picturesque but somewhat ponderous work of German origin, first produced
some thirty years ago at Drury Lane with Mr. James Anderson and Miss
Vandenhoff as the principal personages. The interest centers not so much
in the barbarian Ingomar as in his enchantress, Parthenia, of whom Miss
Mary Anderson, an American artist of fine renown, proves a comely and
efficient representative. In summing up the qualifications of an actress
the Transatlantic critics never fail to take into account her personal
charms--a fascinating factor. Borne on the wings of an enthusiastic press,
the fame of Miss Anderson's loveliness had reached our shores long before
her own arrival. The Britishers were prepared to see a very handsome lady,
and they have not been disappointed. Miss Anderson's beauty is of Grecian
type, with a head of classic contour, finely chiseled features, and a tall
statuesque figure, whose Hellenic expression a graceful costume of antique
design sets off to the best advantage. You fancy that you have seen her
before, and so perhaps you have upon the canvas of Angelica Kauffman. For
the rest, Miss Anderson is very clever and highly accomplished. Her
talents are brilliant and abundant, and they have been carefully
cultivated to every perfection of art save one--the concealment of it. She
has grace, but it is studied, not negligent grace; her action is always
picturesque and obviously premeditated; everything she says and does is
impressive, but it speaks a foregone conclusion. Her acting is polished
and in correct taste. What it wants is freshness, spontaneity, _abandon_.
Among English artists of a bygone age her style might probably find a
parallel in the stately elegance and artificial grandeur of the Kembles.
It has nothing in common with the electric _verve_ and romantic ardor of
Edmund Kean. Of the _feu sacre_ which irradiated Rachel and gives to
Bernhardt splendor ineffable, Miss Anderson has not a spark. She is not
inspired. Hers is a pure, bright, steady light; but it lacks mystic
effulgence. It is not empyreal. It is not 'the light that never was on sea
or land--the consecration and the poet's dream.' It is not genius. It is