JEALOUSY.

FROM THE GERMAN OF EDWARD MAUTNER.

BY JOHN OXENFORD.

[Or Edward Mautner I know nothing beyond the fact that, in the present year, he has published a volume of poems at Leipzig, and dedicated the same to another poet of the day, Alfred Meissner, who, by the way, has acquired some renown. Turning over the poems of Mautner, of which I had never heard, and which came to me only in compliance with a general order for all new German poetry, I formed the conclusion that he is not so much distinguished by creative imagination or power of illustration, as by a certain intensity in the expression of feeling. It seems as if he himself actually feels what he is writing, and therefore can command the sympathy of his reader. Many of his poems are in the indignant political vein, which is now so common in Germany; and many which relate to unfortunate love affairs, appear to allude to some actual circumstances. In the whole book, which is pervaded by a melancholy tone, there is nothing which looks like the mere amusement of a passing hour, but all is marked by a sad reality, which inspires one with a desire to know more of the author. The following poem struck me as remarkable for its force and truth. Though I have called it "Jealousy," it has no special name in the original, but is the third of a series bearing the mournful title "Lieder eines Ungeliebten" ("Songs of an Unloved One"). The reader of German ballads need not be told that the stanza of two lines, in which it is written, has been popular from early days, and has been especially employed by Uhland.-J. O.]

We sat by our wine, with its hue of gold,
Of thee I thought, and of thee he told.

His words with the fervour of love were hot;
The boiling blood into my cheek shot.*

He said, "To my love right dear am I,
And shall be until on the bier I lie."

Then rage, like a fire, came over me;
I clench'd my fist in my agony.
He said, "Her kisses so warmly glow!"
My face at his words grew white as snow.
He said, "Her embraces so fondly clasp !"
The glass I shiver'd within my grasp.
My breath was short, and my flashing eye
Look'd round to see if no weapon were nigh.
He said, "I know, that if I were dead,
The bitterest tears she would surely shed."
And then in a moment my rage had pass'd;
I held his hand in my own hand fast;

I press'd it, and into the night I rush'd—
From my eyes, 'mid the storm, the hot tears gush'd.

This strong line is literal:

Mir schoss in die Wange das siedende Blut.

The gentle reader will mind to accent the "my," or the metre, which is regulated by accent and not by number of syllables, will go to the

J. O.

THE SPANISH ACTORS IN PARIS.

BY AN ENGLISH SIGHT-SEER.

Paris, April 18.

ONE evening at the Tuileries, shortly after the arrival of the Duchess de Montpensier in Paris, the Queen of the French, being anxious to amuse the Infanta as much as possible, asked her what recreation she would prefer? The eyes of the young princess sparkled with delight as she eagerly exclaimed,

"There's nothing in the world I should enjoy so much as a game at blindman's buff with the officers of the guard!"

Kind and amiable as the Queen of the French is, her notions of decorum were rather too strict to allow her to meet the Infanta's wishes, and the officers of the guard were therefore left to their usual nightly rounds, instead of being summoned to run round the room after a charming young princess, though there can be little doubt as to which occupation they would have preferred.

Blindman's-buff, under such circumstances, being out of the question, some other amusement became necessary, and, thanks to the gallantry of Louis Philippe, a troop of Spanish actors from Madrid have crossed the Pyrenees, and gave their first representation last night in the Salle Ventadour, where the Italian Opera has just closed.

All Paris has been on the qui vive for this event, a Spanish comedy (not to speak politically) being a thing hitherto unknown in this city; and every inch of room in the theatre was let at advanced prices. A gayer scene than the house presented before the curtain it is difficult to imagine; the theatre itself is decorated with great taste, and the deepcrimson linings of the boxes and stalls, and the disposition of the soft globe-lamps add greatly to the very desirable object of bringing out the beauty which is so often obscured by an injudicious choice of colours and bad arrangement of lights. Whatever there is in Paris of handsome or fashionable, lion or lionne of every degree of celebrity was present last night, and expectation was on tip-toe, the novelty of the thing being, of course, the great attraction-for as to understanding the language of the actors no one, apparently, made the slightest pretension to do so.

"Vous comprenez l'Espagnol ?" said a bearded youth behind me, to an equally hirsute companion.

"Pas un mot," was the calm reply, as he levelled his glass at a beautiful Englishwoman on the opposite side of the house.

"Ni moi non plus," returned his friend" "mais je comprends la danse, ça est bien traduisible !"

The queen has some difficulties to encounter in the education of her daughters-in-law. The Princess de Joinville is very agreeable and somewhat spirituelle, but like most Portuguese-or rather Brazilians-has had no education. She has a French master in constant attendance, but her knowledge of the language would seem to be chiefly derived from that of her sailor husband, perhaps à son insçu. It is not long since the queen met her, and observing a cloud on her brow, asked what was the matter. Her naïve reply was,

"Ce sacré mâtin de professeur Français m'embête!"

The queen started, and presently observed, that it was not the custom for French ladies to express themselves in so forcible a manner.

"Mon Dieu ! je ne sais pas," she answered, "Joinville dit toujours ça.”

May.-VOL. LXXX. NO. CCCXVII.

I

But if the sonorous eloquence of Castile failed of its effect, the Jota of Arragon was certainly fully appreciated. Not that the wit of the gracioso passed without applause, but from the simultaneous murmur which preceded it, it was evident it proceeded from a knot of veritable Spaniards who had planted themselves in the centre of the parterre, to revel in the enjoyment from which, doubtless, many of them had long been exiled.

Before I say any thing of the actors, I must speak of the two most notable personages amongst the audience, Queen Christina and the Duchess de Montpensier, who occupied the royal box. The former, as all the world knows, is forty, fat-and fair-as far as complexion goes, but no longer so in the sense significant of beauty; her profile is a very bad one, and her full face quite justifies the term in its absolute meaning; for her figure, any description will serve that conveys an idea of size, and perhaps an elastic haycock may be as good an image as any other. This embonpoint is sometimes slightly in her majesty's way, for instance, at her devotions; and the other day, during carême in the church of St. Philippe du Roule, whither she always repairs to pray, she got so thoroughly embedded in the pavement while kneeling that all her efforts to rise were unavailing, and her attendants were forced to come to her assistance. This ought to have been the business of the Duke de Rianzares, now the French Duke de Montmoro, who knelt at her side, but he, with the true phlegm of a husband to whom a wife's difficulties were no novelty, remained absorbed in holy meditation. And whether his trance was disturbed or not by the furious glance which Christina bestowed upon him I cannot say, but upon any one less self-possessed than Muñoz it certainly would have excited some visible symptoms of discomfort. Her majesty's frame of mind must at any rate have been enviable, for—she had just taken the sacrament!-Queen Christina's costume last night had in it nothing striking; she wore no diamonds—at least, I observed nonewhich is the more remarkable as there are said to be in her coffers jewels to the value of eighty millions of francs, which she contrived to smuggle out of Spain by every avenue, in some instances packing them up in bottles, and thus passing them for sherry. So completely were the royal treasures at Madrid dévalisé, that only a single necklace remained for Queen Isabella, no less than seventy écrins being found at the palace empty after her departure.

To return to a more pleasing personage, her daughter, the Infanta Luisa Fernanda.

Many and very different accounts have been given of her personal appearance. It was at first said that, totally unlike her sister, she was perfectly beautiful; then, that she was affreusement laide; and if the portrait which is to be seen on the Boulevard Italien could be relied on, the last description would be nearest the mark; but, as in most cases, truth lies between, and the only wonder is that the artist who has aimed at reproducing her features, should have so far forgotten his métier, in painting a royal personage, as to have done her so little justice. I was seated so near the royal box, and was so intent upon examining the features of this future Helen, that I cannot be mistaken as to their contour and expression. My opinion is, that the Duchess de Montpensier is decidedly pretty. She has a very agreeable countenance, avec beaucoup de

physiognomie; her eyes are large and expressive; her eyebrows highly arched but not forcibly marked; her mouth small and full of mobility, and discovering when she smiles, which she does frequently, a range of pearly teeth; her hair is dark and luxuriant, but seems to want lustre ; her complexion is very sallow, a defect less perceptible by night than by day; her nose is the only feature decidedly bad, but only so with reference to the rest; it reminds one of the portraits of her father Ferdinand, but is much less retroussé than that of her mother. Her manners seem courteous, and her disposition lively, and the cares incident to her position have not as yet left any trace behind them. At times you would give her only the fifteen years which are all she has yet seen, but the general impression is that of a much older person-eighteen, twenty, or even fiveand-twenty years-an effect produced by her fully developed figure. Her dress was simple but pretty: in her hair were roses and pearl pins, and a small head-dress of black lace fell behind her ears, in which were pearl ear-rings. Her dress was pink, with a berthe (I believe ladies call it so) of black lace. Altogether, she gave one the idea of a very pleasing, welldressed young lady, whom any cavalier would be most happy to polk with in any society, and who, with half the fortune assigned to her (which, by the way, they say Louis Philippe has not yet touched) would make a sensation amongst our English heiresses of Albion. A propos of her dot, the story goes that the thirty millions which the king understood to be francs, are explained by Marie Christine to be only reals, which diminishes their value by three-fourths; but it is hardly possible that Louis Philippe could have been so thoroughly done as this mystification would imply.

The curtain is raised, and the actors in the Saynete, Mi Secretario y Yo (my Secretary and Myself), appear upon the scene. These were La Condesa (Senora Baus), her duenna or confidante, Zuiteria (Senora Barden), Don Fabricio (Lombia), and Don Engenio (Caltanazor). The story is extremely simple: the countess, a beautiful widow, living near Madrid, is beloved by a rich young merchant, Don Fabricio, who has lost his heart in negotiating for the purchase of her country seat, but has not courage to declare his passion. He is stimulated to do so by the duenna, who is most anxious to return to the capital, for she looks upon all the world, outside the walls of Madrid, as a desert, and conceives that her only chance of getting a husband, old as she is, exists in the possibility of finding him on the Prado, or at the Puerta del Sol. Fabricio, accustomed only to commercial affairs, is compelled to have recourse to his secretary, Eugenio, who writes a letter explanatory of his patron's feelings, but expresses himself rather as if he were consigning a cargo than making an offer of his hand; the style, however, is amended, and the letter graciously received, but Fabricio is at a loss what move next to make, while, in the meantime, the secretary has brought himself to think that he might stand a better chance with the lady than his principal. Fabricio has a happy idea, he will serenade his mistress. But unluckily, he can't sing. This deficiency his secretary undertakes to supply; and straightway the seguidilla is heard beneath the lady's windows. She is of course enchanted with the compliment, and in an interview with Fabricio, is about to resign her hand to him, when the unhappy secretary, believing the lady to be alone, strikes up on his own account. She recognises the voice and re

proaches Fabricio with the deception; the secretary enters, the Condesa seems disposed to award the prize to him, and torments her lover with the dread of her doing so. But this state of uncertainty does not last long; she gives Fabricio a tender glance, he throws himself at her feet, and they are happy; while the poor secretary, who has done all the work, is left planté là; the duenna offers to make him amends, he declines the honour somewhat brusquely, and the piece finishes with a tag delivered by Don Fabricio. Without developing any first-rate comic talent, the Saynete was creditably performed. Madame Baus is a pretty woman, and a tolerable actress, but her voice is rather harsh, and pitched in too high a key-a characteristic of the whole troupe.

Next came the "Boleras Robadas," and it would be difficult to do justice to the wonderful agility and grace of movement which marked these dances! hand, eye, and foot kept time with the most perfect precision, and, as in every other similar exhibition during the evening, it was only when the dancers were fairly exhausted that they gave in. A single Spanish figurante produces little effect; but when a dozen or more are in motion at once, the effect is widely different.

The drama of "Garcia del Castanar, El Labrador Mas Honrado," (The worthiest Labourer") succeeded. The story is briefly this:A king of Castile (in the 13th century) is solicited by a nobleman whose services have been conspicuous, to confer on him the Banda roja (or red ribbon), an honour which is conceded. A list of those who, by their contributions, have most assisted in the war against the Moors is then laid before the king by his minister, the Count de Orgaz, and it appears that a certain cultivator of his own estate, Garcia del Castanar, has furnished more men and money than any of the grandees of Castile. The king is desirous of seeing one who, living so simply, has effected so much, and under the pretext of joining a hunting party, resolves to set out for Garcia's abode, accompanied only by Don Mendo, whom at the same time he decorates with his own ribbon. The minister writes to inform Garcia of the king's intention, whom he tells him he will at once recognise by the ribbon which he always wears. We are next introduced to Garcia's happy home, where we see him with his young and beautiful wife, Blanca, and surrounded by his farm-labourers and domestics. They celebrate the happiness of a rural life by songs and dances, and shortly afterwards the king and his suite arrive. He addresses Garcia in the kindest terms, but without making himself known, and Don Mendo who is mistaken for his royal master, falls violently in love with Blanca, to whom he communicates his sudden passion. She dissimulates her anger at the avowal for fear of dangerous consequences, but Garcia has himself observed the supposed king's admiration. Content, however, in the full belief in his wife's virtue he banishes suspicion, and his royal guest departs with Don Mendo. In the second act the king announces to his minister his intention of bestowing on Garcia a command in an expedition against the Moors. Bras, the confidential servant of Garcia, arrives at court on a message respecting subsidies; Don Mendo sees him and learns that his master is to be absent from his house on a hunting-party, and resolves to take advantage of the opportunity to endeavour to see Blanca again. He repairs thither in the dead of the night, but Garcia has returned home sooner than expected, and after an affectionate interview