~A Mathematical Problem.~
If one United States Marshal can capture a Fenian General surrounded by his army, in five minutes, how long would it take him to capture the army?
| THE PLAYS AND SHOWS. Kant is admitted to be one of the greatest of the German philosophers. (That fact has nothing whatever to do with the Plays and Shows, but the artist insisting upon making K the initial letter of this column, the writer was obliged to begin with Kant—Kelley being hopelessly associated in the public mind with pig-iron, and all other metaphorical quays from which he might have launched his weekly bark being unreasonably spelled with a Q.) German philosophy, however, resembles Italian Opera in one particular: it consists more of sound than of sense. Both have a like effect upon the undersigned, in that they lead him into the paths of innocence and peace; in short, they put him to sleep. A few nights since he went to hear Miss KELLOGG in Poliuto. He listened with attention through the first act, drowsily through the second, and from the shades of dreamland in the third. Between the acts he lounged in the lobbies and heard the critics speak with sneering derision of the complimentary notices of the American Nightingale which they were about to write, while they expressed, with sardonic smiles, a longing for the day when they would be "allowed"—such was their singular expression—to "speak the truth about Miss KELLOGG as a prima donna." And while he sat with closed eyes during the third act, wondering whether he should believe the critics in the flesh, or their criticisms in the columns of their respective journals, he saw rehearsed before him a new operatic perversion of MACBETH, as unlike the original as even VERDI'S MACBETTO, and quite as inexplicable to the unsophisticated mind. And this is what he saw: |
Scene, the Dark Cave in fourteenth street. In the middle a Cauldron boiling. Thunder—and probably small beer—behind the scenes. Enter three Witches.
1st Witch. Thrice the Thomas cat hath yowled.
2d Witch. Thrice; and once the hedge-hog howled.
3d Witch. All of which is wholly irrelevant to our present purpose, which is to summon what my friend Sir BULWER LYTTON would call the Scin-Laeca, or, apparition of each living critic from the nasty deep of the cauldron, and to interview him in order to hear what he really thinks of Miss KELLOGG.
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lst Witch "Round about the cauldron go, In the poisoned whiskey throw Lager, that on coldest stone, Days and nights hast thirty one." |
Enter MACSTRAKOSCH. "How now, you secret black and midnight hags, what is't you do?"
All "A deed that under present circumstances it would be superfluous to name."
MacStrakosch. "I conjure you by that which you profess, (how'er you come to know it,) answer me to what I ask you."
lst Witch. "Speak."
2d Witch. "Proceed."
3d Witch. "Out with it, old boy."
MacStrakosch. "What do these fellows really think, whom we compel to write so sweetly of our own Connecticut prima donna?"
All
"Come high or low, come jack or even game,
We'll answer all your questions just the same."
Thunder. An apparition of a critic rises.
MacStrakosch.
"Tell me, thou unknown power, what thinkest thou Of our own native nightingale?"
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Apparition.
"Her voice is clear and bright, but far too thin For a great singer.—Such in truth she's not. Dismiss me!" (Descends.) MacStrakosch. "Dismissed thou shalt be if thy editor Will listen to our singer's and MAECENAS' plaint. But one word more." Thunder. Second apparition of a critic rises. Apparition. "Her voice is good in quality, but then There's not sufficient of it for a queen Of the lyric stage. Yet such she claims to be, But is not. Now dismiss me." (Descends.) MacStrakosch. "Yea; and I will unless thy master's ear Be deaf to the demand of good society. Let me hear more!" Thunder. Third apparition of a critic rises. Apparition. "Her lower notes are bad, her upper notes Forced, reedy, and most sadly often flat; 'Tis folly to compare her with the great Full-voiced and plenteous Parepa. Now Dismiss me if thou wilt." MacStrakosch. "Sacrilegious wretch! I have thy name Upon my tablets. Thy official head Comes off at once. Call up, ye midnight hags, Another of these villains." Thunder. Fourth apparition of a critic rises. Apparition. "Her acting, like her voice, is cold and hard; Not thus did GRISI, GAZZANIGA or CORTESI act when their warm Southern blood Throbbed in the passionate pulse of VIOLETTA, NORMA, or the Spanish LEONORE. Dismiss me, quick." MacStralosch. "Thon diest ere to-morrow's sun shall set, Or never more advertisement of mine Shall grace the columns of thy journal. Next." Thunder. Fifth apparition of a critic rises. Apparition. "She in the same in everything she sings; Her 'Gilda,' her 'Amina,' or her 'Marguerite,' Her 'Leonora,' or her 'Daughter of The Regiment,' are one and all the same Fair lady decked in different stage costumes. Better dismiss me, now. I've told the truth, And may continue that unseemly practice." MacStrakosch. "This is past bearing. Are there any more Of these rude fellows waiting to be summoned?" |
Thunder. Eight apparitions of critics rise and pass over the stage, reciting the following chorus:
Apparitions.
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"She has a pretty little voice, and uses it In pretty little ways. If she would sing In pretty little theatres she'd make a hit In pretty little parts. That's everything That can be said for her. Cease then to claim That "KELLOGG" should be writ next GRISI'S name." |
The apparitions vanish. An alarm of drums is heard, and MATADOR awakes to find that he is still enduring Poliuto, and that a sporadic drum in the orchestra, which has broken loose from the weak restraints of the conductor's discipline, is making Verdi unnecessarily hideous.
And as he passed once more and finally through the lobby, he heard a critic remark, "She is the same in everything she sings;" and another reply, "Yes, she has a pretty little voice, and uses it nicely, but she is by no means a great singer." Struck by the similarity of these remarks to those made by the apparitions in his vision, he began to doubt whether his dream did not, after all, contain a large alloy of truth, and the more he thought on the subject the more he was led to believe that for once he had really heard the critics of the New York press indulging in an unrestrained expression of honest opinion.
MATADOR