The International Weekly Miscellany, Volume I. No. 8 | Page 6

just the same as at St. Petersburg. The day after

their first appearance they are regularly taken into duty as imperial
officials, take an oath never to meddle with political affairs, nor join in
any secret society, nor ever to pronounce on the stage anything more or
anything else than what is in the stamped parts given them by the
imperial management.
Actors' salaries at Warsaw are small in comparison with those of other
countries. Forty or fifty silver rubles a month ($26 to $33) pass for a
very respectable compensation, and even the very best performers
rarely get beyond a thousand rubles a year ($650). Madame Halpert
long had to put up with that salary till once Taglioni said to Prince
Paskiewich that it was a shame for so magnificent an artist to be no
better paid than a writer. Her salary was thereupon raised one-half, and
subsequently by means of a similar mediation she succeeded in getting
an addition of a thousand rubles yearly under the head of wardrobe
expenses. This was a thing so extraordinary that the managing General
declared that so enormous a compensation would never again be heard
of in any imperial theatre. The pupils of the dramatic school receive
eighteen rubles monthly, and, according to their performances, obtain
permission every two years to ask an increase of salary. The period of
service extends to twenty-five years, with the certainty of a yearly
pension equal to the salary received at the close of the period.
For the artist this is a very important arrangement, which enables him
to endure a thousand inconveniences.
There is no prospect of a better state of the Polish drama. Count Fedro
may, in his comedies, employ the finest satire with a view to its
restoration, but he will accomplish nothing so long as the Generals ride
the theater as they would a war horse. On the other hand, no Russian
drama has been established, because the conditions are wanting among
the people. That is a vast empire, but poor in beauty; mighty in many
things, but weak in artistic talents; powerful and prompt in destruction,
but incapable spontaneously and of itself to create anything.
* * * * *

"DEATH'S JEST BOOK, OR THE FOOL'S TRAGEDY."
The _Examiner_, for July 20, contains an elaborate review, with
numerous extracts, of a play just published under this title in London.
"It is radiant," says the critic, "in almost every page with passion, fancy,

or thought, set in the most apposite and exquisite language. We have
but to discard, in reading it, the hope of any steady interest of story, or
consistent development of character: and we shall find a most
surprising succession of beautiful passages, unrivaled in sentiment and
pathos, as well as in terseness, dignity, and picturesque vigor of
language; in subtlety and power of passion, as well as in delicacy and
strength of imagination; and as perfect and various, in modulation of
verse, as the airy flights of Fletcher or Marlowe's mighty line.
"The whole range of the Elizabethan drama has not finer expression,
nor does any single work of the period, out of Shakspeare, exhibit so
many rich and precious bars of golden verse, side by side with such
poverty and misery of character and plot. Nothing can be meaner than
the design, nothing grander than the execution."
In conclusion, the Examiner observes--"We are not acquainted with any
living author who could have written the Fool's Tragedy; and, though
the publication is unaccompanied by any hint of authorship, we believe
that we are correct in stating it to be a posthumous production of the
author of the Bride's Tragedy; Mr. Thomas Lovell Beddoes. Speaking
of the latter production, now more than a quarter of a century ago, (Mr.
Beddoes was then, we believe, a student at Pembroke College, Oxford,
and a minor,) the Edinburgh Review ventured upon a prediction of
future fame and achievement for the writer, which an ill-chosen and
ill-directed subsequent career unhappily intercepted and baffled. But in
proof of the noble natural gifts which suggested such anticipation, the
production before us remains: and we may judge to what extent a more
steady course and regular cultivation would have fertilized a soil, which,
neglected and uncared for, has thrown out such a glorious growth of
foliage and fruit as this Fool's Tragedy."
The following exquisite lyric is among the passages with which these
judgments are sustained:
"If thou wilt ease thine heart Of love and all its smart, Then sleep, dear,
sleep; And not a sorrow Hang any tear on your eyelashes; Lie still and
deep Sad soul, until like sea-wave washes The rim o' the sun to-morrow,
In eastern sky.
But wilt thou cure thine heart Of love and all its smart, Then die, dear,
die; 'Tis