THE THE AIRES.
WITH the arrival of Christmas the threatrical world bursts forth anew into scenic life and pantomimic activity. The stage, yawning with fissures and
chasms like an earthquake, teems with grotesque and beauteous monsters,
that dart up through the ground, descend from the clouds, or glide in be- tween side-walls, while palaces and dungeons, eaves of darkness and rosy
bowers of bliss, succeed each other with startling suddenness. Wondrous transformations dazzle the senses both of old and young; the visionary regions of Fairy-land look less unreal than the commonest objects of the actual world ; and creatures of fancy are among the least unnatural entities: " nothing is but what is not." The playbills, like portentous pages out of some vast; volume of necromancy, or leaves out of the Sybil's books, scat- tered all over the town, hold spell-bound the eager eyes of juvenile play- goers; who are as much puzzled to choose between burlesque and.pantominie as between plum-pudding and mince-pie—and generally settle the matter by preferring both. Christmas falls too late in the week for us to guide impatient young readers in their choice this season by our own experience; and which of the various spectacles that last night amazed and amused the holyday sight-seers proved the most attractive and diverting, we cannot vouch for in print till next Saturday. For the present, we must be content to chronicle the subjects upon which the stage magicians have exercised their potent art, and the human agents employed to work their wonders and waggeries.
Pantomime is once more in the ascendant; only two burlesque fairy- pieces being announced. These are The Bee and the Orange-Tree, by Plauche, at the Haymarket; and the Enchanted Horse, by Albert Smith and Kenny junior, at the Lyceum. Drury Lane has revived Gulliver—a capital subject for pantomime, as it proved in a very pretty version at Covent Garden, some twenty-five or thirty years ago; and with Payne as Gulliver, Wieland for Harlequin, T. Matthews as Clown, and Rowel as
Pantaloon, the bill of fare does look promising. The title of the Adelphi
pantomime is an enormous joke of itself; and its theme, the King of The Cannibal Islands, is suggestive of outrageous Jim; C. J. Smith, one of the most humorous of pantomimists, is Clown. The Princess's produces a pantomime, for the first time, entitled the Key of the Kingdom Mr. Beverley's scenery is likely to be a very attractive feature. Astley's, the Surrey, Victoria, and Sadler's Wells, have each their pantomime, and other entertainments especially provided for the holyday visiters. The Cricket on the Hearth will soon be chirping in every theatre in town; it is already announced at the Haymarket and Adelphi. But the Lyceum
got the start this year; Mr. Dickens having afforded the Keeleys facilities for bringing out a dramatic representation of the story simultaneously with the publication of the book. It is unavailing to protest against a practice equally injurious to the stage and to literature, for audiences and managers are alike bent on having every popular work dramatized, however unfit for the purpose it may be. And the author, unable to interdict the muti- lation of his work, is fain to become a party to the scheme. In the present
instance, Mr. Dickens has obtained the assistance of an expert operator, Mr. Albert Smith; whose version of The Cricket on the Hearth is a great
improvement on the more paste-and-scissors process of mechanical botchers. But, of course, no skill can prevent the plot and incidents of the story—in this case the poorest part of the book—from being most prominent on the
stage; while the best parts of the description and sentiment either evapo-
rate or are preserved only in the gross materials of scenery and dresses. The author is thus the subject of a double injustice: but the actors en- tered heartily into the spirit of his purpose, and expressed it with such congenial force and feeling, that the effect of the representation excited the audience to a pitch of enthusiasm at the denouement. The story is briefly given in our notice of the book: it only remains, therefore, in this place to speak of the acting; which was so excellent as to give rise to a conjecture that the characters had been selected with refer- ence to the Lyceum company. Mrs. Keeley certainly is as blithe and busy and devoted a little wife as one would wish to see—a bright, dancing
"Do" like a spot of sunshine. Emery is every inch a carrier, from his hobnailed boots to his hat trimmed with turnpike-tickets, including the blankety coat decked with discs of mother-o'-pearl; and his tenderness and pathos wear a hard, rugged aspect, quite in keeping with the character. Keeley, as the poor old toymaker, in his sackcloth cloak, endorsed " Glass " in large characters, seemed to be full of the mildest milk of human kind- ness; and sang snatches of jovial songs with a cracked voice, and practised pious frauds on his blind daughter with a trembling tongue and a heart sinking with grief and misgivings. Miss Mary Keeley, his daughter—who made her debut in this character of the Blind Girl—showed sensibility and cleverness, in addition to a handsome person. Meadows infused a quaint, caustic humour into the hard-fisted, griping old hunks of a shopkeeper, that redeemed the character from being utterly intolerable. But the richest bit of acting was Miss Turner's personation of Tilly Slowboy : she looks just such a little drab of a girl—with thread-paper figure and a huge ball of red worsted for a head—that drudges on slipshod in dirt and rags, seeming never to grow older or bigger, and always to be lugging about a baby. Most indefatigably did she dandle a log in long clothes, as big as the black dolls that dangle over the doors of rag-shops, talking nurse's nonsense with loud-voiced volubility; and her clamorous outbursts of cry- ing—" Ouw! if you please, mum!" were followed by a shout of laughter. Miss Turner has proved that she only wanted an opportunity to show her talent for personation: Tilly Slowboy has made her a name.
There is no scope for the scene-painter's art; and the supernatural ma- chinery did not work well. The portly "Presence," that rose up corpse- like from the hearth, was too substantial for the spirit of a "cricket," or the ghost of anything. Even the visionary "tableau" looked purposeless.
The announcement of a melodrama at the Adelphi, with the fierce ap- pellation of The Lioness of the North, raised expectations of dreadful doings: but it is only a piece of court intrigue, deriving its title from the sobriquet of the Empress Elizabeth of Russia, the heroine of the plot; per- sonated by Madame Celeste. Webster plays a soldier of fortune, the pro- tégé of the Empress; whose nature partakes more of the tiger than the lion—judging from the stage portrait of her. That there might be no lack of roars, Wright indulged in a greater licence of buffoonery than the audience were disposed to allow; and the "chartered libertine" of drollery received a check at last, that it is to be hoped he will profit by. The eeting of Madame Celeste is clever and effective: but she fails to ex- press the majesty of an empress. The chirp of the cricket is likely to prove more potential than the voice of the lioness.
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