gerac. The young poet, although already known by his novels and his volume of poetry, Les Rhapsodies passionnées, became a celebrity through the cleverness of this play. The Count Albert du Bois in his Rabelais does not give us the same perspective, the same broad poetical picture found by the surprised spectator in Rostand's play, but one may take into consideration that neither the Count du Bois's hero, nor the epoch in which he lived, was proper for epic treatment. It was necessary to have courage, says Faguet, to write a play based on the life of the author of Gargantua, and a heroic daring to write it in verse; the Count du Bois did not shrink before these difficulties and he came out victorious. His Rabelais is, of course, an idealized hero and not such as we know him; but the task of a poet is to idealize reality. History should furnish him with the models and accessories; the composition in which he groups human beings and things should be his invention, limited but by the law of style, which forbids the unreasonable use of given material as well as relations out of harmony with what is known. This is the solution of the problem so much discussed in the case of historical poetry. As it is, the Count du Bois's play does not deprive the hero of his characteristics and sallies of wit, sometimes very realistic; and amidst the deluge of commonplace comedies it gives the impression of a work of creative imagination and not of mere literary handicraft.

The most interesting point in this play is when the heroine hesitates in her choice between Rabelais and a man of title; but the since famous author of Gargantua, in a speech full of enthusiasm, explains to her his aim and displays before her eyes the corruption of the society which he wished to lash with his irony.

Perse l'eûte insulté, Juvenal flétri, Moi, je suis Gaulois plus amer! j'en ai ri!

The poet has penetrated into Rabelais's thought, and, having extracted from it an idea, has succeeded in rendering it in harmonious verse. His play gives proof of great talent.

Rostand's influence does not end there; it is rooted deeper than some French literati would admiť. The romantic drama resuscitated in Cyrano de Bergerac has found many zealous adepts amongst the older poets. It is easy to point out how such writers as Jean Richepin and Catulle Mendès were influenced by it, if one analyses their latest plays. Let us take Catulle Mendès' Scarron. It begins as Cyrano de Bergerac does. Here a play is given in the Hotel de Bourgoyne; in Scarron there is a similar comedy in the Halls of Mans. The same dramatic move ment, one might say, the same rhythm, are to be found in both plays. Crowds of people, knights and ladies, pass in a kaleidoscope; variegated dresses shine in the light of torches; the town is full of animation, noise, continual bursts of laughter; witty words increase the merriment. The title-hero is, of course, Scarron, author of Le Roman Comique, the merciless satirist, but a very original and interesting character amongst the seventeenth century writers, making madrigals in pompous style à la Marini and Voiture. Catulle Mendès wished to give us a moral picture of Scarron and he makes him to speak in favor of a monkey, by which the author of the famous novel Zo'har wanted to point out the lack of all ideal elements in the soul of his hero, who was not capable of understanding anything sublime.

Catulle Mendès' play, which is ranked by his critics beside Cyrano de Bergerac,

was expected. This may, to a certain extent, be explained by the fact that Scarron is not so sympathetic a character as the knight full of valor and selfsacrifice. The action, too, is not very animated, which may be accounted for by Scarron's infirmity which prevented him from influencing events; he is passive while Cyrano is full of life and activity.

Besides the above-mentioned works of creative imagination, full of poetical flight-which, however, in these present days of stormy social life, notwithstanding a very remarkable ideal tendency in French literature, seem like exotic flowers-there are many dramas written in prose which have been very successful on the stage. The public have applauded one after another with the same enthusiasm, for every one of them, under a different form, has shown the evils of our present social life and pointed out the vices of the Parisians. I will not say that those plays were pièces à thèse; on the contrary, that kind of play is disappearing little by little. The majority of last year's plays are comedies of manners and psychological dramas. All the leading critics, such as Faguet, Brisson, Dumic have agreed that for fifteen years past there has not been so much animation in the French stage. I must therefore limit myself to dealIng with authors of the greatest importance, beginning with Lemaître, who after several years of political fighting with his adversaries, resumed his literary work. Two of his plays, La Massière' and Bertrade, proved successful, although they are so different from each other that one can hardly believe them to be written by the same author.

1" La Massière" means a woman who controls the finances of some society or even of a family. The vulgar expression, "t'as la masse," means: have you money?

comedy. The public waited for it impatiently, their curiosity having been aroused by the newspapers which speculated as to the tendency of the president of the patriotic league. The play pleased immensely, for the old Le maître proved to be worthy of his literary reputation; the piece is written in an elegant style, while the observations of life are very subtle; the dialogue is always lively and witty, often sarcastic, and then, again, sentimental; the public were amused and moved by turns.

Quite different is his other play, Bertrade; it is a merciless picture of a depraved man of the upper class. Lemaître had been accused by his adversaries of having given himself over body and soul to the aristocracy. The author of Bertrade, in writing his play, wishes to show that he is independent, and that if he wishes he can paint his political friends with a realism sometimes too repellent. Taken as a whole, this drama does not satisfy my taste, for the evolution of the principal character is not clear, and the first episodes do not harmonize with the further development of the play. In the first act the hero, a marquis, is represented as a spendthrift, but at the same time a grand seigneur, who knows how to maintain his dignity, and has certain principles, and, if necessary, would not be afraid to face death, but would not become vile even for one moment. The following acts, however, are entirely disappointing, and the suicide, which would have been logical if the author had retained the same character in his hero as was outlined in the first act, is not logical, for it is the result of the preaching of the nobleman's daughter. Such an end is not an end at all, for it does not solve the situation; it is only a trick employed by the author who either would not or could not find another dénouement.

I should not have mentioned this episode, which looks like a digression from my principal aim, if it had been an isolated one in the modern French drama. It seems, however, that the rage for suicide is à la mode on the French stage. In five dramas, given within the space of a few weeks--consequently not influenced one by another-the heroes and heroines employ that false-heroic means, to which they are attracted by their past and not by the logic of events.

Some time ago we saw wives leaving their husbands and then coming back and imploring forgiveness, which might be explained by several similar cases having happened in the law courts, The Contemporary Review.

and by the authors having got an idea of defending women. This time, a run of suicides, instead of being blamed, arouses sympathy for the unworthy heroes, and they are ordered to quit as soon as possible this vale of tears for which they do not show any particular liking. Bernstein's drama, La Rafale, and Bataille's Wedding March ended in suicide, if I may mention but the most successful plays of this mould.

From what I have said about the present evolution of the French drama it may be seen that there are two tendencies now prevailing on the Parisian stage, and the question is which of them will dominate the other.

S. C. de Soissons.

"What is this tiresome Bank Rate which goes up and down in this stupid way? Why can't it keep quiet? And why does everybody make such a fuss because it moves?"

These questions, fired off in the ear of a weary journalist, who was taking a first mouthful of soup after being steeped to his eyebrows in Bank Rate all day, made him wish that ladies would not take so much intelligent interest in the evening papers before going out to dinner. They also led to a persistent cross-examination, which caused him to miss about five-eighths of a very attractive menu; and finally forced him to a resolve, as he went home later on, bodily empty and mentally surfeited with Bank Rate, to try to save some other poor City man from a similar fate, by attempting to explain to a wider audience what Bank Rate really is, why it moves, and why its movements are so momentous that they intrude themselves at dinner, to

the detriment of rational conversation. So treated, the subject is elementary to the denizens of the City, who are invited to pass on to the more satisfying fare provided for them in the other pages of the Cornhill. This explanation is designed for those who do not know the answers to the questions asked above, and would like to be enlightened. I assume complete ignorance on the subject, and only write for those who acknowledge it.

"Bank" is the Bank of England, and "Rate" means the price at which it will lend money. Bank Rate is thus the price at which the Bank of England is prepared to lend money. To be strictly accurate, it is the price at which it will discount bills, but this is a technicality into which there is no need to enter, and for the present purpose the above definition is the simplest that can be given.

It lands us in a difficulty at once, simple as it is, for it immediately pro

vokes the retort that there cannot be a price for money, because a price must be money, and it is stupid to talk about giving money for money This very telling riposte, delivered between fish and entrée, first made it clear that the enterprise engaged on was of formidable dimensions, and that the fabric of information had to be built up from bedrock. It was eminently sensible, wholly to the point, and showed, with illuminating effect, how the City talks all day in a language which the more important part of humanity has never learnt to understand.

It is perfectly true that a price must be paid in money, but the consequent conclusion that there cannot be a price for money does not follow. Most of the business of the City of London consists in giving or taking a price for money, and it happens in this wise. John Smith is a trader who sees an opportunity for buying leather cheap in England and selling it at a profit in Argentina. By way of simplifying the example we will suppose that he sees the chance of a profit on the transaction of 50 per cent. But his capital is locked up in other enterprises, and he has not the 10,000l. that he wants to carry out the business. He thus requires money immediately, for which he is prepared to pay more money later on; and he is thus ready to give a price, or rate, as it is called, of 5 per cent. for the present use of the 10,0001. which will enable him to buy his store of leather which he hopes to sell, in three months' time for 15,000l. Having sold his leather, he will repay the loan of 10,000l., adding to it the interest, or rate, which will amount at 5 per cent. per annum for three months to 1251.; when he has allowed for all the other expenses connected with the bargain, such as sending the leather to Buenos Ayres, insurance on it while at sea, commission to his agent in Argentina, the due proportion of his own office ex

penses at home, and so on, he will find that he has pocketed a handsome profit. And he will have been enabled to do so by the existence of the money market, which provided him with a banker prepared to lend him immediate money, at the moment when he wanted it, in consideration of receiving it back with the addition of the rate charged for its use, when the date settled at the time of the loan arrives.

John Smith's case is only one example among millions. Besides all the traders who want to buy goods cheap in one place and sell them at a higher price in another, there are contractors who want to build railways, dams, bridges, canals, sea-walls, waterworks, and all the other devices by which the forces of nature are tamed and made subservient to the uses of mankind; manufacturers who spend their time in buying steel or raw wool and making them into ships or cloth, or in the thousands of other processes by which raw material is worked up into a finished product ready for sale; enterprising adventurers who require the sinews of war for a prospecting expedition into some far-off waste or wilderness, with a view to developing its mineral or agricultural resources, and making fortunes out of its mines or harvests; financiers who see the chance of a big loan operation and require assistance for the preliminary expenses; and so we could proceed through an interminable list until we came at last to the mere speculator who thinks he will be able to sell a stock, if he had the wherewithal to buy a block of it now at 85, in a few days' time at 90.

In the case of all these traders, manufacturers, adventurers, and speculators, it is part of the essence of their daily enterprise that for something that they propose to buy, or make, or do at the present moment they will be able to get a price, which tempts them to undertake the work; in all cases the price

is only to be got at some time later on, when the work shall have been completed; and in all cases the necessary work or purchase requires immediate expenditure, and so implies the probable necessity for borrowing money at once and paying a price, or rate, for its use that is to say, paying it back with a little more besides when the enterprise has been concluded.

We thus begin to see the enormous importance of the money market in all business transactions, a great part of which are carried out with the help of borrowed money. As the ex-butterman used to say in "Our Boys," money does more than make the mare go, it "sets the whole stable a-gallopin'." And if we look a little closer we shall see that the rate or price paid for the use of money will often be so important a consideration that its cheapness or otherwise will turn the scale in favor of, or against, the enterprise being carried out.

In the case of John Smith and his leather enterprise, cited above, we supposed him to see the chance of a profit of 50 per cent. on his bargain; but it is obvious that such big prizes as this do not often arise in trade, and that brisk competition very quickly cuts the profit finer; there would shortly be a dozen other Richmonds in the field prepared to sell leather in Argentina for rather less than the original importer, and we can easily suppose a case in which profits had been brought down to such a point that only a margin of 5 per cent. was left. That is, our friend John, instead of being able to rely on selling his 10,000l. worth of leather for 15,000l., as in the happier days when he concluded the original bargain, would only see a prospect of selling it for 10,500l. The quickness of the transaction might still enable him to make a profit on these terms, for it will be remembered that it only took him three months to buy his goods, ship them,

and sell them, and have the proceeds remitted. He would thus still be in a position to earn 5 per cent. on his enterprise in three months, while the rate that he pays for his money is calculated per annum, by the year.

This is a distinction that occasionally confuses those who are not used to the jargon of the City. At first sight it would appear that Smith, if he pays 5 per cent. for his money and makes a profit of 5 per cent. on the bargain, is just where he was; but this is not so, because of the time question with which we are now concerned. A profit of 5 per cent. that can be got home in three months, or a quarter of a year, is clearly a profit at the rate of four times as much, or 20 per cent., when we reckon it per annum. John Smith is going to turn 10,000l. into 10,500l. in three months, and, as we saw before, he will pay 1251. for the use of the money at 5 per cent. per annum. But even so, he has only a margin of 375l., and by the time that he has paid for freight and insurance, commissions and all the minor expenses, the profit will have been cut so fine that he will probably think twice before entering on the risk of the enterprise, and engaging his credit and setting all his machinery to work, and then perhaps finding that his market has moved against him, and that by the time his leather has reached its destination he cannot get more than 9,500l. for it.

Thus baldly stated, all this is very platitudinous and obvious and tiresome, and of course every reader knew it all before. Nevertheless it had to be set down, because though everybody knows it quite well when he or she sees it before them, it is often forgotten or not allowed for in considering problems which it explains. I am laying the foundation on which Bank Rate is finally to be erected, and must appeal for patience in the language of the notice that used to be put up in music sa