M. Coquelin is at the Royalty with an efficient French Company appearing in a round of his best-known characters. He has already taken part in Un Parisien, Don Cæsar de Bazan and an entirely new piece (first time in London and elsewhere) L'Aîné. This last I had the pleasure of seeing the other evening, and was delighted to find that it was a play that could be safely recommended as a fit entertainment for their charge to the guardians of that apparently very easily-influenced infant, "The Young Person." It is rather suggestive of several English original pieces, amongst the rest Miriam's Crime and Faded Flowers. The adopted daughter (rescued as a child from the gutter) of a millionnaire, after her protector's death, undertakes the reformation of her benefactor's brother, who takes, through intestacy, the whole of his senior's estate. To carry this out effectively, the young lady prevents the heir from drinking his chasse after his coffee, and playing a game of écarté with an old friend, for love, and finally offers to marry him. The heir is as quiet as a lamb under these inflictions, until he discovers that his fiancée loves some one else, when he proposes, at the earliest possible moment, to commit suicide. This inconvenient intention is prevented, the adopted daughter marries the man of her choice, and the heir goes back to America, thus all ends happily. Coquelin, as the heir, was seen to very great advantage in the less sentimental parts of the character, but was not quite so successful when he commenced crying over the portrait of L'Aîné, which, by the way, was a very excellent likeness (without the eyeglass) of the Right Hon. Joseph Chamberlain. For the rest Madame Malvau was rather a mature adopted daughter, M. Romain (as "Georges—her friend") a little too heavy in more senses than one as the superfluous lover, and M. Duquesne a very excellent lawyer. There is nothing particularly brilliant in the writing, and only one line raises a laugh. When the vagabond friend of the heir extends his hand, M. Vivien, without a movement, merely asks, "Combien?" But on its repetition this admirable joke did not "go" quite so well. Still there is a freshness in the central idea of the play which is welcome. As a rule every one on the French stage weeps over somebody's mother, but in this case the tears were reserved for somebody's brother. It is said that the Author of the piece, M. Paul Delair, is a novice at stage-craft. This seems to me very likely, as had he had more experience, I fancy he would have allowed (especially if he had known that the character was going to be played by M. Romain) M. Georges to have been shot dead in the First Act. This would have been really a great improvement, especially had Yveline (the adopted daughter) been allowed to expire from grief early in the Second. Joking apart, L'Aîné is not half a bad piece, although I cannot conscientiously go so far as to say that it is half a good one. Before the engagement of M. Coquelin is over, the talented actor has promised to play Gringoire. No doubt this will be produced for the benefit of Mr. Beerbohm Tree, who richly deserves the compliment.
The Paris Hippodrome has once more taken possession of Olympia, where it seems likely to remain until well into next year. The entertainment is of the customary quality, which is saying a great deal in its praise. There are excellent troupes of acrobats and performing dogs (with a wonderful black poodle that is the best clown that has appeared in a Circus for many a long year), chariot-races, and horsemanship in all its branches. This season the Ladies have it all their own way. The last time M. Houcke visited us, Gentlemen drove the team of thirty-two, and jumped over the hurdles with the tandem of three; now their places are supplied by members of the fairer sex. The horses who take part in these feats are so admirably trained that the element of danger is entirely eliminated, and, consequently, the change is an improvement. Then an accomplished cob and an elegant elephant take a turn together in more senses than one, for they dance vis-à-vis a waltz and a polka. The novelty of the Show, however, is kept for the second part, and is apparently a page from the Algerian experiences of General Boulanger. The attention of a tribe of Arabs (seemingly on their road to church) having been attracted to a military train containing a bugle-band of Turcos and some half-dozen soldiers of the French line, devotions are temporarily abandoned for a pitched battle. The Arabs fire upon the Europeans, who, however, after a lively skirmish, succeed in "taking up a position" with the bugle-band, and then retire. The Arabs bearing no ill-will, dancing follows, and the fighting being quite over and forgotten, General Boulanger, accompanied by a Staff, swaggers in and assists at further military exercises. Then the bugle-band heads the procession of French and Arabs, and, after marching past Boulanger, exeunt. The attack upon the train, if a little perplexing from a purely historical point of view, is capitally managed, and very exciting. Since the opening night the large hall has been very well attended; and now that the American Exhibition is closed, may be expected to be crowded—and a crowded audience at the Addison Road cannot be recorded in less than five figures. "The Wild West is gone—long live Olympia!"
A second visit to the Royal Westminster Aquarium has not improved my opinion of "the Wolves, the Wolves, the Wolves!" (see Advertisement) as a pleasure-insuring entertainment. I have already said that the tricks of these animals cause a "creepy" sensation, and when I made this observation I referred to the "kissing act," wherein a wolf embraces the portly person in the Polish lancer's uniform who has trained it. But the fights between master and brutes are even less tolerable, as may be judged to be the case when I say that, on a recent occasion when I was present, the trainer seemed to be a good-half-hour (no doubt it was an infinitely less period of time) in getting one of his wild beasts into its allotted cage. It is not at all a nice sight to see a man beating a snapping and yelping wolf with a whip, for one feels that there is the element of cruelty on both sides. Take it allround, I prefer "the belle Fatma,"—that is, taking her all round, on which I need hardly say I should not venture,—to "the Wolves, the Wolves, the Wolves!" And I sincerely hope that Fatma (the old lady near her looks more like Fat Ma) may always be able to keep the wolf from her door.
GENTLE JOHNNY BULL.
The way with "demonstrations" tyrants used to take was brief—
Justices gave a rioter the guerdon of a thief!
Not only durance vile—our gentler nature how it shocks—
But whipping-cheer, and oh! they set their Brother in the Stocks!