Shakespeariana.

IN Mr. Charles Knight's "Store of Knowledge," p. 86, appears a passage which does not seem to justify the assertion there so broadly put, viz., that a Statement of Malone in reference to the fact of Shakespere's Father's ability to write, was untrue.

On carefully inspecting the facsimile of the document which Mr. Knight gives his reader, it will be observed that in the first column George Wheteley the High-bailiff makes his sign by a rude representation of an inverted W, and after him the Aldermen sign in like manner, some by making rude representations of the Initial Letter of their Surnames, or some arbitrary device, or by the cross. In the second column of signatures appears, first the autograph Signature of William Brace; and underneath, in one and the same handwriting, appear the names of John Shakespere, Thomas Dyson, and six others. On the left hand side of the name, "Thomas Dyson," is rudely represented the letter "," and on the right-hand side a rude "ff," and opposite to the names of the other six persons are their signs or marks, two of which signs are rude delineations of the letter " T," the remainder being the + or other arbitrary marks. The names of the persons who were unable to make a full signature appear to have been written by a clerk.

It is well known to those who are conversant with ancient MSS. that the parties signing any document seldom made the sign of the cross (a custom to be traced to the Saxon age), unless they were totally illiterate, i. e. could neither read nor write; those who were semi-literate, i. e. could either read print or manuscript, usually signed by making a rude representation of the Initial Letter of their surname, and sometimes of their surname and Christian name, or by some device founded thereupon, similar to those marked on bales of goods, of which the devices of the old printers afford a fair specimen.

In the present instance John Shakspere meant to sign with an SS, which in those days was often used in MS. as a capital S, but by ignorance he has delineated an ff, to which the SS bears great resemblance. The mode of writing the cursive ss was not dissimilar from the ff, of which a fair specimen is presented in the very document of which Mr. Knight gives a facsimile.

In MSS. of that and of more ancient date, the Initial Letters of proper names were very commonly written without a capital, and ff, ll, and, were constantly used as the capital letters F, L, and S.

The circumstance of the inverted W, which is the Sign of the headbailiff, and the SS, being taken for A, together with the fact that " John Shaksper" is written rather above the SS, and not exactly opposite to it, as in the other instances, may have caused what seems to have been an erroneous conclusion of Mr. Knight, viz., that Shakespere's Father could write-for it must be remembered that these "marksmen" signed somewhat at random, and the clerk in attendance had to fill in their names as orderly as circumstances would permit. Indeed, if the S has to be assigned to Thomas Dyson, before whose name it stands, what is to become of the, which stands behind or on the left hand side of his name?

Whatever conclusion, therefore, is to be drawn from this fac simile extract from the Council-book, is, that the Father of Shakespere was semi-literate, for he could not only read print but MS., as is evident from his making a manuscript capital for his sign. A close comparison of the facsimile also seems to justify some of the foregoing observations, which it is conceived are obvious to those acquainted and conversant with ancient writings and records.*

T. E. T.

The Drama.

COVENT GARDEN.

ON the 10th of September, Covent Garden Theatre opened under the management of Mr. Charles Kemble, with the Opera of "Norma," and a two act piece, "Gertrude's Cherries," by Mr. Douglas Jerrold.

The Opera was sustained by the chief performers of last season, with the exception of Giubilei, who took the place of Mr. Leffler in the character of the High Priest; and this alteration, notwithstanding the latter has fine qualities, was an improvement in the cast. Miss Kemble sustained this, undoubtedly her most popular part, with as much success as ever. Her recent indisposition seemed to have checked a little of her exuberant energy, and thus added an additional grace and tenderness to her performance. Never did she more thrillingly touch the hearts of her audience, nor more poignantly pourtray the passion-tossed priestess. Miss Rainforth sang with her usual plaintive and pathetic power, and was rapturously received. Of Mr. Harrison, it can only be said, that he does not seem to have improved; and his continued straining to emulate the intense tenderness and force of Rubini, only adds to the pain which the audience evidently feel at his total incapacity to produce the result required.

"Gertrude's Cherries, or Waterloo in 1835," is one of those pieces that may almost be said to have been invented by Mr. Jerrold. It is above Melodrama, though it wants its intense interest; and it is beneath Tragedy or Comedy, because it wants the depth of purpose that should be apparent in such compositions. The plot in these kind of pieces is not so much used to develope a story as to produce a series of scenes;-to group together, as in life, a number of contrary characters, and by the situations thus produced to strike out absurdities, and pourtray the true characteristics of human nature. This is a very high aim, and approaches, indeed, to one of the highest efforts of the Romantic Drama: of course, the power of developing such an aim is very various. In the present instance, something has been omitted; for although several of the scenes told on the audience, yet,

*As the Number of Mr. Knight's "Store of Knowledge" here referred to, containing this and several other illustrations, and a very excellent life of Shakspere, can be had for threepence, the facsimile has not been reprinted.-ED.

as a whole, there seemed to be a deficiency of interest. In sketching some characters, such as that of Gertrude, so much depends on the delineation, that the Author and Actor must have kindred imaginations; and this was not the case in the present instance. The Author can only suggest the light, the graceful, the pathetic, and the playful: the art of the actors must carry out the intention. It is easily to be imagined that Gertrude rose to the imagination of the Author, one of those enchanting creatures of womanhood that unite the tender and the gay, and that are equally radiant through the mist of tears as in the sunshine of smiles. The same remarks apply to the other personages of the Drama, and, with the exception of Mr. Wigan, in an impudent Frenchman, and Mr. Meadows, in a travelling undertaker, there was a total absence of appreciation of the Author;-though, to say the truth, the Author had not, in this instance, delineated with so strong an outline as he is wont. The part of Jack Halcyon,-a character, though, depending too much on mere characteristics, was totally mistaken by Mr. Harley, who burlesqued it, very much to the delight of the audience, which is always more ready to roar at absolute folly than to enjoy a pleasant exposition of character. The serious part of the story laboured under the same difficulties. A father, remorseful at the too hasty disinheriting his son, was delineated with all the stage business of broken-hearted fathers, but the nice touches of Nature that may be seen rising through the Author's language, were crushed in the huge style adopted to rasp, not gently touch, the hearts of the audience.

The perusal of the piece gives a higher idea of the Author's powers than the seeing the performance. Much of this is owing to that want of imagination on the part of the Actors that has already been referred to; though something must be set down to the largeness of the theatres, and the consequent style of the performances, that tend only to throw out the coarser delineations, and slur all the finer. Such a piece, with competent actors, at the Haymarket, would have told admirably. Those nice scintillations of wit, and pleasant gleams of thought, that give a charming light and shade to all productions of mind, would be appreciated, and convey the highest mental enjoyment. It would be nearly as reasonable to produce a picture of Rembrandt's on a large stage, and expect it to be appreciated, as a piece like this, that consists of a series of minute and filmy thoughts and feelings. The Author, it has been said, thought highly of it; and rightly he did so, for he performed it in his own glowing imagination, with all the adornments of strong conception and all the graces of appropriate action and expression. What must be his annoyance to see it hacked into pieces, and made the mere vehicle of getting a certain number of rounds of boisterous applause! But such must be the fate of Authors until acting becomes again the pursuit only of imaginative and poetic minds.

On the 12th of September was acted that, which, to produce in its requisite excellence, taxes the utmost powers of the Dramatic Poet, a Five Act Play-" Love's Sacrifice, or The Rival Merchants." It is almost needless to say that this mixed kind of Drama, though derived by us from the Spanish, has in no literature been produced in

such perfection as our own. As pourtrayed by Shakespeare, it is acknowledged to be the crowning effort of the human mind. His compeers were not far behind him in the delineation of some individual scenes, and one has left a play with the same name, though not the same plot as that now considered. "Love's Sacrifice," by Ford, should not have been recalled to mind by the Author of "The Rival Merchants." There is, indeed, the same kind of business in both. A mixture of grave and comic scenes. An underplot of foolish and vicious characters. A thoughtless unthrift of a gallant, roguish servants, and gay ladies. The same bustle of incident, the same involvement of story. Even the same sound of verse and the same manner of expression. We have in both, "Troth, Sir," and the same set phraseology, and even the same amplifying style, on any particular subject that occurs. Suspicion, Youth, Despair, are each-key notes to a prelude of rhetoric from both Authors. In truth, so alike are these plays and many others, that the players, who always judge piecemeal of every thing, can see no difference in them. The patterns being the same, and the plating remarkably thick, and not having any other test than appearance, they mistake the Sheffield for Potosi: and are indignant with those who disagree with them.

And wherein, may ask the reader, is the difference?—Simply in the genius that fills the outline-simply in the creative, imaginative, passionproduced poetry, that gives life and pulses to the framework. The one is, at the best, a good anatomy, a chemical Frankenstein; but the true one is a creation that calls forth the soul's powers, and gives to the spectator that impulsive sympathy that compels him to identify himself with every motion of the poet's imagination. Again, it is asked, but bad plays, or plays said to be bad by those assuming the critical function, frequently affect an audience to laughter or tears? Human tears and human laughter are raised by such various means, -they are symbols of such various and opposite emotions,-that they cannot be received as intellectual tests. We laugh at a Jack Pudding and at Benedict and Beatrice. We weep with Othello and the Sonnambula; but our doing so is no criterion of the merit of either. We laugh at any thing that suddenly and strongly opposes our notions of the appropriate. We weep at any thing that merely suggests to us poignant suffering. Depict children famishing round their mother, and heighten the picture with all the wretchedness of distress, and it would draw more tears than Desdemona pleading. Let John Reeve dash the porter in the messenger's face in Abrahamides, and we laugh more boisterously than at the most brilliant repartee of Congreve.

The Rival Merchants," however, does not even excite the most superficial emotion. The admixture to produce it is mingled in so artificial and methodical a manner that it loses its effect. Indeed, we know that when a man of good feelings has implicated himself in distressing circumstances, we ought to mourn for him; and if, in addition, a perfect and pattern-like daughter is involved with him, we ought still more to sympathise with them. So also when we see a quaint, odd, absurd old knave, frightened and circumvented, we ought to laugh. But whether we do so or not depends on the in

ventive genius and imagination of the Author. If he has by diligent study or "a fatal facility" of imitation, merely deduced from others a recipe for this kind of production, it will prove vapid and tasteless. In vain will the heroine copiously utter her woes-vain will be the clever contortions of imitation agony-without that truth that is to make us all one kin, in vain will be all that is done. And so it is with the modern "Love's Sacrifice." It is grief and mirth served out at so much a line, upon the most approved stage principles. Look at the old "Love's Sacrifice," and let any one read the Scene at the end of the Second Act, and then all that has been said will be exemplified. In the one production, all is old as the Stage, in the other, all is as fresh as true human passion ever is.

It is said not to be equal to the same Author's "Provost of Bruges," and that can be easily be believed. That play was doubtless the production of his own unbiassed imagination: but this one has been cut and shaped and conceived according to stage conventionalities. And the consequence is, like other artificial and exotic productions, it wants the vigorous life of passion and nature. It is certainly beginning to be universally acknowledged that no persons are so incompetent to judge of plays as players.

The plot has not been detailed, because all who are interested in such matters have already, doubtless, been acquainted with it from the newspapers. To those who have not, suffice it to say, that the distress turns on the emotions produced by a good man, who has slain another in self-defence, being, after he has acquired fame and fortune, worked upon by a rival merchant in consequence of his possessing his secret. The villain is disagreeable to the daughter of the good man, but overpowers her feelings, and compels her to accept him, by threatening otherwise to destroy her father by the promulgation of his crime. This is prevented by the murdered man being found to be alive-and other contrivances equally new and ingenious. The clumsiness and commonness of the plot would have little mattered, as with many of our old Dramatists, if, when the situations had been obtained, they had been applied to a true and forcible delineation of the passions. But, alas! notwithstanding "all the contortions of the Sybil, the inspiration was wanting."

THEATRE ROYAL, HAYMARKET.

On the 19th," Alma Mater, or a Cure for Coquettes," styled a new and original Comedy, was performed at this theatre. A great deal of what has been said of the Five Act Play may be said of this,-with the considerable difference, however, that the one is a clever and decent application of stage-tactics, and this last is a clumsy and gross application of them. The bills make a sad mis-statement, for it is not a Comedy, nor is it new or original. The incidents, such as they are, are taken from "Charles O'Malley," or a piece founded upon it; and the characters, or rather persons of the Drama, have been stock theatrical human beings time out of mind. When we read their names, we know their conduct, and can imagine their language. Though it must be acknowledged, in this instance, that the names are the