TOPICS OF THE DAY.

Evening Star, Issue 7646, 23 June 1888, Page 2 (Supplement)

TOPICS OF THE DAY.

[From Our T.onl v Correspondent.] May Day-Spring’s delights—Tlte Academy ' —Pity the poor R.A.’s (rejected artists) —A sad case—The Groavenor private view—Folks who were there—Boyce v. Boyce—Matrimonial agencies—The case against the Empress Victoria— Berlin’s point of view—Mr Montagu Williams’s throat—A precisely similar instance—Adding fuel to the flame — Her Ladyship’s elopement —Richard Belt redivivm Theatrical notes Literary notes—Robert Elsmere—What * The Times ’ thinks—Cheap editions —Mrs Henry Wood’s copyrights—New novels—The magazines. London, May 5. May Day, true to its reputation of late years, was as cold, rainy, and cheerless as the most venomous pessimist could desire; and how Tennyson’s young lady fared (if her mother did indeed call her early with a view to Indulging in the traditional festivities of the occasion) I can’t imagine. Probably she is now in bed with combined lumbago and influenza. What is it Ashby S terry says ? Spring’s delights tiro now returning, Now the poet deftly weaves Quaint conceits and rhymes concerning Croton oil and mustard leaves. Let us—though wo are a fixture, In our room comp died lo stay— Lot us quail the glad cough mixture, Gaily gargle lime away. Though we're racked with pains rheumatic, Though lo sleep we’ve said “ Ta-;a,” Let us, in a voice ecstatic. Wildly wartle “ Tra-la-la.” This afternoon all the world and Ids wife are at the private view of the Royal Academy. The critics do not seem to have made up their minds as to the picture of the year. Poor old Herbert, R.A.’s, appalling daubs are as usual the worst, and take up a lot of room. I’ITY THE TOOK E.A. (REJECTED ARTISTS). Out of the 7,000 odd men and women in England who are trying to earn a livelihood as artists, it is averred that perhaps 700 are really successful. The rest may love their Erofession, but it is constantly embittered y failure (often unmerited), and must be associated by a wearing anxiety painful to think of. This year the rejections from the Academy are more numerous, and (in certain cases) more inexplicable than ever, and stories of bitter disappointment abound. I know one family which relies entirely for its daily bread on art. The father is a fairly successful landscape painter, who lias generally had three or four pictures tolerably hung at the Academy, and for a long time has been spoken of as on the brink of becoming an Associate, Somehow, though, the poor fellow has never quite been elected. His son and daughter inherit their father’s talent, and the parent’s success has, unfortunately, been just sufficient to tempt them into the profession. Last year two clever impressionist sketches of young A’s (as I will call them) were hung at the Academy and well sold, and the family were also lucky in securing several commissions. This year they sent six pictures—three by the father, two by the son, and one by the daughter —to the Academy, and all were rejected. What this means to people like my friends, with heavy bills, etc,, I need scarcely say. The disappointment was simply crashing, all the more so perhaps because the members of the Hanging Committee are mostly personal friends of the A’s, and to suspect them of prejudice or deliberate malice would be sheer insanity. Viewed dispassionately, ! agree with A that his pictures are in most respects equal to their predecessors. They are, however, much larger in s’ze, and if the Hanging Committee even have a single doubt about a big picture, its fate is sealed. Remembering the space at Burlington House is so limited that rather more than two-thirds of the pictures sent in must be rejected, this is not very remarkable. The truth is, of course, that it is the success of the poor A.’s that has been phenomenal, not their failure. THE PRIVATE VIEWS. The private view at the Grosvenor last Saturday afternoon was quite as interesting as usual from a social point of view, hut the exhibition itself sailers sadly from the absence of Burne-Jones, Tadema, W. B. Richmond, and others. The crush in the afternoon was tremendous. The Archbishop of Canterbury, the D ike of Devonshire, Sir William Gull, Lord Carlingford, andotherelderly notables came early to avoid the crowd, as did Professor Ruskin (escorted by Arthur Severn) and Lady Colin Campbell. The Professor was (to put it mildly) fractious, and his criticisms would have made the ears of Mr Britten, Mr Hasher, and others of the “rising school” tingle could they have heard them. Lady Colin took notes copiously in her catalogue, and Lord and Lady Randolph Churchill spent most of their brief stay conversing with Sir Coutts Lindsay. Soon after three, when the crowd began to swell rapidly, I took up a post of vantage near the head of the stairs leading to room 2 and surveyed the scene. The peerage was in every nook and corner. The Dowager Duchess of St. Albans, a regal old lady, passed leaning on her handsome young grandson, Lord Burford. Lady Salisbury was accompanied by a pretty daughter. The Duke of Westminster looked sadder than ever as he followed meekly in hia handsome wife’s train. Lady Morell Mackenzie wore a very rich black toilette, which contrasted effectively with Lady Holker’s superb purple velvet, and was almost as mueh admired as the grey and silver of Countess Cairns. Mr Goschen, Sir Michael Hicks-Beach, Mr Henry Matthews, and Mr Ashmead Bartlett represented the Cabinet; the Lord Chief Justice and Baron Huddlestone the law; Mr Marcus Stone, Mr Orchardson, and Mr Solomon art; Signor Pratti and Dr Stainer music; Mias Fortescue, Mies Cissy Grahame, Mr Forbes Robertson, Mr Willard, and Mr Alexander the stage; Sir Spencer Wills and Sir Prescott Hewett medicine ; Mr Oscar Wilde poetry; and Mr Labouchere, Mr Yates, Mr Justin M'Carthy, and Mr T. P. O’Connor Journalism. A MATRIMONIAL SQUABBLE. Mr Boyce, who has just been figuring in the Divorce Court, described himself sometime ago in the ‘ Matrimonial News ’ as “of medium height, good expectations, an abstainer from principle, of great talent and nerve, with a gentle disposition.” He wanted a wife with L 5,000, and through the editor of the ‘ News ’ eventually found one. The lady married him full of confidence jn his “ Christian habits,” which were, however soon discovered to bo of a distinctly ferocious character. Mr Boyce, besides ignoring and ill-treating his wife, kept a pretty and interesting housekeeper, who wrote to her master as “Darling Baby, -- ’ and altogether seemed very fond of him. The Judge refused, however, to see anything suspicious ia this fact, nor did Mr Boyce’s having half stranded his wife amount, in hia opinion, Li cruelty. Poor Mrs Boyce did not in consequence procu e the divorce she wanted ; in fact, tire Court reinstated her Christian husband in hjs conjugal rights—and yet this is a Chiistian country. THE CASE AGAINST THE EMPRESS. To understand the seemingly unreasonable unpopularity of the Empress Victoria in Germany just now, it is necessary to view ber conduct through purely Teutonic spectacles. The great accusation, of course, iathat she has deliberately sacrificed her husband to her ambition and her Anglicism. «« gays Berlin, the Cthen) Crown Princess bad been true to Fatherland, she would have called in German doctors, and taken German advice. Even Englishmen had, up to then, recognised the German specialists as being facile princepe in this particular disease. Yet, H.l.H.’s insular prejudices have caused her to disregard this fact, and call in an English medico, whom many of his own brethren believe to be a quack. When the question of cutting out the •rowth in the Crow* Prince’s throat was Snder consideration, the case of Mr Monfcaime Williams was brought to the Crown Princess’s notice. Mr Williams, now a orominent Metropolitan Magistrate, was some years back a barrister in a large pracLike the Crown Prince he found him«elf' all at once seized with this peculiar throat disease, and, like the Crown Prince he consulted Sir Morell Mackenzie. The English doctor coddled and physicked him , hat Mr Williams grew gradually worse. At length, seeing he would certainly die of ioflocation unless something were done, the

pour man betook himself to Germany, There the specialists told him lie must at onoe be operated on. It was, they told him, a ease of kill or cure (probably the former), but it would bo better he should die under the operation than slowly in agony. Mr Williams did not die. On the contrary he is very much alive, and save for a queer whispering voice, quite well and like other people. This case was undoubtedly on “ all fours - ’ with the Crown Prince s, and in order to convince the Crown Princess of this fact Mr Williams visited San Remo and had several interviews with her. He went away expecting to hear of the operation every day. It would, indeed, be a serious thing if, after evidence o f this sort, the Crown Princess had persuaded her husband against the operation ; but sho did not. It was /(' who felt he must just live to be Emperor, if possible, for his family’s sake, and declined the risk. The Empress has added fuel to the name against her since sho returned to Berlin by giving the order for refurnishing Charlottcnburg to a London, instead of a German, firm, and by opening and disturbing the sacred room in the castle in which good Queen Louise died, and which had been left untouched since her death, eighty years ago. The Crown Prince flew into a furious passion about the last-named piece of Philistinism (really a servant’s blunder, for which Her Majesty took the blame), and has not been on speaking terms with his mother since it occurred. The Court trembled lest he should insult Ids Royal grandmother during her recent visit; but, though dull and gloomy, he was perfectly polite. The Queen, who appears to take a ghoulish delight in discussing funeral details, has elaborated all sorts of plana for the Royal Family in anticipation of “ Unser Fritz's ” demise. Sir Morell Mackenzie has lost caste considerably by replying to the scandal >us attacks of the German papers and the misrepresentations of Mr Lowe,of ‘TheTimes. Some of his epistles to the latter are models of abusive letter-writing ; in fact, the whole squabble is most improper and undignified. HER LADYSHIP’S ELOPEMENT. The elopement of Lady Walter Campbell with the self-styled “Captain” Allan Gordon took “society ” by surprise, as the lady has been married fifteen years, and can scarcely he called a beauty. Lord Walter, who belongs to Ilelbert, \Vagg, and Campbell, die big stock-brokers, was in Now York on business when the etclandre occurred. He returned at once, and has followed the fugitives to Beunitz. Lady Walter was the daughter of a wealthy Manchester manufacturer named Milne. He made very handsome settlements upon her, which were, however, strictly tied up. It is suspected that money, rather than love, is at the bottom of “Captain” Gordon’s infatuation. Tills gentleman is not one of the Gordons, but a person of no family whatever. In appearance he resembles Rhotla Broughton’s heroes, being a tall, massive, and leonine man, with ruddy hair and a golden beard. RICHARD IIKLT RHDIVIVrs. When Richard Belt, the sculptor, emerged from “durance vile” some time ago, lie had to choose between either abandoning his vocation and changing his name or beginning the world afresh and attempting to live down his fatal mistake. He chose the latter alternative, and, as plenty of people believe him to be a grossly ill-used man, found ample work, and is doing well. Several of Belt’s busts were exhibited last week, and attracted a curious crowd of critics, most of whom pronounced them distinctly good. Belt himself is undoubtedly a coarse grained person, but his wife is charming and devoted to him. Her conduct whilst he was in prison and when he was released was alike admirable. She had not merely a home, but work and a welcome waiting fer the poor man, THEATRICAL NOTES, Notwithstanding the outcry of Mrs Burnett ami her friends, the pirated dramatic version of ‘Little Lord Fauntleroy’ has proved a great success, and is being played every afternoon at the Prince of Wales’s Theatre to crowded houses. Dainty Miss Hughes, who scores so in the title role, will presently take the piece on tour, that is if she can find anyone capable of replacing Miss Kate Rorko in the essential part of Dearest, Mrs Burnett’s new children's story ‘ Sara Creive ’ is to be published this week, and those who have read it in ‘ St Nicholas’ pronounce the tale a worthy successor to ‘Lord Fauntleroy.’ Mr Wilson Barrett has, after all, decided not to risk the much-talked of * Bsn-my-Chree ’ at the Globe, and is instead winding up his season there with a brief revival of ‘The Silver King.’ ‘The Wife’s Secret’ proved a dead failure at the St. James’s, despite Mrs Kendal’s fine acting and the lavish mounting. ‘The Ironmaster’ was rapidly put into rehearsal in consequence, and revived last Saturday with success. I cannot, however, say I think Mrs Kendal’s pathos is what it used to be. It rings false somehow. In ‘The Squire’ the whole audience used to dissolve in tears; in ‘ The Ironmaster’ it scarcely even sympathises. This, however, may be because of the detestably French tone of the play. The Gaiety company have gone at last, and their place will next week be taken by Mr Daly’s American company, with a piece called ‘The Railroad to Ruin,’ Irving is busy superintending the rehearsals of * The Amber Heart’ and ‘Robert Macaire,’ He looks very ill, and seems to have aged greatly during his American tour. LITERARY NOTES. It was not a bad idea on the part of Messrs Warne and Routledge to celebrate Primrose Pay with the publication of a sixpenny edition of Lord Beaconafield’s novels. The books arc adnjirably printed in clear readable type on good paper, and will doubtless sell well for a time amongst lower middle ■ plass Conservatives. Personally, I don’t think any cultured Englishman over nineteen or twenty ought to bo able to tolerate Disraeli. I remember gloating over ‘ Vivian Grey’ and ‘ The Young Duke’at that age. Now both road shockingly fustian. ‘Conjugally ’ is better considerably, and so is ‘ Sybil,’ but even they are interesting chiefly from the association of their characters with well-known celebrities. The Bancrofts’ recollections have run through three editions in as mauy weeks, and the demand is still far in excess of Messrs Bentleys’ supply. The portraits which illustrated the first edition arc missing from the second, and copies of the former are consequently already at a premium, ‘ Robert Elsmcre ’ has also taken the town by storm. ‘The Times,’ it was generally anticipated, would pooh-pooh the novel when it learnt that Mr Gladstone “gushed” about its merits ; but, to everyone’s surprise, the ‘ Thunderer ’ proved condescendingly complimentary. “A story which enthrals us to the end. Strong individuality breathes in the author’s characters. A striking novel,” said the critic of Printinghouse square, and the captious ‘ Spectator ’ shortly after followed suit with a highly eulogistic notice. I meant to tell you last mail, but I don’t think I did, that 1 Robert Elsinore ’ was originally written in four volumes. Mrs Ward mistook the amount of matter required, and when Smith, Elder’s reader came to look over the MS. he found it would fill four long volumes. Ruthless putting and compression, which doubtless greatly improved the work, resulted in the lengthy three volumes now before the public. All sorts of people write “ under the rose” for the ‘ Family Herald, 1 the proprietors of which pay well, and the consequence is one may often come upon distinctly readable tales “blushing unseen” in its unpretentious columns. Such a one is ‘ Her Bitter Reward,’ just published in the ‘ Family Story-teller Scries ’ at a shilling. I can also cordially recommend George Bernard Shaw’s clever and cynical ‘ Unsocial Socialist,’ now reprinted at 2s for the first time. Mr Shaw is an utterly impossible person, or he would have long since taken a leading position amongst contemporary novelists. Brilliant and wayward, he cares, or seems to care, nothing for success. Friends implored him to reflect when, a few years back, he rejected Bentley’s offer of a substantial oheque, and gave the publication of ‘ Cashel Byron’s Profession’ to a small Socialist printer. Naturally, the book was buried. No one knew where to find or to buy it. The critics received the story mixed up with a lot of Socialist tracts, and chucked it into the paper basket unnoticed. One or two favourable reviews appeared, and led to my hunt-

ing the hook up and mentioning it to you. Since then Harpers, of New York, have republished ‘Cashel Byron’ in their 1 Handy ’ series, and the tale has had a veiy large sale. Two years ago the serial rights for New Zealand of Mr Stevenson’s ‘Kidnapped were offered me for LlO. Two thousand pounds have just been paid for the American serial rights (only) of the same gentleman’s ‘Outlaws of Tunstall Forest,’ the buyers being a syndicate of newspaper proprietors. This is unquestionably the biggest sum e ,r er paid for mere serial rights, and a great feather in Mr Stevenson’s cap. But then he is the fashion just now, and all depends upon that. It is an odd fact that the sale of Mrs Henry Wood’s novels, which continued steady up to her last illness, has fallen oil extraordinarily since her death. Two years ago Kentledges - offered Lr!0,000 for the copyrights of Mrs Wood’s thirty odd novels. Now no publisher would give a third of that sum. The same thing occurred with Charles Keadc and Anthony Irollope, who j to the majority of the next generation promise to be mere names. Sampson has brought out a capital cheap edition of Clark Russell s ‘ Frozen Pirate, with all the illustrations that appearedin ‘ Belgravia.’ Had ‘ A Seafarer’s ’ _ weird romance made its first appearance in this j dress it would have achieved a more immediate success than it did in library form. The same writer’s ‘ Voyage to the Cape ’ and Wilkie Collins’s ‘Evil Genius’are out at •2s. You will like Mrs Norris’s new story ‘Chris,’ There is no plot to speak of; but the men and women are nice people, such as one meets and wants to meet. Miss Betham-Edwards has also just brought out a very readable novel called ‘ The Parting of the Ways,’ the central figure in which is a retired slave-trader from the Soudan, who comes home to spend his money on a young and lovely daughter. Father and daughter are devoted to each other at first, but soon find they have not a sentiment in common for; whereas he is mean, grasping, small-minded, and selfish, the girl is just tiie reverse. The author gets much entertainment out of the old man’s resolve to procure everything from his country house from the Universal Provider Whiteley, The whole system of the Universal Provider is gone into and most amusingly described. THE MAGAZINES. Mrs Harrison’s (Mias Kingsley’s) rather feeble novel ‘ A Counsel of Perfection ’ will conclude in ‘ Murray’s Magazine’ for June, and Maxwell Gray’s ‘Reproach of Annesley ’ commences in the July issue, _ ‘ Harper’ for May contrins a most interesting article on ‘ Literary London,’ describing the everyday lives of many celebrated men. One thing I certainly did not know is that Mrs Woods, whose powerful novelette attracted so much notice lust year, is a daughter of the Dean of Westminster. It throws light on the quarter from which she got her facts. By the way, Mrs Lynn Linton has a review in hand of Zola’s works, which will, it is anticipated, cause a sensation. Another realist, George Moore, has resolved to forthwith carry out an idea long simmering in his noble brain—viz., to picture accurately the life led by the modern rnan-about-town. This great work will be called ‘Spring Days,’ and run through the ‘ Evening News' serially in the first instance. Mrs Oliphant’s pathetic study, ‘Mr Sandford,’ concludes hi the current ‘Cornhill,’ and Julian Sturgis commences a characteristic tale called ‘ The Eavesdropper.’ Mr Gladstone’s article on ‘Robert Elsmcre’ is the leading feature of the ‘Nineteenth Century,’ which seems in other respects a dull number.