Page images
PDF
EPUB

will, we have no doubt, become a very ¡¡med in this expensive way, but it is not by great favourite. any means so appropriate to the season as in silk or chintz.

French pelisses, in satin and kerseymere, continue to be worn occasionally by a few elegantés. Silk mole skin muffs and tippets are from their novelty and elegance in the highest estimation, swansdown are next to them.

For dinner dresses, cloths, sarsnets, poplins, and satins, are worn, but the first is, we think, the highest in request. Frocks are still universal, and the bosom and shoulders are by some fair votarists of fashion as much as ever exposed; others, but we regret to say they are the fewest in

white lace tippet, the form of which is extremely simple, but very pretty, it is composed of two pieces of broad white lace joined together, and it is formed to the shape of the neck by a little fullness being thrown behind, the lace is not cut at all, it is gathered at the ends and a silk tassel affixed to each; we cannot help wishing that this fashion was more general, it is certainly extremely becoming, and equally delicate and appropriate to the time of year.

In morning dresses chintz is the highest in estimation, washing silks are still worn, but not so generally, and a few of our juve-number, shade their bosoms with a long nile elegantes have not yet given up muslin, though it has, it must be confessed, a cold and comfortless appearance for the time of year: we believe, indeed, the principal reason which induces ladies to prefer it, is their fondness for lace, which is not worn on other things. The most fashionable high dress at present is the D'Angouleme wrapper, which is made either in muslin, chintz, or washing silk; but as chintz is, as we have observed, the most in request, we shall describe it in that; it is made a walking length, and nearly up to the throat, but not quite; it is very short in the waist, in fact the waist is formed by a full band about a nail in breadth, to which the back, which is made with very little fullness, and the fronts are joined; a piece of chintz is laid in very full up the front at each side, and ⚫ goes all round to the middle of the back, where it is joined, the dress meets a few inches below the throat, the bottom of the skirt is ornamented in a similar manner, and at each edge of the fullness there is either a narrow flat silk trimming, or else a narrow quilling of ribbon to correspond with the ground of the chintz. Plain long sleeve with a broad wristband, edged in a similar manner to the fullness of the gown. Those ladies who chuse to display their throats wear this dress with a small white lace handkerchief put on inside the dress: those who do not, wear a lace shirt, but either way it is extremely tasteful, novel, and becoming. When made in washing silks it is similar, but if in muslin it is indeed a most expensive dishabille, as few ladies content themselves with a letting-in of muslin, and where it is of lace, as is generally the case, the breadth of it, the quantity that is used, and the fine Valenciennes edging which is put on at each side, renders it amazingly expensive; it certainly looks very elegant and striking in muslin when trim

For dinner dress the most fashionable form is a plain frock, made in a style that we are puzzled to describe, it just meets at the bottom of the waist behind, from whence it goes up in a gradual slope to the shoulder-strap, and from the shoulder-strap it is also sloped gradually downwards till the body ends in a point at the middle of the waist; there is of course a body underneath, which, if the dress is cloth, is white sarsnet in general; if silk poplin, it is of white lace, and the sleeves of the dress correspond; they are now made, if possible, shorter thau ever, the highest in estimation are those which are drawn in three byas festoons; be trimming for lace sleeves, we must observe, is Valenciennes edging, that of silk or cloth ones is regulated in a great measure by fancy, either silk, mole skin, swansdown, or silk trimming, ribband trimming is not quite exploded, but we must observe that it is worn but by a very few elegantés.

The corset frock which laces all the way up the front, is also a favourite; this dress is pretty and tasteful; at each side of the lacing up the front is a piece of the same imaterials of which the dress is composed, about half a quarter in breadth, and scolloped, as is also the bottom of the dress, which is edged with silk fancy trimming, narrow swansdown, &c.; as to the body, we need not describe it, as it is simply a

corset, the sleeve to this dress is generally à-la-chemise, and very short and full.

respond with the dress, but as the manner of wearing them cannot be described, we can only assure our fair readers that it depends on taste.

In half dress, lace caps are universal; there is much variety in the form but they are all small, and ornamented with winter flowers, generally speaking; some ladies prefer rosettes of lace, and we have seen a few trimmed with ribband, but the latter are not general.

The Circassian corset has now become so universal a favourite, that no lady of taste will wear any thing else; our fair fashionables are astonished how they could so long have submitted to the torture of steel, whalebone, &c, from a mistaken idea || of improving their shapes, a purpose which the Circassian corset answers most admira- || bly, while at the same time it gives to the figure that perfect ease which is the soul of grace and elegance: the only class whom we should expect to find fault with the Circassian corset, is the physicians, who certainly lose many a fair patient by its beneficial effects upon the health; joking apart, we are authorised in saying, that many of those complaints of the stomach to A slight alteration has taken place in the which it is so difficult to give a name, cer- manner of wearing the hair since our last tainly proceeded from improper stays, and Number, a part of the front hair is now such ladies as have adopted the Circassian brought down behind each ear, and forms corset, have no hesitation in saying, that a loose bunch of full curls in the neck; the use of it has entirely removed the hind hair is still worn à-la-Grecque, and spasms, &c. which they found so trouble-bands of hair are occasionally intermixed some before.

French gauze over white satin is highest in estimation for full dress; white lace over white satin has, however, many partisans, and we think on the whole is more elegant, though not quite so tonish. The trimmings for lace dresses are generally broad lace, but sometimes quillings of net | are substituted in its stead; this kind of trimming is, however, too inconsequential for full dress. Dresses of French gauze are variously trimmed with embroidery, artificial flowers, beads, &c.; but the most tasteful and the highest in estimation is the trimming which we have given in our Print; the dress itself is indeed so elegant and becoming, that we are not surprised at its being a favourite.

Full dress offers very little novelty; its form is a simple frock, or a plain round dress ornamented with a drapery; and as we had once before occasion to observe, every thing depends on the manner of putting those draperies on, some ladies will throw a white lace veil over their dress, and adjust it in a manner so fanciful and picturesque that it will appear a perfect novelty; others prefer a drapery to cor

In full dress, pearl sprigs and artificial winter flowers for our juvenile belles, are very general. Tiaras of diamond, emerald, &c. seem to be coming into favour with matronly ladies; and turbans ornamented with precious stones are at present in very high estimation.

with the curls in front.

the

In undress jewellery, red cornelian is at present in the highest estimation, but we have seen some necklaces, &c. composed of small dead gold heats fastened together by very small chains of the same metal, which had a very elegant effect.

For full dress, diamonds, &c. set in the form of olives, are still very prevalent, but we may expect a change in jewellery in the course of a few weeks.

Full dress slippers continue to be made too low over the instep; they are as usual of white kid or satin, if the latter they are richly embroidered.

Nun's veils are now worn as draperies only; but we had forgotten to observe, in speaking of the walking costume, that small squares, both in white and black lace, which have been so much worn, begin to give place to veils in either white or black, of about three quarters in length; belles of high ton sport French lace veils, but the extravagant price of foreign lace makes our bobbin net more generally worn, and it looks as well.

Plain ivory French fans something smaller than they were worn last month.

[ocr errors]

MONTHLY MISCELLANY,

INCLUDING VARIETIES, CRITICAL, LITERARY, AND HISTORICAL

THE THEATRES.

COVENT-GARDEN.-A very pleasing MeloDrama has been produced at this theatre, with all the magnificence of which its extent makes it capable, and with all that defiance of expence which marks the liberal character of its conductors. The name of the piece is the Forest of Bondy; it is imported from the French stage, and is certainly improved by its passage. It is, perhaps, with Melo-Dramas as with wines, a sea voyage does them good.

The main feature of the above piece is derived from a very singular circumstance, which St. Foix, in his History of Paris, and several other French historians, allege to have taken place during the reign of Charles V. It is related, that Aubri de Mondedier, travelling, accompanied by a favourite dog, through the forest of Bondy, was murdered, and buried by the assassin on the spot where he fell. The faithful animal, who witnessed his fate, never quitted the grave of his unfortunate master, till compelled by hunger. He then proceeded to Paris-and, having gained admission to the house of one of Aubri's friends, he, by his cries and extraordinary motions, induced some of the family to follow him to the forest and he finally conducted them to the place in which the body of Aubri was deposited. No clue presented itself for the detection of the assassin, till three or four days afterwards, when the dog happened to meet the Chevalier Macaire in the streets-and immediately attacked him with the utmost fury. This was so often repeated, that the King at length heard of it, and expressed a strong desire to see the animal. He found him perfectly tractable, until Macaire entered the room, whom he instantly selected from a company of twenty persons, and commenced a ferocious attack on him. This circumstance, coupled with the fact, that Macaire had often expressed his hatred of Aubri, determined the King to order a combat between the Chevalier and the dog. The island of Notre Dame was the place appointed for the fight. Macaire was armed with a bludgeon-an empty cask was allotted as a place of retreat for the dog. The combat was speedily concluded. The dog ran round his opponent, and avoided his blows; at length, watching his opportunity, he seized him by the throat, and threw him to the earth, Macaire then confessed the murder-and, on that confession, was executed. The effigies of the dog ornamented, for a long period afterwards, the chimney-piece of the grand hall in the Castle of Montargis.

The author of this Melo-Drama has not ad

1

hered to the original story; his deviations are in quest of stage effect, and are therefore pardonable. But it would be to anticipate the pleasure of the spectator to detail the incidents as they arise,-suffice it to say, that this Melo-Drama is one of the best of its kind; that the interest is well sustained throughout, and the eye and ear amply compensated for attention. Farley, who is the stage contriver of this piece, is well known to the town for his talents. He possesses a very rare faculty this way; and infuses more of the rational in this species of entertainment than any similar composer we ever knew. The attraction of this piece has been very considerable.

A young lady of the name of O'Neill has appeared at this theatre, and obtained a degree of success in the characters of Juliet and Belvidera, which is without parallel since the days of Mrs. Siddons. A success, let us add, not founded in caprice, but fully justified by extraordinary merit, and therefore sure of being permanent. It is between thirty and forty years since Mrs. Siddons first appeared on the London boards. Those who remember the rapture with which this genuine child of nature was received; those who recollect the predominant influence which she at once established over the feelings of the audience, and the electrical touches of her magical art, will, perhaps, only recall the same ideas when they see Miss O'Neill. But those to whom the first appearance of Mrs. Siddons at London is only history, will derive the same pleasure, and form the same conceptions, from the performances of Miss O'Neill, which seemed hitherto exclusive and peculiar to Mrs. Siddons. It would be unjust to institute a comparison between powers, ripened by age and long experience, and powers just developing and forming. We shall not therefore compare Mrs. Siddons, as she was, when concluding her dramatic life, with Miss O'Neill, just entering upon her's. But, undoubtedly, both seem of a kindred genius, and of the strictest affinity in natural powers. Both possess the rare secret of touching the heart; both have been conducted into those recesses of nature, where the bolder and more venerable mysteries are taught; by the aid of which, we learn to dress fiction in the garb of truth; to lay our hands upon that Promethean brand which kindles the statue into life; and to create, where in fact we are expected only to imitate.

But that we may not appear to pronounce a panegyric only, we must hasten to describe this young lady. Miss O'Neill seems to be about twenty years of age-Her person is above the middle size; her countenance is handsome and expressive; but she has not that bold and marked contour of features, which impairs the softness,

therto passed off without attention in the mouth of other performers. A more beautiful example of conjugal tenderness, of modest, but bold affection, we never witnessed. There was an irresistible softness in her manner, a captivating grace which stole upon the heart; a force of affection which seemed to break through every selfish feeling, and a matchless fidelity which crowned the whole character.-In short, the illusion was perfect; she pronounced in the most touching manner the lines→→

that is the characteristic of beauty-Her form is graceful and well proportioned; all her attitudes are models of elegance; her arms are peculiarly well formed; her hair and complexion are light, and her eyes, we believe, blue-She is more than a pretty woman; she is elegant and handsome-Her voice is clear and articulate, sound in all its notes, and filling with ease the whole compass of the theatre. In the ordinary dialogue she is audible in her whispers, and when her voice swells with passion, she is perfectly capable of animating her audience, with"Accuse me to the world, out rant or disagreeable harshness. She does "But pr'ythee, don't in poverty forsake me.” not here, indeed, like Mrs. Siddons, astonish; she is not gifted with those sublime and over- The audience rewarded her with more tears powering notes, which Mrs. Siddons occasionally than applause.-Again, where she breaks from produced, but she excels her in the whole scale of the conspirators, and throws herself into her husharmony, in the sounds of sweetness, tenderness, band's arms, the notes of her voice, which seemed and sensibility, which melt and harrow up the to gush from her throat, but are suffocated by the soul. Nothing can be conceived more affectingly force of her passion, pierced the heart of the tender than her voice, in those scenes in which hearer, and bedewed every cheek with sorrow. the passions require it to soothe and console. But the scene, in which her virtue triumphs over This lady, moreover, seems to possess the master the oath of her husband to the conspirators, and principle of all excellence-an admirable sense in which she leads him captive in the bonds of of propriety and decorum in all she does,-what duty, swaying his infirm passions, as much by we call common sense in ordinary life, a faculty superiority of virtue, as conjugal tenderness, similar to this in the performances of the stage is was, perhaps, her master-piece. It is in this possessed by Miss O'Neill. With such powers, scene that the character of Belvidera expands and natural and acquired, with such a combination ennobles itself, and takes a loftier flight-she is of excellence, Miss O'Neill first appeared in the not only the faithful wife, but the preserver of character of Juliet, and has since performed the her country-Her character is no longer distincharacter of Belvidera. It is unnecessary to guished for domestic qualities only, but assumes the traits of sublimer virtues. analyse the separate scenes; our judgment must The scene in be formed by the general effect-From her first which she parts from Jaffier was the next in digentrance to her departure she fully possessed hernity and feeling; and was only surpassed by the audience-They seemed perfectly absorbed by dying scene, in which madness was most admiraher performance-There was nothing superabun-bly delineated: she did not disgust the eye of dant or defective-She was the true romantic heroine which Shakespeare drew; full of the enterprize of love, chastened with virgin modesty Timid in her advance, courageous in her affection; condensing and summing up every thing, as it were, in one passion, which she exhibited with the utmost vivacity and truth, and in those glowing colours in which the poet has delineated it. There are two scenes which we are particularly called upon to point out; the scene in which she coaxes the nurse-Nothing could be more natural and artless.-In this scene she discovered the seeds of different powers, which, we doubt not, will one day render ber the ornament of the other province of the drama.-The next scene was that in which she takes the poisonHere she seemed to sway at will the feelings of the house, and to force her passage, without difficulty, to every heart.-Mrs. Siddons, in her youthful days, never displayed greater powers.But we must now leave her Juliet.

[merged small][ocr errors]

the audience, as we have sometimes seen other actresses do, by ungraceful personal contortions, or by affecting a sort of unnatural extravagance, which would indicate that every thing human, together with reason, had left the body of the poor maniac. Her madness was still the delirium of the faithful wife, of the noble-minded daughter of Priuli; of one, whose magnanimity had preserved her native city, at the expence of her husband's fidelity. In short, it was the ecstacy of a human creature. The shriek which she gave when she thought she beheld the ghost of her husband, was most affectingly tender; and the manner in which she died upon the stage has never, we think, been surpassed.

It

It is needless to say, after this, that the audience testified their approbation by the loudest shouts of applause, and that the house has been crowded every night of her performance. would be unjust to omit a remark upon Young's` Pierre and Conway's Jaffier. Pierre, by the former was a noble exhibition; it had all that hold and vigorous painting in which Young excelshe was nervous and impressive in every scene. Conway's Jaffier is the best of his exhibitions : he has the materials of an excellent actor, but is much in want of discipline.

LITERARY INTELLIGENCE.

LETTERS ON THE WRITINGS AND
CHARACTER OF ROUSSEAU.
By Madame de Stael. Colburn. London.

THIS justly celebrated lady's name is a sure passport to every thing excellent in the wide field of literature; we were led to expect praise on the works of Rousseau from Madame de Stael, whose own mind, ardent and enthusiastic as it is refined, must naturally admire the fine sentiments of nature and feeling which run through every line of this celebrated author's productions, and we were not disappointed. Madame de Stael, by her persuasive eloquence, leads every one to think with her: and the above work, being chiefly an indulgent critique on Rousseau's various writings, we shall present our readers with a few extracts, the fine language, and correctness of which, will, we make no doubt, render them highly acceptable to our readers.

LETTER I.ON THE STYLE OF ROUSSEAU.

"Rousseau was forty years of age when he composed his first work. He could not devote himself to study until his heart and mind were calm; and while most men stand in need of the first fire of youth to supply the want of a real warmth of imagination, the mind of Rousseau was agitated by a flame to which it had long been a prey, without receiving its light. His feelings were too strong to permit him to think, and he knew not how to live and reflect at the same time. He wrote not rapidly nor with much facility. His sentiments, in fact, are so profound, and his ideas so vast, that his slow and majestic progress is such as it might have been wished. Order produced from chaos, and the creation of the world, present the idea of a work the consequence of a long series of ages, yet the power of the Creator does not appear less awful.

"All his writings bear the marks of a passion for nature, and a hatred for every thing added to it by men. And for the purpose of explaining to himself the mixture of good and evil, he seems to have distributed it in this manner. He wished to bring men back to a kind of state of which nothing but the golden age of fable gives an idea, equally removed from the inconveniences of savage life and the vices of civilization.

"The discourse of Rousseau which has most struck me, is that against the establishment of public spectacles at Geneva. There is in it an astonishing union of the means of persuasion, of logic and eloquence, of passion and reason, The author never appeared with so much dignity: the love of his country, the enthusiasm of liberty,|| and an attachment to morality, guide and animate his thoughts. The cause he supports, especially when applied to Geneva, is perfectly just; all the wit he sometimes employs to maintain a paradox, he brings forward in this work in aid of truth: not one of his efforts is in vain; none No. 63.-Vol. X.

of the impulsions he gives miss the object at which they are aimed. He has all the ideas to which his subject can give birth, with all the elevation and warmth it ought to excite."

ON THE NOVEL OF ELOISA.

"A novel may be a description of the manners. of the moment, the play of imagination, which brings into a narrow compass several extraordinary events to captivate the interest of curiosity, or a great moral idea put into action and rendered dramatic. In this class Eloisa is intitled to a place. The author's aim seems to have been to encourage to repentance, by the example of the virtue of Julia, women guilty of the same crime with her. I begin by admitting all the objections which may be made to the plan. It will be thought dangerous to be concerned for Julia; that it is giving a charm to crimes, and that the injury this novel may do to young girls, yet in a state of innocence, is more certain than the utility of which it may be to such who are not. This criticism is just. I wish Rousseau had described Julia culpable by the passion of her heart only. I am also of opinion that it is for none but pure hearts that moral discourses ought to be written. Pity can have its source in nothing but the interest inspired by the guilty person; morality ought to be severe in itself, but its appli cation should be tempered with goodness. If, after reading Eloisa, we feel ourselves more animated with the love of virtue, if we be more exact in the discharge of our duties, and if beneficence, retirement, and a simplicity of manners have more attraction for us, let us pardon the author, and cease to condemn the novel.

"The intention of Rousseau was to write at moral work; and in order to do this he gave it the form of a novel. But if it be true that men are not to be moved without the aid of a passion; if the language of angels have ceased to have an effect upon them, ought not even an angel to decline the attempt? If, so to speak, it be necessary to drag men to virtue; if, to interest them, their imperfection requires the eloquence of a passion, is Rousseau to be blamed for having made choice of that of love? What other passion would have approached nearer to virtue ?

"In the first ages of the world men were, perhaps, unacquainted with all the virtues which do not arise from love. This passion may sometimes produce all those which religion and morality prescribe. The origin is less celestial, but it is possible to mistake them one for the other.

"I must, however, confess, that I am often displeased at discovering Rousseau in Julia; 1. could wish to find in her the ideas but not the; character of a man. Propriety, female modesty, that even of a guilty woman, are wanting in seve., ral of her letters. Modesty still exists after crimes, when the commission of these has arisen from the passion of love. I likewise think her continual sermons to Saint Preux are ill-judged: a guilty woman may still love virtue, but cannot

A a

4

« PreviousContinue »