FEMALE MANAGEMENT.
IT was a brilliant idea of VESTRIS*S to pitch a tent of her own—or Pavilion, as she calls it : her "Olympic Revels" will assuredly turn out to the advantage of herself and the amusement of the public. The top of Olympus used to be but a poor and inhospitable abode for the Gods. But "Pandora, or the little meddling woman" (see her Play-bills), has contrived to clothe it with warmth and cheer it with mirth. Miss FOOTE m her lady's bower, and Madame VESTRIS in her Eastern pavilion, and Mrs. GLOVER, queen of the rouge, patch, and toupee school, in her Bath sedanchair, are attractions strong enough to fill all Pandora's boxes, were they as roomy and as numerous as we are sorry to say they are small and uncomfortable.
Women have been famous for managing, since the time that Eve managed to get her family turned out of Paradise ; and yet we have never had a London theatre under female management. It is a capital idea. Female reigns have a strong English prejudice in their favour—they are always expected to prove happy and glorious : why should the theatres have a Salique law ? Why should they be exempt frcim the universal rule of woman ? The real world is governed by female management, why not the mimic ? In fact, the theatres are no exception, and are, in reality, under the influence of the female, or better half, as she is justly termed ; but then the rule is illegitimate—a kind of unacknowledged, secret sway, that is obliged to produce its ends by crooked means—by jealousy, by envy, by love, by complaint, by coughs, colds, and hoarseness, by sprained ankles, domestic and delicate distresses, by intrigue, by scolding, by smiling, by (in short) playing the devil. But now, here on the brow of Olympus, we have the true acknowledged sovereignty, the fair, open rule of a crowned manageress. The results will speedily be seen. VESTRIS'S theatre will be kept in better order than all the rest ; and as the advantages of a female reign will soon be discerned, the lessors of Drury and the quarrelsome proprietors of Covent Garden will soon come to the resolution of placing the managerial crown upon a female head. We shall then have " the Rival Queens" every night, and all the world will go to court—or to the play, which will be the some thing. It will be like the entry of MARIA THERESA into the Hungarian Senate. The Hungarian constitution, like the Drury Lane one, does not admit of a female sovereign ; but when the noble figure of the Empress MARIA, just then left a widow, marched with stately step through the hall to take her throne, and demanded the aid of her nobles against the ungallant invasion of the coldhearted FREDERICK, the historian tells us, a thousand swords sprung from their scabbards, and the roof rang with cries of
" Moriemur pro Rege nostro, Maria: Moriemur pro Rege nostro, Maria!"—We will die, we will die for our King, Maria!— " King " they said in word, but in spirit were full of the Queen.
So should MARIA FOOTE, for example, be seated on the throne ; and if any bold, bad manager of a neighbouring theatre dare to
invade her rights, so will the thousand young men about town
flourish their canes and sword-sticks, and rend the old scenery with cries of" Moriemur, moriemur, pro nostro managero,Maria!" —Or, in commoner parlance, Maria the Manager for ever! But, at present, we have to do with QueenfEuzA or ELIZABETH—the lady who, when she shakes her "ambrosial locks" anti but "affects to nod," makes all Olympus tremble.
We wonder whether VESTRIS will ever have a cold now—whether she will ever send any of her little notes of apology to herown Pavilion?—" Very sorry—extremely ill—bad cough—ab solutely forbid by Dr. to leave the house." No, no—the Queen must preside at her councils ; be she ever so hoarse, she must come to tot-up with the treasurer ; and she is no Pandora, if, though half-dead, she does not arrive in good time to whip in the young ladies to rehearsal. A female maaager is as little likely to give as to take the little notes: no pretty little fictitious sore throat will go down with her; there is no deceiving a jury of matrons—the delicate distresses will cease, and all VESTRIS'S nightingales be in song every night. As for the ruffian men, the little finger of a pretty queen can subdue the most turbulent spirit of them all. One smile, a wheedle, or, if that won't tame the monster, a touch—a laying on of a small hand—will bring the creature to reason, and lead him off like a tame bear, grumbling perhaps, but full of internal satisfaction at having been coaxed, taking his conquest for a pleasant victory. Thus are we all led, and shall players spurn the law of nature ? Man is born to be led au bout du nez ; it is even a proverb among the gallant French, and the English practice confirms it. On the other hand, it is also true, that none but a woman can manage a woman; so that it may be proved—demonstrated—to the satisfaction even of a mathematician, that the theatres ought tobe under female management.
In practice, too, the thing seems to answer well ; though the trial of a week is not a sufficient test. We have been present at the greater part of the entertainments of one evening, and were very much amused. The Oly»zpic Revels is a pleasant travestie of the mythological story of Prometheus and Pandora. It is a sort of burletta after the manner of Midas. There are morsels of agreeable music, some droll parodies of popular songs, and VESTRIS sings charmingly, and looks as she always did, and as we suppose she always intends to do. Miss FOOTE played a little jockey in boots
and leather smalls : she looked not very like a jockey, but the dress is an elegant curiosity of the fancy description, and she moved and spoke very gracefully. In a characteristic song, in which she imitates the action of a jockey, whipping and handling and elbowing as he comes in "easy" to the winning-post, she showed considerable cleverness. At the same time, the closeness of the personation rather gave us pain than pleasure : it was pretty, but sad.
Mrs. GLOVER is superb—magnificent—in Clarissa Harlowe. Oh! the prodigiousness of her affectation—the exquisiteness of her foppery—the miraculousness of her venerable springiness! She
does not walk, she glides—she does not look, she glances—she
does not talk, she veices the air. She is all odour, pad, wig, patch, and fan. She is not a woman, but a curiosity in manners —a mermaid on land—a drawingroom monster—an extravaganza of refinement—a THING, incomprehensible, but, fortunately, not invisible—and, therefore, we recommend all the world to go and see her.
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