He places the heroine of his tale in a petit reduit pres le Strand, "with a green and fresh jalousie, and a large blind, let down all day; you fancied you were entering a bath of Asia, as soon as you had passed the perfumed threshold of this charming retreat!" He next places her--Dans un square ecarte, morne et couverte de givre, Ou se cache un hotel, aux vieux lions de cuivre;and the hero of the tale, a young French poet, who is in London, is truly unhappy in that village.
Arthur desseche et meurt.Dans la ville de Sterne, Rien qu'en voyant le peuple il a le mal de mer Il n'aime ni le Parc, gai comme une citerne, Ni le tir au pigeon, ni le soda-water.
Liston ne le fait plus sourciller! Il rumine Sur les trottoirs du Strand, droit comme un echiquier, Contre le peuple anglais, les negres, la vermine, Et les mille cokneys du peuple boutiquier,Contre tous les bas-bleus, contre les patissieres, Les parieurs d'Epsom, le gin, le parlement, La quaterly, le roi, la pluie et les libraires, Dont il ne touche plus, helas! un sou d'argent!
Et chaque gentleman lui dit: L'heureux poete!
"L'heureux poete" indeed! I question if a poet in this wide world is so happy as M.de Beauvoir, or has made such wonderful discoveries."The bath of Asia, with green jalousies," in which the lady dwells; "the old hotel, with copper lions, in a lonely square;"--were ever such things heard of, or imagined, but by a Frenchman? The sailors, the negroes, the vermin, whom he meets in the street,--how great and happy are all these discoveries! Liston no longer makes the happy poet frown; and "gin," "cokneys," and the "quaterly" have not the least effect upon him! And this gentleman has lived many months amongst us; admires Williams Shakspear, the "grave et vieux prophete," as he calls him, and never, for an instant, doubts that his description contains anything absurd!
I don't know whether the great Dumas has passed any time in England; but his plays show a similar intimate knowledge of our habits.Thus in Kean, the stage-manager is made to come forward and address the pit, with a speech beginning, "My Lords and Gentlemen;" and a company of Englishwomen are introduced (at the memorable "Coal hole"), and they all wear PINAFORES; as if the British female were in the invariable habit of wearing this outer garment, or slobbering her gown without it.There was another celebrated piece, enacted some years since, upon the subject of Queen Caroline, where our late adored sovereign, George, was made to play a most despicable part; and where Signor Bergami fought a duel with Lord Londonderry.In the last act of this play, the House of Lords was represented, and Sir Brougham made an eloquent speech in the Queen's favor.Presently the shouts of the mob wereheard without; from shouting they proceeded to pelting; and pasteboard-brickbats and cabbages came flying among the representatives of our hereditary legislature.At this unpleasant juncture, SIR HARDINGE, the Secretary-at-War, rises and calls in the military; the act ends in a general row, and the ignominious fall of Lord Liverpool, laid low by a brickbat from the mob!
The description of these scenes is, of course, quite incapable of conveying any notion of their general effect.You must have the solemnity of the actors, as they Meess and Milor one another, and the perfect gravity and good faith with which the audience listen to them.Our stage Frenchman is the old Marquis, with sword, and pigtail, and spangled court coat.The Englishman of the French theatre has, invariably, a red wig, and almost always leather gaiters, and a long white upper Benjamin: he remains as he was represented in the old caricatures after the peace, when Vernet designed him.
And to conclude this catalogue of blunders: in the famous piece of the "Naufrage de la Meduse," the first act is laid on board an English ship-of-war, all the officers of which appeared in light blue or green coats (the lamp-light prevented our distinguishing the color accurately), and TOP-BOOTS!
Let us not attempt to deaden the force of this tremendous blow by any more remarks.The force of blundering can go no further.
Would a Chinese playwright or painter have stranger notions about the barbarians than our neighbors, who are separated from us but by two hours of salt water?
