Kitabı oku: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 19, No. 534, February 18, 1832», sayfa 4

I need scarcely observe, that from the rigid silence vowed and practised, the order of La Trappe includes no females in its over-zealous ordinances. The only books allowed those who could read were Missals and the Bible, which were constantly in their hands.

Medical aid was not denied, when occasion required it, from one qualified to practise among the Weld colony in the village, who of course was no heretic; but the ordinary management of the materia medica, furnished by the garden, rested with such of the fraternity as were gifted in the art of healing.

In addition to all the mortification of the flesh pointed out to us, we were given to understand that the twisted cords around the waist were frequently employed in self-inflicted scourgings at the altar, to which the superior exhorted the brethren as a penance for past, and humiliation for future, sins; a ceremony which, by all accounts, was in some instances unjustly taken out of the hands of the public executioner, while in others, perhaps, the cord might not at all have been misapplied if its adjustment to the neck, instead of the waist, had been anticipated by the same functionary. —Metropolitan.

COLONEL BRERETON

 
Through the still midnight—hark'—that startling sound
Tells of deed of blood! a soldier's hand
With aim too true himself hath reft of life!
*   *   *   Beneath that roof
For many days none had heard sounds of gladness.
He was distressed—each fond retainer then
Softened his voice to whispers—each pale face
Did but reflect the sadness fixed in his:
Save where the two—two fair and lovely ones,
Too young for guilt or sorrow, or to know
Such words as wordlings know them—save where they,
Pranking in childhood's headlong gaiety,
Sent the loud shout—like laughter through the tomb—
And mocked his anguish, with their joyousness.
Oh, that in sleep, some cry of joy or pain
From forth those lips had bursten piercingly,
When that sad Man his daring hand had lain,
Maddened with hours of musing, on his death!
Then would great Nature, o'er the soldier's heart
Her power have all recovered; his seared soul
With gushing tears enflooded, been restored;
Mistaken Honour, false chivalric Pride,
Flown with the Tempter;—life have been preserved,—
And unendangered an immortal soul.
 

Gentleman's Magazine.

SELECT BIOGRAPHY

THE LATE MR. MUNDEN

(With Recollections.)

Great actors have two lives, or rather they have double deaths. Their leave-taking of the public, their "retirement," as biographers call it, is one death; since a playgoer then considers an actor dead "to all intents and purposes"—a very non est. Public regrets are showered about your great actor, and by some he is forgotten with the last trump of his praise. He "retires:" that is, he looks out for a cottage in the country, far removed from his former sphere of action, (as plain John Fawcett did the other day,) or he diverges to a snug box in the suburbs of London, still lingering about the great stage, as did honest Joseph Munden about seven years since. People in the boxes or pit look out for his successor in the bills of the play—then say "we ne'er shall look upon his like again," (the greatest, though perhaps the most equivocal, tribute ever paid to genius,) but a few months reconcile them to the loss; they approve the successor, though they deplore the change, "and though the present they regret, they are grateful for the past." Then comes your actor's second farewell—his final exit—and "last of all comes death." A line or two in a newspaper tells you that Munden died on Monday last. One exclaims "I thought he had been dead these seven years;" but another, of more grateful and reflective temperament, throws down the "diurnal" to lament the death of the man as he had hitherto regretted the loss of the actor. His former regret too is resuscitated. A mere paragraph rounds the little life of your actor, his entrances and exits, and he who "appeared" on one stage in 1790, as Sir Francis Gripe and Jemmy Jumps, disappeared from that greater stage, or all the world, as Joseph Munden. We have often thought these farewells of actors must be with them dismal affairs, especially in old age. They must remind them of a last farewell, and we know

 
The sense of death is most in apprehension.
 

But, is this fitting for the obituary of a comic actor? Yes, we reply, and as both are but occasions of appeal to the passions, we may think the death of a tragedian less striking than the former, since all tragedies end with death, and death in itself is but a scene of tragedy. Is any lament of Shakspeare's heroes more touching than his apostrophe to the scull of Yorick, the King's jester, the mad fellow that poured a flagon of Rhenish on the clown's head: "a fellow of infinite jest; of most excellent fancy. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen?"

Munden was the son of a poulterer in Brooke's Market, Holborn, where he was born in the year 1758. His father died soon afterwards, leaving his widow with slender means, and Munden was thrust upon the world to seek his fortune at twelve years of age. He was placed in an apothecary's shop, but soon left it for an attorney's office. Perhaps, like Dr. Wolcot, he fancied the clinking of the pestle and mortar said "Kill 'em again! kill 'em again." From the attorney's office, he "fell off," as Hamlet's Ghost would say, to a law-stationer's shop, and became "a hackney writer:" the technicality needs not explanation: to hack at anything is neither the road to fame nor a good meal. He was apprenticed in Chancery Lane: his master died and was succeeded by an older man, of the square-toed fraternity, who taxed Munden with being a Macaroni more than a tradesman. Munden, in consequence, parted from his master, and once more returned to the office of a solicitor. They who remember Munden, a staid-dressing man in later years, may smile at his early observance of the glass of fashion.

About this time Munden appears to have first imbibed a taste for the stage, and with it an admiration of the genius of Garrick; indeed, he had seen more of Garrick's acting than had any of his contemporaries in 1820, Quick and Bannister excepted. What a fine president would Munden have been of the Garrick Club, the members of which probably know as much about Garrick as they care about Thespis. Acquaintance with an actor fed Munden's penchant for the stage, but did not fill his pocket. Both started for Liverpool, the actor upon an engagement, but Munden in hope of one; the latter engaged in the office of the Town Clerk, but only realized his hope in copying for the theatre, walking in processions, and bearing banners, at one shilling per night! At length he acted the first Carrier in Henry IV. He next joined a company at Rochdale, which he soon left, and returning to Liverpool, smothered his dramatic passion for two years, when he started for Chester, with a light heart, a bundle wardrobe, and a guinea. He entered Chester with his "last shilling," which he paid for admission to the theatre, little thinking of provision for the night. Yet Munden, in later life, was a prudent, parsimonious man. At the close of the performance he fell in with a person who had been a butcher's apprentice in Brooks's Market, and who remembering young Joseph's antic tricks, gave him good cheer, and money for his return to London. On the road, necessity overtook him, when meeting a Warwickshire militia-man, who was marching to the town at which he was billeted, Munden prevailed on the soldier to represent him as a comrade. The trick told: he was ordered to the general mess-room and received as one among the warriors; and his lively humour made him king of the company for the night. Next morning the regiment mustered, and Munden was told to follow and be enlisted; but, as he had obtained all he wished, a supper and a bed, he left his military friends to their glory, ⁷ and proceeded to London. Here he again returned to the law, but once more emerged from it, and joined a company at Leatherhead, as a representative of old men. But the theatre was burnt. Munden next played at Windsor with tolerable success, at half a guinea per week; and subsequently at Colnbrook and Andover. He returned to London, and thence went to Canterbury, in 1780, to play low comedy characters, where he first became what theatrical biographers term "a favourite." After other provincial engagements and a short trial of management at Sheffield, Munden appeared December 2, 1790, (a few nights after the first appearance of Incledon,) at Covent Garden Theatre as Sir Francis Gripe, in the Busy Body, and Jemmy Jumps in the Farmer; his success in which parts after the impressions made by Parsons and Edwin was little short of a miracle. His popularity now became settled. He was the original representative of Old Rapid, Caustic, Brummagem, Lazarillo, (Two Strings to your Bow,) Crack, Nipperkin, Sir Abel Handy, Sir Robert Bramble, Old Dornton, &. In 1797 and 1798, he played at the Haymarket, but his summer vacations were chiefly filled up by engagements at the provincial theatres. Munden remained at Covent Garden Theatre till 1813, when he joined the Drury Lane company. Here he remained until May 31, 1824, when he took his farewell of the stage, in the characters of Sir Robert Bramble, (Poor Gentleman, ⁸ ) and Old Dozy, (in Past Ten o'clock.) He read his farewell address, thus rendering it strikingly ineffective, since his spectacles became obscured with tears. The leave-taking had, however, a touch of real tragedy, which few could withstand. He now retired with a respectable fortune, and lived in genteel style in Bernard-street, Russell Square, till his 74th year.

Munden's style of acting was exuberant with humour. His face was his fortune: it was all changeful nature: his eye glistened and rolled, and lit up alternately every corner of his laughing face: "then the eternal tortuosities of his nose, and the alarming descent of his chin, contrasted, as it eternally was, with the portentous rise of his eyebrows." He has been blamed for grimace, but it should be remembered that many of his characters verged on caricatures. That he could play comic characters chastely was amply shown in his Polonius; and touch the finer feelings of our nature was exemplified in his Old Dornton, in Holcroft's catching play of the Road to Ruin. The fine discrimination evinced by Munden in the grief and joy of the exclamations "Who would be a father," and "Who would not be a father," will not soon be forgotten. We think we see and hear his stout figure, in black, with florid face, and powdered hair, his raised and clasped hands,—rushing out of the lockup-house scene in all the fervid extasy of a father rejoicing at the escape of his son from destruction. In Crack, Dozey, Nipperkin, and other drunken characters, his drollery was irresistible. His intoxication displayed as much discrimination as his pathetic performances. Who can forget his stare in being detected in his fuddling as Dozey, and his plea for drinking to "wa-ash down your honour's health:" or his anti-polarity as Nipperkin, when his very legs seemed drunk beneath him; his attempt to set down the keg would stagger the disbelievers of perpetual motion. Again, who did not relish the richness of his voice, and the arch crispness which he gave to some words, while others came not trippingly off his tongue, but lingered and jarred with an effect which accounts for so many imitators. His mouth had a peculiar twist, somewhat resembling that of Mathews, which at times almost forbad his plain speaking.

We have seen that Munden was

 
A man that fortune's buffets and rewards
Had ta'en with equal thanks.
 

As he ripened, he became tinged with the old gentlemanly vice. He almost made penury his hobby. Oxberry's widow asked him, after his retirement, to play for her benefit: he said he could not, but that, if ever he performed again, he would present her with 100l. It is related of him too, that a friend asking him for a keepsake, he exchanged his old cotton umbrella for his friend's silk one. Elliston and Munden were on good terms, though men of very opposite habits. Munden had played twelve nights for Elliston at Leamington. The manager had his wine, and the actor his brandy and water, in the greenroom; before leaving the town, Munden sent for his bill at the next tavern—14 glasses as many shillings. He asked Elliston to contribute 3s. which the manager refused to do, as Munden had drunk his wine; "but," retorted Munden, screwing his features up to the very point of exaction, "Sip-pings, remember sip-pings," alluding to Elliston's occasional visits to his glass, while he was playing his part. It is said too, though we know not how truly, that Munden was once seen, walking to Kentish Town, with four mackerel, suspended from his fingers by a twig, he having purchased the fish at a low price in Clare-Market. But this is venial: for a string of fish is one of the parcels which John Wilkes said, a gentleman may carry. Munden was a willing diner-out, and his conviviality made him a welcome guest at any board. His hospitality at home was unbounded; and above all, he has left an exemplary character for honesty and integrity: he was one of those