A LADY'S LETTER FROM LONDON.

Evening Star, Issue 7628, 2 June 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

A LADY'S LETTER FROM LONDON.

FEMININE FACTS, FANCIES, AND FOIBLES. [By Elise.] Picture talk—The Hallicarnassus GalleryArt (with a bif A) -Sir Coutts Lindsay desecrates —Hallo and Carr evacuate— Rival shows—An unhappy familyPrincess Victoria's love affair—Bismarck v. Battenberg—Lady dressmakers at Home—Mdme. Victoire's (Mrs Augustus Loftus) atelier— Mdme. Clarisse's reception—Oscar Wilde on baby linen and napkins Coming theatrical premieres—' Ben-my-Chree'— Our coming visitors—The Gaiety ballNelly Farren of the stage—New frocks for Australia—The company nervous— The Bancroft's reminiscences—Rather a snobby record—A story—A secret out--The author of ' Dean Maitland '—Who she is—Lady Dudley's diamonds—The attack on Dickens's memory—Gladstone's recreations—He is wrapped up in 'Robert Elsemere'—Run on the book in consequence—Founded on fact —The origin of ' The Fallen Idol.' London, April 18. Dear Mr Editor,—This is the time of tho year when "society" persists in considering it convenable to talk a great deal abont pictures—the Academy, the Grosvenor, or the " Hallicarnassus." The latter (you may not havo heard yet) is tho punning name given to the gallery which the ungrateful seceders from the Grosvenor—Miss Halle and Comyns-Carr—are just about to open. Burne-Jones and Alma Tadema form the backbone of this new show, and the " greenery-yallery" gang will, it is believed, migrate there en masse. For the sake of Sir Coutts Lindsay and the Grosvenor I am sure I hope so. The set to which Comyns-Carr and Halle belong are my special detestation. The acme of selfishness and conceit, they yet profess to live on a higher level than the "common herd," and talk much fluent nonsense about Art (with a big A) and "filthy lucre." The pretence on which the pair quarrelled with Sir Coutts Lindsay deceived no one save perhaps Burne-Jones, who is a hopelessly fatuous dreamer. Art (with a big A) might have been desecrated again and again by the introduction of an advertisementboard into the entrance hall of the Grosvenor if Carr and Co. had not wanted a pretext for a tiff with their benefactor. The truth was, Mr Leopold Rothschild had offered to build them this new gallery, and decency forbade their openly quitting an old friend and setting up in opposition against him. When, however, Sir Coutts committed the heinous crime of desecrating Art (with a big A) for the sake of money, dross, mere filthy lucre, all was changed. The Cause (with a big C) required that they should take the field against him. Fortunately the majority of artists viewed the circumstances prosaically and stuck 11 Sir Coutts Lindsay, so that the Grosvenor Exhibition this year should be as good as ever. AN UNHAPPY FAMILY. Our lady friend in Berlin continues to write most interesting letters. What with the Emperor's illness, the Crown Prince's mental trouble, and the fuss about Princess Victoria's marriage, the Imperial family are, she says, just now very unhappy. The papers state that the Empress has given way to Bismarck anent Prince Alexander, but our friond thinks the truce merely temporary. You see it is a bona fide love affair, and the affections of both young people have been some time engaged. What makes the Empress so angry is the recollection that it was acting on advice from Berlin that Prince Alexander surrendered Bulgaria so tamely. _ This advice was given by the young Princess, whose influence Bismarck used for his. own purposes. To find him now arrayed against the fancies (for of course the young people are privately engaged) was most unexpected. The Kaiserin, however, haa a strong will, and won't Bee the match broken off and her favorite daughter doomed to die an old maid (for it seems she couldn't subsequently accept anyone elBe) without a struggle. LADY DRESSMAKERS AT HOME. The ateliers (i.e., show rooms) of the various lady dressmakers are rapidly becoming fashionable lounges. At Madame Victoire's (Mrs Augustus Loftus's) on Thursday, Princess Mary, Lady Ely, Lady Augustus Loftus, Lady Sandwich, Lady 3trafford, and the evergreen Maria (Lady Ailesbury) were amongst the visitors; and looking in at Clarisse's (tho children's milliners) the following day I found Mr Oscar Wilde holding forth on some " confection " in green silk and towelling to a select throng of friends and admirers. There seems something strangely out of place in two big burly men like Oscar Wilde and Comyns - Carr _ " finnicking" through life almost in petticoats, and invariably mounted on the most grotesque of "hobby-horses." COMING EVENTS. I am looking forward to quite a season of theatre going. Mr Irving has got back to the Lyceum from America, and talks of reviving ' The Amber Heart' for Miss Ellen Terry, and playing ' Robert Macaire' himself afterwards. This will be a real treat, as Irving is always at his best in melodiama. Mr Hall Caine's new play at the Globe is set down for next Saturday. Curiosity is rife as to its merits, about which, says the inevitable man-in-the-street, the actors differ. * Ben-my-Chree' or ' Woman of my Heart' will be in five acts; and the Bcenery represents Ballamona, the Mull Hills, the Tynwald, and other well-known spots in the Isle of Man. Mr Wilson Barrett hopes to create a profound impression as the wild and wayward Dan Mylrea, who in a gust of passion kills his cousin and dearest friend ; gives himself up to justice; is accused by the church in the person of his old father, the bishop, and condemned to live alone on the Mull Hills; and finally, in penitonce and humility, works out a wondrous atonement, and is forgiven. Mr Barrett thinks the part the greatest chance he has had since the 'Silver King.' OUR COMINfi VISITORS. We were not fortunate enough to get cards for the farewell ball to the Gaiety Company at the Metropole on Thursday week; but I have heard a little about it from a friend who was there. Mr Alfred de Rothschild supervised the issue of the invitations, which were only sent to the very smartest people and the crSrne de la crime, of the profession. The consequence wos a charming dance, which began soon after midnight and lasted till 6 a.m. Nelly Farren (Mrs Soutar), blazing with diamonds, was of course the bright particular star of the evening or rather morning. You will like this little woman so much. " She is," Mr Odell told me once, " always the samebright, good-tempered, and kind-hearted. Other actresses have their sulks and their jealousies and their megrims. Miss Farren never changes. I've known her for years." The clever little lady married fat old Soutar (the stago manager at the Gaiety) quite early in her career; and, despite temptations that might have turned a stronger head, has made him a good wife. Presents are showered upon her, but purely as marks of admiration, and without the Binister motives that usually accompany such tributes. Quite recently an anonymous admirer left a priceless diamond bracelet at the stage door for " Our Nelly," and presentations from groups of enraptured mashers have become frequent during the valedictory entertainments now going on. The dresses which Miss Farren, Miss Letty Lind, and Miss Sylvia Grey are taking out with them will, I fancy, make many of your Australian belles envious,

'whilst as for their diamonds, well—wait I and see. ] All concerned are now nervous lest Gaiety burlesque should not "catch on" in the colonies. "It is," as Mr Fred Leslie said to my Tom, " quite one thing to play to Londoners who have been educated up to the sacred lamp of burlesque, and quite another to amuse stern critic*, who expect a great deal, and are unacquainted with your modes of funning. PUTTING ON FRILLS. The phenomenal success of the ' Bancrofts' Memoirs ' will doubtless tempt other popular actors and actresses to try "ink-spilling." Mr Terris could an interesting tale unfold, I fancy, if he would ; and Mrs Sterling and Mr Fred Leslie have had adventurous careers. Probably, however, these are just the people who won't enlighten us. Toole, wo know, is at work on an autobiography; Miss Genevieve Ward has for some months been transcribing her experiences in the Antipodes; and I shouldn't be much surprised to hear Mr Joe Hatton was engaged on a ' Life of Henry Irving.' Mrs Bancroft puts on what the Americans call " tremendous frills " on the strenth of her literary success. She's never tired of talking of how she wrote this or suggested that. Last Sunday evening the guests at Berkeley Square (amongst whom was Toole) were getting tired of the ' Memoirs.' At length the great J. L. came to the rescue. " Tell me, Mrs B.,"said he, "who wrote your autobiography, and I'll confide to you who is doing mine." This was rather a severer joke than Mr Toole intended ; most people present being perfectly well aware that the ' Memoirs ' had, prior to publication, been carefully revised and touched up by Clement Scott. A PAINFUL SCENE. A most painful scene occurred at the St. James's Theatre on Monday evening, when a careful and on the whole well-played revival of a dull old play called ' The Wife's Secret' was incontinently hissed by the bored pittites. Mrs Kendal gave way entirely at the first ominous Bymptoms^in fact seemed to be all but fainting with nervous prostration. Instead of this quieting the disturbance, it appeared rather to aggravate matters. The truth is these first nights are fast becoming an ordeal which may well make the boldest quail. _ We shall have some currish shopboys hissing Irving next. THE SECRET OUT. Miss Tuttiet, the lady who eighteen months ago achieved anonymous fame as the author of ' The Silence of Dean Maitland,' is, like poor Smedley, a confirmed invalid. She is the daughter of a popular medical man at Newport, in the Isle of Wight (which, you may remember, figures in the novel as Oldport), and possesses a eat to the full as wonderful as the immortal "Mark Antony." Miss Tuttiet's first literary effort was an unpretentious little story called 'The Broken Tryst,' published as long ago os 1879 by Samuel Tinsley. Its success was not encouraging, and for a time the poor lady laid aside her pen altogether. She wrote ' Dean Maitland' slowly. The title was an inspiration of the happiest sort. Messrs Kegan, Paul, and Trench were naturally struck by it, and gave the MSS. promptly to their reader, who reported only fairly well of thestoiy. Success, indeed, was not immediate. Weeks passed before some favorable reviews give an impetus to the sale of the book. Then, however, new editions could hardly be got ready quick enough. The secret of the author's identity has been better kept than is usually the case. Certain tricks of style which Miss Tuttiet and Mrs I Harrison (author of ' Colonel Euderby's I Wife') have in common led to the work ; being universally ascribed to the latter at ' first. When this laJy denied the soft imj peachment the critics were quite at sea. lady dcdley's diamonds. J So Lady Dudley has after all sold some of : her diamonds to that wretch Holkar. Don't you recollect the scandal there was during the "Colindies" season when the Maharajah, on being introduced to the Countess, promptly demanded the price of her diamonds, and showed violent temper on being informed that she could not part with them. Her ladyship now sells L 12.000 worth. THE ATTACK ON DICKENS'S MEMOKY. Mrs Christian, whose too veracious reminiscences of Dickens in ' Temple Bar,' for April, have caused such a stir in literary circles, is the wife of the well-known Captain Christian, of the P. and 0, service. Mrs Christian's heinous offence seems to be that she throws a lurid light on the_ great novelist's weakest side. No one denies the truth of her picture. I confess I don't think tho trifling exposd, such as it is, will injure Dickens's memory a little bit. Despite his numerous biographers, most of us are well aware that he was far from perfect in a great many respects, yet I'm quite sure none of us revere him the less. Edmond Yates says Mrs Christian was a bore, that Dickens hated bores, and that he probably showed it. All lean say is, if Mrs Christian be a bore, she does not write like one. Moreover, one cannot detect a suspicion of illnature or hurt vanity in ber paper. Apropos of Dickens, it is odd, isn't it, that the two principal collectors of " Dickensiana " should be Wright, the great readymoney bookmaker, and "Pony " Moore, the popular " bones "at St. James's HalL Mr Dutton, of Manchester, has also a Dickens collection of nearly 3,000 articles, which he keeps in a Dickens room, and which includes eighteen editions of' Pickwick.' THE GRAND OLD MAN'S RELAXATIONS. Mr Gladstone's family are always glad to lure him into reading a novel, but it is rather awful when, as sometimes happens, he becomes absorbed in some story to the exclusion of everything else. Perhaps you may remember the sensation there was in the House some years back when at a great crisis, or rather with a great crisis itiimiuent, the G.O.M. waa discovered immersed and evidently intensely interested in an untnistakeable novel from Mudies. " What can it be?" asked curious members, and were rather disappointed when the book proved to be a popular Anglo-Indian story called 'Proper Pride.' There was a rush to Mudie's for the book. The same thing is now about to happen with Mrs Humphry Ward's' Robert Elsemere.' The Grand Old Man has read the book, and not merely admires it but is so " enthused" that he means co review it in one of the big monthlies, probably the ' Nineteenth Century.' I think Mrs Ward's book is clever, though the leading motive has been better treated by Kingsley in 'Yeast' and 'Alton Locke,'and by Edna Lyall in ' We Two.' Nevertheless it will well repay your perusal. FOUNDED ON FACT. What with ' Marahuna,' and ' The Frozen Pirate,' both of which rejoice in Antarctic "scenes and incidents, Mr Rider Haggard will have to be careful with his new ' Romance of the Antarctic Circle,' or he may again be accused of plagiarism. 1 hear his mummy story is passing through the press. Mr Anstey-Guthrie (F. Anstey) is also putting tho final touches to a new book. Few, by-the-bye, know that the story of ' The Fallen Idol' is identical with a tragedy in real life. The owner of the fiendish, indestructible, and imperishable idol had chambers in the Temple some years back, and was daily expected by his friends to commit suicide. Julian Hawthorne knew him as well as Mr Guthrie, and visited him continually. There appears to have been doubt whether the poor fellow was mad or not. In some respects it is a pity Mr Hawthorne left such a grand subject to Mr Anstey's light hand for treatment. How powerfully he himself could have depicted the gruesome horrors of the persecuted hero readers of ' Sinfire' and ' Archibald Malmaison'_ will be able to realise. Mr Hawthorne, this reminds me, has just brought out a volume of characteristic tales entitled ' David Poiutdexter's Disappearance.' They do not seem to me above the average magazine level.