Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB
[merged small][ocr errors]

expression of heroic virtues are joined to their practice in the experience of actual life? By a singular coincidence, Taima, like Roscius, was the honoured friend of the most distinguished persons of his age, and lived in habits of intimacy with the man who for fourteen years dictated laws to continental Europe."

When Napoleon went to the celebrated congress of sovereigns at Erfurt, in 1808, Talma, with a select cohort from the Theatre François, was ordered to attend him. "You shall play before a pit full of kings," said he to his favourite. Nothing could exceed the respect with which Talma was treated during this expedition. One of the plays selected was Voltaire's "Death of Caesar," which bore directly upon the position of Napoleon, surrounded by his tributary potentates, some of whom might be conspirators in disguise. He enjoyed the palpable application with marked delight, augmented by the evident embarrassment of his surrounding cortége. At the representation of Edipus, when Philoctetes uttered the line,

[blocks in formation]

Subsequent to his success in Sylla, Talma ventured on a character completely out of his usual walk, Danville in Casimir Delavigne's comedy of "L'Ecole des Viellards.". Here he had the disadvantage of appearing in the ordinary vestments of modern fashion, and the novelty of his situation for a time embarrassed and clouded his genius. But after a few repetitions, this was considered one of his most successful efforts. His last original character, Charles the Sixth, (in the tragedy of M. Delaville,) was also his closing performance before the audience who had so long hung in raptures on his accents, and testified now their admiration for the actor, joined to cordial sympathy for the man. While representing this aged monarch, imbecile, demented, and wornout by sufferings and misfortune, he himself was struggling with the

mortal disease which came as the herald of death, and was soon destined to close his earthly career. He was taken ill in Paris, and wished oce more to revisit his country seat at Brunoy, but his strength failed so rapidly, that removal was found to be impossible. His physicians despaired, but he himself encouraged hope almost to the last moment. The Archbishop of Paris, from personal respect, called to see him; but the dying man declined the interview, not from any absence of proper religious feeling, or from disrespect to the prelate, but because the Church had refused to ratify his marriage on account of his profession, and was equally prepared to deny to an actor the ordinary rites of sepulture a bigotry peculiar to France, and discreditable to the government by which it was long tolerated. "I regret exceedingly," said Talma, the day before his death, “that I cannot receive this good archbishop, but if I get better, my first visit shall be to him." He expired gradually, and without pain, on the 19th of October, 1826, at his own house in the Rue de la Tour-des-Dames. His last words were, "The worst of all is, that I cannot see." His sight had completely failed during his illness. Within a few hours after his death, two painters took sketches of his head, and David, the sculptor, was employed on a cast, from which was afterwards executed the marble statue destined to be placed in the hall of the Theatre Français. Two days later, on the 21st of October, the body of Talma was borne to its final resting place on earth, in the cemetery of Pere la Chaise, attended by a vast concourse of distinguished admirers; and as the coffin was lowered, his friend, comrade, and rival, Lafont deposited on it a wreath of immortelles, and pronounced a powerful oration, which was long remembered for its touching pathos and affectionate sincerity.

Talma was often solicited to instruct young beginners, but he invariably advised them not to think of the stage, a career in which anything short of high success condemns the votary to a life of cheerless servitude. It does not appear that declining years and increasing fortune ever induced him to contemplate a formal retirement. He loved his art with enthusiasm, and as he knew his ablest

illustrations must perish with him, he determined to continue them as long as his faculties remained unimpaired. The annals of the French stage present three distinct epochs, signalised by three great masters, each remark

able for an opposite style-Baron, Lekain, and Talma. A close parallel presents itself in our own history, when we turn to the ages, schools, and names of David Garrick, John Kemble, and Edmund Kean. J. W. C.

THE DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY.

CHAPTER I.

A MORNING WALK IN CALCUTTA.

EACH hour in the day has its peculiar phasis and its own striking features in the East. In any large city of the west it is quite true that the aspect of the streets and environs at one hour is not precisely similar to that which they present at another. The early morning, the middle of the day, the evening, night, have all, more or less strikingly, their own characteristics. But in the far East

the hour of the day may be easily known by the aspect of the town. Let business once commence in the swarming hives of European industry, and one hour is like another until its close. Not so under the burning sun of the tropics; there all is periodical, both in animal and vegetable life.

In the early morning in Calcutta, for instance, crowds of Hindus of all ages and both sexes, may be seen inaking their way down to the Hooghly-"muddiest and murkiest of sacred streams"-to indulge in, or to endure, their morning ablutions; and not Hindus only, for the Mussulman population, and the Seikhs are no less scrupulous in the practice of bathing than the worshippers of Brahma. Servants, palanquin-carriers, grooms, and sepoys, all wend their way down to the river, and, standing therein, discharge one jug of water after another over their heads. It is a religious rite with them; and whether in the cold morning air of January, or the grilling heats of May and August, they equally bathe and wash. Emerging

from the water, the Hindus ascend the steps of the landing-places muttering their prayers aloud, in which the reiterated word, "Ram, Ram !* is alone to be heard. In another hour all is changed. The sun casts a flood of light over the great Salt Lake east of Calcutta, and the

bathers are to be seen no more. They have gone to their daily avocations. One loitering woman or another, perhaps, may be seen wringing out her long, black hair as she proceeds from the river, her clothes sticking closely to her wet skin as she walks leisurely along, heedless of observation. The wealthier natives are now bathing at their private ghauts, or landing-places on the river, or else at their houses-water having been conveyed thither in sheep-skins on men's shoulders; for Calcutta is innocent of water-pipes, as it is of drainage or of gas.

The poorer classes may be seen preparing their morning meal; servants hastening to the meat-markets, or rubbing down the horses, or cleaning their masters' houses, or opening their shops.

One hour after, and another change has came over the spirit of the dream. Active preparations are being made to convey the sahebs to office. Palanquins are dusted, and borne to the doors of the Portuguese and poorer English clerks; buggies and covered carriages roll out from the stables and coach-houses, to be harnessed and got ready for the wealthier; whilst, in the native quarter of

* Synonymous with, O God ! O God!

the town, the morning meal engrosses all hands and mouths. Piles of rice and curry are demolished and disappear--the fingers conveying load after load skilfully to the parted lips. Another hour, and all Calcutta is on the alert. The native clerk emerges from his home in brilliant or dingy white the vehicles roll along -the palanquins are being poked against each other, and against the persons of the pedestrians. All is bustle and hot haste everywhere. Every quarter of the town, the bazaars, the European streets, the native roads, are alive with multitudes of all classes and all grades,-differing as Inuch from each other in outward appearance and gait and manner, as in belief and thoughts.

Another hour, and repose as of death has crept over the streets. The sun is flinging beams of intense power into every nook and cranny. All Calcutta is oppressed with a sweltering heat that enervates and overpowers. Listless forms are stretched under shelter in the bazaars and narrower streets. All the work done is going on within doors; and if the roll of a carriage is heard without, the listener wonders who it can be, and would get up to see were there energy enough left in him; but there is not, and so he sits on, lolls, and wonders. And so on from hour to hour, I might proceed with the horoscope of the City of Palaces-the diurnal horoscope. It is not my intention, however, so to do. I want to bring back the reader's attention to the morning, and there to fix it for a short time. Standing on the bank of the Hooghly, not far from Fort William, just as the natives are finishing their matutinal ablutions, the scene is unique and interesting enough. Vessels from all nations are swinging with the tide, made faintly visible by the morning light bursting over the plain--not stealing gradually over it, as would be the case in more northern climes. Vessels from all nationsthe representatives of the great western powers amid the waters of the Ganges; France, England, America in pleasant commercial rivalry. There is the uncouth junk of the Celestials, too, with its great staring eyes painted on the bows; and there is the prahu of the Malays, and the lugger of the Dutchman, and the opium clipper of

the Anglo-Indian merchant; the sacred waters of the Ganges supports them all alike.

As the light increases, the forms of seamen gliding about on the decks become more and more distinct, and nautical sounds in many tongues gradually break upon the silence.

To our left some sepoys are lounging opposite one of the drawbridges of the Fort-lounging in an upright soldierly way, not crouching, monkeyfashion, upon the ground, as the other natives do. They are smoking, of course. Men smoke in India almost as much as in Holland or in Germany.

An occasional Anglo-Indian pedestrian comes, in a busy, business-like way, along the path by the river's side. An occasional gharrie or palanquin carriage comes rolling along to the landing-place, that its pale-faced occupant may indulge in a few turns by the river, now when the fresh morning air is agreeable and reviving. The coolies and palanquin bearers, who are wringing out their wet clothes upon the beach, make room for him respectfully, as he strides on conscious that he belongs to the ruling race, and bearing that consciousness legibly written on his counte

nance.

It is an interesting thing to listen to the voluble tongues of these poor, hard-working, merry, contented, longsuffering men-the palanquin-bearers -at this early hour. All day they work hard under a broiling sun-the early morning is their only time for relaxation and unobstructed talk. They sleep much during the day, between the intervals of excessive labour; but they require much sleep, and now as they wring out their clothes they make up for many previous hours of silence and hard labour.

But it is not to observe the varied aspect of the City of Palaces at this early hour, nor to notice the variety of vessels that crowd the Hooghly, nor to examine Hindu Venuses emerging from the bath, nor to discourse of palanquin-bearers, that I have brought you here, good reader. It is to see a man worth seeing, who regularly perambulates about this walk in the early morning, and whose appearance indicates him to be noteworthy in many ways. There he is! -I thought we should see him

making his way between those lounging native soldiers resting on the turf, and the Hindu coolies who are spreading their clothes upon the river's bank to dry. Hat in hand, Dr. Lemuel Gebirgen advauces. He walks thus constantly. Our absurd European hat, quite unsuited to the climate, he carries in accordance with tyrant custom, but in his hand instead of on his head. There is no appearance of hurry or haste about him, and yet he is far from sauntering. No he moves leisurely, but not too slowly, along the thoughtful head with its slightly silvered hair a little advanced, as he makes his way now between the thoughtless coxcomb who is torturing his horse to show his horsemanship, on the one side, and the equally thoughtless soldiers who are smoking in a little group on the other. His head has been partially silvered, just sprinkled here and there with frost, not so much by years as by thought and sorrow; for, estimable as he is, he has not escaped his share of the woes of this lifenay, rather has borne more than his due share, as the deep-feeling, sensitive soul perhaps always does. The massive forehead tells of thought, the drooping mouth and sunken check of mental suffering. People object to the heavy eyebrow, and wish to persuade us that the dark glowing orbs which they environ would be better if relieved by a lighter fringe. Quite a mistake; the heavy eyebrow gives a character to the face which suits its outline and its expression better than the most beautifully pencilled arch that man in his rage of imitation, or nature in her originality, has ever exhibited elsewhere. Looking at the bushy beard and moustache, on which time has but gently laid his hand, one would scarcely suppose that our friend Dr. Gebirgen was a metaphysician. Such is the fact, however, and that which the lower portion of the face with its statuesque beauty would conceal, is often told by the preoccupied eye and abstracted gait, that make the observer smile as he sees him sometimes vainly try to put his hat into his pocket, mistaking it for a handkerchief or a book. His well-knit frame and stalwart limbs are not those of a carpet knight," but of one who has used his strength well and gloried in it in his youth.

Let us step aside and note him as he passes by. There is a firmness in the tread, and an elasticity also, which tell that youth in deserting the frame has not wholly borne away with it its vigour and its capability of endurance. The advanced head may not be graceful, but it is earnest and thoughtful, and becomes the man well. The hat held in the left hand, whilst the right leans on a stout oik stick, shows that for his part Dr. Lemuel Gebirgen cares little for appearances, that having weighed appearances and comfort in the balance, he finds the latter the heavier and more valuable. The wind, which has sprung up with the increasing light, lifts the dark silvered hair from the forehead, and lets it fall again, disclosing a massive head, doubtless well filled, capable of much thought. His dress is light in colour and material, as befits the climate, and loose withal. He walks here daily, from half-past five to seven, and then entering his carriage is driven back to his home and to his day's avocations. He is standing still now to watch that graceful cutter making her way up the stream. It belongs, perhaps, to an indigo-planter who lives far away up the river, and soon fond eyes will be straining from the lonely home to get a glimpse of its white sails and well-known trim. It is a suggestive sight, and doubtless the doctor is moralizing upon it after his wont; but it is also a beautiful one, and it is not much to be wondered at, that the graceful tackings of the cutter excite so much attention on shore. A few more turns, now that the walk has been resumed, and the river's bank will be deserted by the Europeans; for the sun is gradually stealing over the landscape and lighting it up in a fiery glow-a glare that hurts the unaccustomed eye-a few more turns and Dr. Lemuel Gebirgen too will be gone,— to resume, however, his solitary, thoughtful walk on the morrow.

Many a morning did I so watch the indefatigable doctor, admiring much the ardour with which he sought the beautiful with his eye, the suggestive with his mind; and, often thinking that such a man was worth studyworth a whole host of ordinary acquaintances, such as jostle us in the world's crowd, and scarcely excite interest enough in our minds to cause

us to turn and ask whither they have gone. I longed to become acquainted with one whom outwardly I had conned and studied so eagerly and so attentively. He had not observed my attention, however, for he never heeded much the idle or the thoughtless, amongst whom he doubtless ranked me, as I saunteringly smoked my cheeroot. People said he was an eccentric old bachelor-that was all. Happy phrase, that solves every enigma, satisfies every doubt. The man who wears his hair or his whiskers differently from his neighbours

This

the man who believes nothing that they believe and much that they laugh at the man who resents their frivolity or outrages their principles, is simply eccentric; and if unmarried, an eccentric old bachelor! proves a sufficient explanation for every excellence or every absurdity,--for being vastly above or below his kind. Every little assembly of civilized humanity, every Indian station, every English cathedral or watering town, every European or American coterie has its samples of these eccentric old bachelors, shunned by and shunning the society into which accident or taste has led them; smiled at, sneered at, pitied, attacked, defended; the subjects of infinite jests from sprightly young men ; the objects of profound contempt from "far-seeing" mamas with marriageable daughters to dispose of; the frequent theme of conversation in every circle--eccentric old bachelors!

"Do you know anything of that gentleman? He seems no ordinary inan," I observed to a friend who prided himself on knowing everything and everybody in Calcuttaone of those walking encyclopedias who become the oracles of large and small tea-parties.

"I know him well," was the reply, "Dr. Lemuel Gebirgen, a German-head of the German house of Saltzwedel, Gefer, and Co.-as you say, no ordinary man; between ourselves, he is an eccentric old bachelor in fact."

"Yes, the Directory tells me as much; that is, his name, and the mercantile house of which he is the chief," I replied; "but do you know anything of the man? of his history? of his antecedents, as the phrase goes?"

"Don't I tell you, he's an eccentric

old bachelor!" was the reply, dashed' with an air of offended friendship that I should not be satisfied with so full and luminous an account.

"Do you know anything of that gentleman?" I asked of an old lady, as we rolled over the strand in a luxurious barouche-an old lady who prided herself on her ton and modewords which were ever in her mouth. The doctor had just ridden past-calm, abstracted, preoccupied as usual, but without inspecting the occupants of the vehicle; and so the old lady, who bowed to all, bowed not to him. And here, whilst the old lady is preparing her reply, I cannot help remarking how different this will-o'-the-wisp ton is in England and in Calcutta. I' do not pretend to account for the difference, for I confess my entire ignorance of the mysteries of ton altogether. In Calcutta "the leader of the beau monde" is perpetually bowing on the Course or Strand, whereever men most do congregate, as if anxious to prove that she knows everybody worth knowing; she spends her out-of-door life in bowing and watching bows. In England it is very different; the leader there proves by her immobility, as she, with an air of listlessness, examines the passers by no less minutely, that there are few indeed "out to-day" worthy her recognition. The bowing in Calcutta is certainly more of a business. "Do you know anything of that gentleman ?" I asked of the fashionable old lady.

"Yes," was her reply, "I know him perfectly well, Doctor Lemuel Gebirgen - German---rich-eccentric old bachelor."

"Do you know where he comes from, or anything of his history ?" I asked again.

"A German-rich-eccentric old bachelor-that's his history," was the reply. It was evident I could get no further information in that quarter, so I gave up the pursuit. My curiosity was rather increased than repressed by these unsuccessful essays. Dr. Lemuel Gebirgen, a wealthy German, head of the German house of Saltzwedel, Gefer, and Co., who had been five or six years in Calcutta, and was an eccentric old bachelor, was the entire amount of information which I was enabled to glean from extensive enquiries on the subject.

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »