OUR LONDON FLANEUR.

Evening Star, Issue 7367, 12 November 1887, Page 1 (Supplement)

OUR LONDON FLANEUR.

SOCIAL, THEATRICAL, AND

LITERARY,

[From oitr Special Correspondent.]

Rising of Parliament—A Stirring Windingup Debate—W. S. Dillon’s Story—Mr Parnell’s Appeal—Mr Gladstone—The Exeter Holocaust-Shocking Scenes at the Funerals—A Clergyman Drunk— Benson and Kurr Again Benson’s Latest Fraud—Almost Successful — L 7.000 Nearly Landed—Miss Anderson’s Premiere —An Offended Pit Noisy Scene—Mary’s Ferdita —‘Scheherazade ’— An Ultra Sensational Novel, by the Author of the ‘ House on the Marsh ’ All About It A Morphia-maniacal Story Spirit ’’—Notes. London, September 23. The longest Parliamentary session for nearly twenty years has at last come to an end, and our wearied legislators have fled precipitately abroad. The winding-up debate on the Mitchelstown massacre (as it is generally called) was one of the most interesting I ever listened to. The method and manners of the Irish members usually leave much to be desired, but on this occassion, under bitter provocation, they certainly behaved irreproachably. Mr Dillon brought home the ghastly facts of the Mitchelstown affair to the House with sledge-hammer force. The Ministerialists tried not to believe him, wished not to believe him, but they found to their disgust they could not help it. Every word carried conviction ; every accent bore the impress of strict truth. Mr Parnell was also most powerful. With impassioned earnestness he solemnly warned the Government against pushing their coercive measures further. The cruel carnage at Mitchelstown had roused Ireland’s worst passions. He feared he would soon be unable to restrain the people, and that terrible trouble must ensue. Finally, in a broken voice, and evidently laboring under great agitation, the Irish dictator implored his followers and Irishmen generally to be patient, and put their trust in the people of England and Mr Gladstone. The masses, he firmly believed, were not with the Government. They would sooner or later place Mr Gladstone in power again, and enable him to do justice to Ireland. Meanwhile, let them do nothing unconstitutional or unlawful. Every new outrage was an additional block in the path of Home Rule. The funerals of the victims of the Exeter holocaust seem to have been associated with some revolting scandals. The poorer classes made the occasion of the principal burials a regular holiday, the women turning up at the cemetery with perambulators and picnic baskets, and the men with bottles of liquor. Those who were not vulgarly curious were either noisy or maudlin, and general disorder prevailed. These horrarsculminated with the appearance of a venerable clergyman apparently much the worse for liquor. Hehadto read service over the body of a young girl who happened to have died of consumption about that time, and was being buried in a grave adjacent to those of the fire’s victims. At first the crowd thought the reverend gentleman must be ill, but when he mixed up the marriage with the burial service, and finally broke off suddenly and stumbled about, the truth became only too painfully apparent. An indignant rush was made to lynch him, and with very great difficulty some friends and other clergymen, who fortunately came up, got the old man away. Subsequently he was charged at the Police Court with being drunk, and denied the offence. The evidence was clear enough, but as there had been no disorderliness in Mr Inglis’s conduct, and as he would certainly be severely dealt with by the Bishop, the Magistrates thought it better to dismiss the case. The inquiry into the causes of the Exeter fire has revealed the awkward fact that when the theatre was licensed the local inspectors, who were, however, without official status, advised the addition of another door to the fatal gallery, and that their recommendation was ignored. Mr Phipps, F.S.A., the architect of this and some forty other theatres, has come in for some severe, and on the whole, I shink, deserved criticism. It was certainly he who objected to the extra door. When Benson, the hero of the great De Goncourt frauds, was released from durance vile about eighteen months ago, after undergoing a prolonged period of penal servitude, it may be remembered that some of the newspapers ventured to deplore the turningloose of such an ingenious scoundrel on society. Benson was much hurt by their insinuations, and got a clergyman friend to say so. Whilst in prison he had, he declared, seen the errors of his ways and reformed. His health was completely broken down, and all he asked for was to be allowed to live out the fag-end of his wretched life in peace and quiet on the small annuity which a relative had thoughtfully left him. For some months the man’s conduct was blameless. The police, however, persisted in keeping their eye upon him. Wherever he went he was “ supervised,” and so irksome did the reformed “sharp” find this system of “ shadowing,” that no one was very much surprised when one night he disappeared. The papers and the police said he had gone to Australia, and the latter even knew the name of the Orient boat by which he travelled. There can, however, now be no doubt that Benson put the authorities on a false scent. He took a berth on the Orient steamer himself, but another person (similar in appearance) really occupied it. This double left Benson free to recommence life on the Continent in the character of Mr Clinchwood, an American of means and position. He took up his residence at Geneva, and there made the acquaintance of Dr Kees, a retired officer of the Indian Army, and his daughter. The latter, a very charming girl, fell in love with the handsome and fascinating adventurer, and the pair presently got engaged to be married. Mr Clinchwood made his fiancee a present of some splendid diamonds, valued (he said) at L 4,000, and also placed in his future father-in-law’s hands bonds of various sorts worth L 7.000. These were deposited with much formality in Kees’ strong-box at a Geneva bank. Mr Clinchwood then explained that he should have to run over to the States to settle up his affairs before the wedding, and casually offered, as Dr Kees had expressed a wish to invest L 2,000 in American stock, to see to the transaction for him. The doctor innocently thanked his prospective son-in-law, and handed over the cash. Up to this point Benson had succeeded admirably. Now, however, he blundered. The rascal should have proceeded direct to America ; but the temptation to look up his old friends and confederates—the Kurrs, at Bremen — proved irresistible. Unfortunately, the Kurrs had been more than once “in trouble” abroad since their release from Portland, and were well watched by German detectives. Benson’s identity soon became obvious, and private inquiries were instituted into the recent doings of “Mr Clinchwood.” Dr Kees, enlightened as to the character of his prospective son-in law, proceeded hurriedly to the bank. His strong box was called for and the' contents examined. Need I say the diamonds were paste and the securities waste paper. Benson and the Kurrs had everything prepared for flight when the police arrested them. I fear the former gentleman will not have another opportunity of exercising his fascinations on the fair sex for some years to come. Whilst at Dartmoor, you may remember, he attempted to commit suicide.

First-night audiences seerh to grow more and more noisy and ill-tempered. There was'quite a scene at the Lyceum Theatre last Saturday evening. To make room for some extra rows of stalls the pit had been encroached upon, and jihe denieens of that locality were exceeding wroth in consequence, By way of relieving their feelings these. exigent playgoers yelled and hooted dismally, so that the greater part of the first act had to be played in dumb show. : It was not indeed till Miss Anderson, looking wonderfully fresh and young, made her appearance as -Perditaj that-good-temper supervened. The young American’s Her-

mione did not please the critics. Her style is jerky and dull, and her manner less dignified than one could have imagined. Her Ferdita, however, was charming and completely successful. Mr Forbes Robertson (as Leontes) suffered, like the rest of the players, from the hostile attitude of the pit. The whole company, indeed, were nervous. In a few nights the piece will run much more smoothly. It has been splendidly mounted, and, from a spectacular point of view alone, is well worth seeing. I understand Miss A. will take several of the leading members of her present company with her to Australia. A good old-fashioned success has been achieved at the Comedy Theatre with “ The Barrister,” a farcical comedy, fully equal in merit to either “The Schoolmaster” or “The Magistrate.” Musgrove would like to purchase the Australian rights, but I understand that Mr Darnley, who plays the title role, means to retain them himself. For an ultra-sensational novel, with a daring and most unconventional plot, commend me to the latest effort of the author of ‘ The House on the Marsh.’ It is called ‘ Scheherazade, or a London Night’s Entertainment,’ and, as the title suggests, there is a strong flavor of Orientalism about it. The heroine, Nouna Weston, imagines herself the daughter of an English officer and a Native Indian princess. Her father is dead, and her mother (a moat mysterious personage) lives abroad with a Polish Count, her second husband. A governess looks after Nouna, who resides in curious rooms over an Oriental warehouse near Oxford street. Here the hero, a young officer, meets the little Anglo-Indian, and, against his better judgment, falls in love with and resolves to marry her. No obstacles are placed in the way by the mysterious mother, who. however does not turn up at the wedding. After the marriage a number of extraordinary circumstances puzzle the bridegroom. His suspicions are at last aroused, and in course of time culminate in a most painful and crushing disclosure. I need scarcely say, perhaps, that Nouna’s mother and father are associated with it. Terrible trials follow" The villain of the story is a wily Oriental named Rahas; and a notorious courtesan, one Chloris White, also plays a prominent part in bringing about misfortunes which for a time threaten to overwhelm the young couple. The story is briskly told, and has not a dull page in it; and, on the whole, should add to Miss Warden’s reputation. There is a great run at Mudie’s just now after a dismal and somewhat repulsive novel called ‘An Evil Spirit.’ In reality, it is really a treatise on the mischief caused by the use, or rather misuse, of morphine. Miss Isabel Gordon, a charming girl, with a- lover, friends, and most things that make life worth Jiving for, suffers from neuralgia. A doctor injects morphia to afford her relief, and in course of time the poor woman becomes a slave to the drug, and utterly demoralised. The crisis of the story arrives ' when Isabel’s lover, Geoffrey, after four j years’ absence in India, returns home suddenly. She had intended to pull herself together somehow for this occasion when it came; but the young man takes her entirely by surprise. He is knocking at the front door almost before the unfortunate girl has realised his arrival, and in the horror of the moment she tipples off some brandy, and flies to her room. The ardent lover follows, and is horrified to find there, instead of the blooming damsel he left behind him four years ago, a halftipsy woman raddling her pale face with rouge. Isabel sees his look of horror in the glass, and falls (senseless with drink and drug) to the floor. Naturally, her lover does not return. Isabel presently sees him paying attention to another woman, an old friend of hers. Mad with jealousy, she follows the pair to the top of the cliffs at the seaside place where they are staying. Geoffrey kisses the girl’s hand, upon which Isabel furiously springs upon him and pushes him over the precipice. The doomed man gives her a look of “ over-mastering horror ” as be disappears, and Isabel’s supposed rival cries out “ What have you done, what have you done? He never made love to me. We were only talking about you.” For sentimental reasons the witness of the murder does not hand over Isabel to the police, and Geoffrey’s death is allowed to be supposed the result of an accident. After this Miss Gordon continues her downward course in double quick time. The morphia is represented as having the most extraordinary effects upon her, both physically and otherwise. Finally, of course, she dies. Whether such a book as this answers any good purpose I leave your readers to decide. It is at least less hurtful than the French romance dealing with the same subject, “ La Comtesse Morphine.” In Mallat’s edifying novel, you may, remember, the effect of the morphine is to make a faithful wife rather worse than a common strumpet. William Black’s new story, ‘Life in a Houseboat,’ will appear serially in the ‘ Illustrated London News ’ upon the conclusion of Farjeon’s 1 Miser Farebrother.’ An English translation of Mdme Adams’s (Count Vasilis) ‘Society in Paris’ will be published shortly by Chattos. Mr W. E. Morris’s new novel, ‘Major and Minor,’ is just out in one-volume form. Gertrude Warden asked L 3,000, and is reported to have received over L 2,000 for the copyright of ‘ Scheherazade.’ ‘ Mignon’s Husband ’ is J. S. Winter’s latest shilling’s worth. It describes the love affairs of ‘ Bootle’s Baby,’ and leaves her happily married to—well, who do you think ?”