear in the royal presence sober? Or, at the least, not very drunk? Alas, humiliating as is the spectacle, the haughty queen must behold her poet, bottle in hand, reeling helplessly, in the last depths of intoxication! In vain she pleads, stretching forth her royal hands, and even bending her royal knees in supplication, Shakespeare will not relinquish his bottle. He continues to take sip after sip, regardless of his queen's increasing disgust and distress, until at length he drops into a chair and snores in drunken lethargy. Such are the flaws in the brightness of genius! Such are the fatal effects of the bottle! Elizabeth and her airy maid of honour put on their masks and fly. The hilarious ones return, but no longer hilarious. They have changed their dresses, and now appear in the garb of court huntsmen, apparently looking for the queen. Royalty is nowhere to be found. The divine one snores, drunk, in his chair. The landlord proposes something to eat by the unmistakable gesture of putting his fingers into his mouth and making as though he were swallowing-and everybody goes to dinner very cheerfully amid the jubilant music of hunting horns. They are here, the innumerable twinkling legs for which we (colto pubblico) have waited. Gracefully they skip and bound and twinkle, to our great delight, and apparently also to the entire satisfaction of the Maiden Monarch, who sits patiently thrumming her "Erard's grand" in a corner. How Shakespeare is aroused and surrounded by sportive nymphs, looking (as well he may) inexpressibly bewildered; how he goes through many intricate evolutions, threading the mazy rows of charmers with an accuracy which, under the circumstances, does him great credit; how Titania pulls from her golden sceptre various little scrolls, bearing the words "Coriolano," "Il rè Lear," "Amleto," &c. &c., and presents them to the poet; need not be particularly chronicled. Still less need we follow a serious under-plot, involving a duel-with rapiers, this time-between the divine one and a gallant young courtier. Come we to the third and concluding act. This is all pomp, triumph, and a kind of terpsichorean high-jinks. The second and third acts are to each other The scene is the queen's palace-which palace let no man try to specify - and the courtiers, male and female, throng to do honour to the Swan of Avon, the great national poet. The fair Elizabeth (that amiable weakness of the bottle all forgotten, or at least forgiven) delights to honour our divine Bard. She takes from a pink box which reposes on a velvet cushion in the hands of a page, a wreath of laurel bound with silver. This she claps on The scene represents a garden on the banks Shakespeare's raven locks (placing it in her of the Thames. Time, evening. Moon slowly agitation somewhat on one side), and then leads rises to illuminate the spires and towers him to a chair of state beside her own, whence of London. Also to illuminate the dome of the illustrious pair witness a series of dances St. Paul's-Sir Christopher Wren's St. Paul's! by agile coryphées in gorgeous raiment. Thus ends the first act. The second act is, perhaps, the most wonderful of the three, but though lengthy in action, it may be described with brevity. near-all speak of quiet enjoyment and peaceful promise. Beyond the firs a column of white steam, a tall chimney, and a cluster of ugly buildings are discernible, and they denote the whereabout of a coal-pit; puffs and roars of some mighty machinery in our rear, and the frequent noise of swiftly-rushing trains also break in upon our quiet. But these only give human interest to the scenery. Various are the dances, brilliant the costumes. look, making that near us seem brighter and But for us, British tourist and exile from greener by contrast; and the white blossom of home, whom as is well known splendour the well-laden trees to right and left, the butdazzles in vain, the most remarkable perform- terflies exulting in the Spring, and the merry ance shall be The Highland Fling! Exotic carol of the birds perched upon the branches highland fling, torn from thy native wilderness, how hast thou blossomed out from sober heathery plaid and bagpipe, to satin crossed with silk, and the crash of a full operatic orchestra! Marvellous truly is the apparition of four-and-twenty dancers, male and female, clad in short white satin petticoats -not wholly guiltless of crinoline-checked with blue ribbons, and wearing each a black velvet reticule on his or her stomach! Which black velvet reticule, the light of Nature enables us to recognise as the Italian for philabeg. Marvellous, too, is the agility with which the dancers twist and jump and toe-and-heel, with some far off resemblance to a break-down nigger dance; none absolutely none-to a highland fling when its foot is on its native heath, and its name is McGregor! But we (colto pubblico) accept it all as a vivid life-like representation of the mode in which those islanders enjoy themselves. We roar, we shout, we applaud, we encore furiously, the satin-kilted. And in the final melee when each corps joins in a grand general winding-up pas, we salute them with special and still increasing fervour. Black figures appear at the park gate nearest the coal-pit; and as they twine slowly past the clump of trees and into the road running in front of us, they form a regular procession preceding an uncouth load borne upon the shoulders of four of their number. The men are carrying their food-tins and lampguards, and in some cases their tools, as if they had finished work for the day, and march solemnly on, three abreast, halting every twenty yards to relieve and change places with the bearers of the load. Slowly pursuing the regular path, and not abating an inch of its distance by walking across the grass, as it might easily have done, this strange procession comes abreast the house, and the thing carried resolves itself into a limp figure with two heads, one falling forward as if belonging to a broken puppet, the other, alert and active and with sparkling eyes, behind it. A blackened man, more dead than alive, is stretched full length upon a wooden door, his head and shoulders be sure, our-gracious supported by a grimy urchin who squats behind Queen." Of course, The National Anthem-him and acts as cushion. The two are elevated with a difference. With, in truth, several in the air, and carried along as if they formed a differences. But we file out of the Pergola trophy. There has been an accident down humming, whistling, or singing, our version of it, in high good humour and satisfaction. O, by-the-by! There is another act of the opera to come, isn't there? Ah, never mind. We have seen "Shakespeare; a grand ballet," and that shall suffice us. And now a majestic strain salutes the ear. A strain which causes in the British tourist mind a horrible doubt as to whether he is asleep or awake, sane or insane. That beginning is like- And yet no. It must be though! Tum, tum, tum, tum-ti-tum. To "God save As we leave the theatre, a man steps up to us and says, Signore, your pardon, but I am a new man here (un'uomo nuovo) and-might I ask you what that first piece was about ?" "Romeo e Giulietta!" 'Oh, ah, thank you. I never heard of them before." PIT ACCIDENTS. THE portico of a country-house on a smiling April morning. Easy-chairs brought out into the sunshine, books, newspapers, and fancywork at hand. Before us, a trimly-kept lawn, dotted with white daisies and golden flowerspots; and before that again a spacious park with hundreds of lambs frisking merrily on the sward. A background of lofty hills, some covered with fir-trees, others apportioned out into fields, other ending in vast tracts of prairieland. The grass on these last has a burnt brown yonder pit, and the injured miner is being conveyed home with all the dismal pomp it is the custom of the country to observe. Work is suspended for the day; the workers sacrifice their pay, and the owner loses their labour. To convey the wounded in a rude litter to their homes, to bear them aloft as if in triumph, and to make a formal parade of accompanying them, are deemed evidences of respect and goodwill. There is nothing of superstition in this observance, nothing of fear of a similar evil chance happening to those left in the pit, and nothing in the nature of the accident to denote a more than ordinary risk of casualty. It is simply the Welsh custom, and, as such, has more than the force of law. Not to give up work when one of their number has been injured, would be thought disrespectful to a comrade, so, as we learn later, the remainder of the day is spent convivially at a neighbouring fair. There is something repellent in these silent grimy men and boys as they march slowly by and the nature of their errand is understood; for faces and bodies are so ingrained with coaldust that eyes and teeth alone seem human, and gleam unnaturally white: while the pallor of the poor wretch carried and the glassy fixed ness of his stare assert themselves through his to make, the bearers take their charge up the artificial blackness much as if he were a painted little black garden-path and rest it in the cotcorpse. He is quite insensible, and lies in his tage. Within, the evidences of love of home furworking clothes just as when the huge block nished by the plentifully and carefully tended of stone crushed him into the coal-bed he was flower-beds are abundant. The wounded man's hewing out. Happily, however, this man will, household goods, his chairs and chest of drawers as we hear subsequently, recover. He belongs, of brightest and newest mahogany; his ornamoreover, to two local clubs, and will draw six-mental monsters of coarse earthenware, and teen shillings a week while he is laid up. It is looking like a cheap parody upon the taste in to the credit of the pitmen in this valley that china affected by fine ladies and gentlemen a they are nearly all equally provident, and that, by century ago; his pipe, and Bible, and Welsh organisations which are managed and supported newspaper; his clean flannel jacket and cap among themselves, they can count upon pecu- behind the door; his second food-tin like a niary aid when laid low by sickness or disaster. monster shaving-box; all speak mournfully of Their doctor, even, though appointed by the tastes and habits he is far far removed from coal-owner, is paid by the men themselves, a now. The people near say he knows he is at small per-centage of their earnings being de- home; but he makes no sign, though the doctor ducted for that purpose. In Durham and assures us he will recover. Northumberland, it is worth remarking, the On our way to the head quarters of the nest cost of medical attendance in cases of accident of collieries we are in, we are horrified at meetis borne by the employers, while the colliers paying another procession of precisely similar for professional services if their illness arise from character to the first. The same silent grimy natural causes. men, the same formality of marching, the same But following the mournful string of people sad load behind. Another accident has hapto its destination-the pit-village nestling under pened in a different pit while we were ascertainthe hill behind us--it is piteous to see the faces ing the result of the first, and a compound of the women and children who flock to the doors fracture of the leg and a broken skull are the of the cottages we pass. They know what is the results. Two pit-lads, one at each end of the matter. No word seems to be spoken, but the body to steady head and legs separately, are on news spreads like wildfire and every door-step the rude litter aloft, and a coloured cotton in succession has its knot of eager watchers, who, handkerchief hides the worst of the head-injuries scanning hungrily the features of the senseless from view. But in no other particular does man, softly murmur out his name with a sigh, in this procession differ from the first. The which relief bears equal share with pity. The sus- blackened workmen walk moodily on three pense is terrible until they know the truth, and abreast, with the same slow step, and swing their see it is not their own husband or brother who is food-tins and lamp-guards idly by their side. carried. Strict silence is observed by the men They too, we discover afterwards, spend the readvancing, much as if it would be a breach of mainder of the day at the fair, and show their etiquette to speak, and as they all walk before sympathy for the wounded man by drinking their wounded brother the women have to steadily of the heady new ale, which is the peer beyond the procession and through the favourite stimulant of the district. Another blinding sunshine to ascertain the truth. At great pit is idle for the day, and in times when last a little cottage, glaringly clean and smart work is not too plentiful, when wages have been with recent whitewash, is approached, and a tall necessarily reduced, when "half-time" is comdark care-worn looking woman with an infant mon, and the whole trade of the district dein one arm, and the hand of the other uplifted pressed, scores upon scores of households lose a so as to shade her eyes, learns that it is to her day's bread-winning because the little commudoor Misfortune has come. The two chubby nity has not the courage to emancipate itself from rosy children at her feet, whose hearty robust an ancient but unworthy practice. For there is look looms through the conventional crust of no pretence that these processions are necessary, coal dirt, continue their play and chatter, but or are any comfort to the wounded. Ask the men their mother's countenance tells the whole why they go through this absurd form, and why story. A spasmodic contraction of the brow, they do not let the victims be carried home exan uncontrollable quivering of mouth, and a peditiously, quietly, and without fuss, and their sudden blanching of the face is followed by a only answer is, "It's always been done in this half totter as if she would fall among the gaudy valley and it wouldn't look kind to poor Evan little flower-beds with their bordering of the per- or Thomas if we hadn't given up our work on petual whitewash; and then all demonstration the day he was hurted.” Here and there you is over and she goes quietly indoors to make hear of solitary instances in which the proprieready for the sad burden which is to follow. tor or manager has prevailed upon the men She is now wonderfully calm and self-possessed, to let a wounded comrade be conveyed home and gives a fervent "thank God" when told in without the entire community of his pit sacriWelsh, "It's his back,-not very bad;" but if ficing a day's pay; and some of the most earnest ever bitter sorrow was written upon a woman's local ministers of religion have exerted their inface it is on hers. Still slowly, but with a fluence against the custom; but until the soft, tenderness and care which go far to condone tender, impressionable Welsh nature is conthe painful parade they have hitherto seemed vinced that it is an injury rather than a help |
