Volume 1 — DRAMATIC CENSOR.

I have always considered those combinations which are formed in the playhouse as acts of fraud or cruelty. He that applauds him who does not deserve praise, is endeavouring to deceive the public. He that hisses in malice or in sport is an oppressor and a robber.

Dr. Johnson's Idler, No. 25.

From a Correspondent at New-York.

NEW-YORK THEATRICALS.

We have for several weeks been gratified by the performance of Mr. Dwyer, lately arrived from England, an actor certainly superior to any on the London boards in genteel comedy, and highly respectable as a tragedian. He possesses every requisite for the stage: a fine person, a good voice, a manly expression of countenance and the most polished address. His orthoepy seems to have been acquired by the means which alone can give it perfection: an intimate acquaintance and a constant interview with the best speakers of the senate, the bar, the pulpit, and the stage in the metropolis of the British empire.

It is a difficult task for an actor or actress newly arrived amongst us (even were that actor a Garrick and the actress a Siddons) to overcome, at the first onset, certain prejudices, which, in spite of a good understanding, will oftentimes take possession of the human mind; and a New-York audience seem particularly to require time for a complete manifestation of their acknowledgment of superior talents, lest they stand accused of an unjust partiality to a former favourite, or perhaps thinking with Theseus, "that should the favourite be in the wane, yet, in courtesy, in all reason, they must stay the time."[K] However this may be, and strongly as the illiberal mode of proceeding may have operated against respectable actors at various times, Mr. Dwyer has carried every thing before him. Those who were desirous of diminishing his fame, have sneaked from the field.

Mr. Dwyer has entirely justified amongst us the flattering reports we had received of him in the European prints; and our theatrical amateurs will feel a disagreeable void in their pleasures when he leaves us. He is engaged on very liberal terms for a few nights in Philadelphia, by Mr. Warren, who lately made a journey to New-York for the express purpose of witnessing his extraordinary powers. Thence it is said, he will proceed to Boston and the other principal cities of the United States.

It would be needless to point out Mr. Dwyer's particular excellencies: but we most esteem him for his originality. Scorning the degrading acts of imitation, he has formed himself upon the unerring principles of nature. In his performance we find that agreement, which, like the soul, adds life and action to the figure, and is the all in all.

The little judgment used in the casts of the plays in which Mr. Dwyer has appeared, must have, however, greatly diminished the effect his talents would produce upon us, were he respectably supported. Our company, weak and bad in the extreme, is by bad management rendered much worse. To the annoyance of the public, when one actor, as a star, is thought to have sufficient attraction to make a good house of himself, the best performers of the company (and heaven knows bad enough is the best) are left out; prompter, scene-shifters, supernumeraries, and candle-snuffers being tugged in by the ears, as occasion may require, to complete the Dramatis Personæ. The place of Mrs. Oldmixon, whom we always see with pleasure, and who is never willingly absent when she can contribute to the gratification of the audience, is frequently occupied by Mrs. Hogg, whose infirmities impede those exertions which we are inclined to believe she is willing to make: and Mr. Simpson, who, in some characters, is not a bad performer, is often supplanted by the very sweepings of the green-room. How often do we see that second Proteus, the little prompter with his parenthetical legs, rolled on in five or six different parts on the same evening. Gentleman, jailor, footman, king, and beggar are to him equally indifferent; and next to Mr. Hallam we conceive him to be the very best murderer on the boards.

As we have gone so far in our observations on the state of the company, it may be as well to take a glance at the whole corps.

First on the scroll stands the respectable Tyler, who, with some natural qualifications and much industry, has for many years been the most useful actor on our boards. His grave old gentlemen are far above mediocrity, and although nearly sixty years of age, he appears to much advantage occasionally in comic opera; being the only man in the company, with the exception of Mr. Twaits, capable of singing.

Mr. Twaits as a low comedian is inferior to none in the United States.

Mr. Simpson, denied by nature the possibility of being graceful, endeavours to make up for his defects by close attention to his business. He is generally perfect, and may, by reading and much study, become tolerable in the walk he aims at; which is genteel comedy. His chief defects are a whining sing-song management of his voice, that savors more of the rant of a methodist preacher than the genuine expression of natural feeling. Mr. Simpson however, does not want fire; a few years observation of good models may entitle him to a respectable standing on this side the Atlantic.

Mr. Robinson's country boys and old men are excellent. His attempts at tragedy and genteel comedy, will we fear, never be successful.

Mr. Young pleases us in all he undertakes. His conception is just, and his gesticulation worthy of example.

In Mr. Collins we see much of the naivete of Suett and Blisset. He bids fair to be an excellent low comedian of a certain cast.

Mrs. Twaits approaches very near excellency in several walks of the drama. Her figure is too petite to give effect to heroic characters; but her voice is good, and her stage business soigné.

Mrs. Oldmixon, the only female singer among us! has lost none of her powers.

Of Mrs. Mason we shall speak more fully hereafter. In gay, and sprightly, and laughing comedy she is most at home. Her tragedy is too whining.

Mrs. Young is the most attractive actress I have seen for many years. There is something in her manner which charms the eye, whilst the ear is at times offended. This is easily accounted for—she is very handsome—her countenance is the picture of innocence; her deportment modest and unaffected; but she wants study; and there is some little defects in her speech, which, we fear it will be difficult to remove.

Mrs. Poe is a pleasing actress, with many striking defects. She should never attempt to sing.

Mr. Tyler, Mr. and Mrs. Young, and Mr. Twaits leave us in July. We trust the manager will take a little more pains to procure a good company. The public are liberal; and his purse-strings should be open to pay as well as to receive. If we had Mr. Warren here, or some one capable of discerning merit and willing to reward it, the town would never fail to support him. But, as it is, the only hope we have is a new theatre, a subscription for which, it is reported, is now on foot. John Hogg, a very good actor has been for twelve months unemployed here, whilst ten-dollars-per-week men are engaged to stutter and stammer in parts as far above their conception as their talents.

THE AFRICANS.

In that laudable zeal for the gratification of the public which has uniformly distinguished the management of Mr. Warren, he resolved to get up The Africans, and produced it at his own benefit on Wednesday the 18th of April. The scenery, dresses, and preparations being very expensive, he could not demonstrate his respect for the city, and his anxiety to provide for their amusement more unequivocally, than by hazarding an immense expenditure of money, upon the issue of a solitary benefit, when there were plays already in stock (the Foundling of the Forest, for instance) that without a cent of additional expense would have been sufficiently productive. Much is owing, therefore, to the manager for presenting us with the Africans.

Among the dramatists of the day Mr. Colman stands in our opinion, very high—if not highest. Some of his plays are noble productions, but by that of which we are now speaking, his fame will not be greatly augmented. Of the fable it is sufficient to say, that it is taken from Florian, who, as a pastoral writer, equals Cervantes himself. Like every thing of Florian's the tale is divinely beautiful; but the selection of it for the stage evinces a want of judgment, of which Mr. Colman is rarely liable to be accused. The main ground work is the distress, or rather the agonies of an African family, by which the warmest sympathy is awakened in the bosom: too simple, however, in itself for a stage-plot, though impressive and interesting as a narrative, Mr. Colman has jumbled up with it metal of a lower kind, and so rudely alloyed the gold of Florian, that the value of it is rather injured. Such a mass of incongruous beauties we do not recollect to have seen. A tale of the most pathetic kind is interwoven with low comedy—the most lofty sentiments, the most exalted virtues, and heroism and magnanimity strained almost beyond the limits of probability, are checkered by uncouth pleasantries, and the most pathetic incidents intruded upon and interrupted by the farcical conundrums of Mug, a low cockney, who has become secretary of state to the king of the Mandingoes. Thus, oscillating between Kotesbue and O'Keefe, giving now a layer of exalted sentiment, and then a layer of mere farce, has Mr. C. raised a long three act piece.

Nor are these the only imperfections of the piece. The language and sentiments of the serious parts are at such variance with the personages to whom they are assigned, not only according to received opinions, but to obvious matter of fact, that no stretch of the imagination can reconcile them. When we witness actions in which the tenderest charities inculcated by the Christian dispensation are combined with the inflexible magnanimity of the stoic's creed—when we hear virtues

dressed up in a vigorous highly ornamented style, and the crime of suicide depicted in the most glowing language of poetry, and deplored and deprecated in terms of dissuasion, forcible as those of Bourdaloue, and eloquent as those of Massillon, delivered from the mouth of a sooty African, as the spontaneous issues of his native moral philosophy and religion, we feel the incongruity too much for our nerves, and reject it in action. It may be asked, "why may not a negro on the coast of Africa enjoy such feelings, possess such virtues and speak them in such terms?" From what we have heard and seen, we entertain little doubt that there are men capable of asking such a question; but we know no way of answering it but by asking in return why an Esquimaux Indian should not compose an overture equal to any of Handel's, or a Dutch boor dance a pas seul as well as Vestris, or a minuet as well as the prince of Wales.

Again it may be asked how it came to pass that this play, if so exceptionable, was well received in England; to this we answer, that an abhorrence of the slave trade, just indignation at the wrongs done the unhappy Africans, and pity for their sufferings, together with exultation at the triumph which the generous band who procured the abolition of that execrable trade obtained over its cruel sordid advocates, had filled the people of Great Britain with an enthusiasm calculated to ensure their favourable reception of any thing creditable to the Africans. And it is highly probable that Mr. Colman purposely took that tide in public opinion at the flood.

The play, however, must be delightful in the closet, and was cast so as to comprehend the whole strength of the company. Every part was decently sustained, others respectably, two excellently. For a proof of which we need offer nothing more than the single circumstance that none of the serious parts produced laughter as unexpected incongruities generally do. Had black Selico been in the hands of some performers we have seen, instead of Mr. Wood's, two or three of his speeches must have produced merriment.

Mr. Cooper's second visit this season.

Mr. Cooper's performances during this visit received less reward and yet deserved more than those on his former. Of five characters there were four on which criticism can dwell with pleasure.

Mr. Cooper's Antony was, as usual, a chequer work of good and bad: one beauty there was, however, which would atone for a thousand faults. We have never seen any thing in histrionic excellence to surpass, few to equal it. We mean when, in the first scene of the third act, after the assassination of Cæsar, he returned to the senate house, and, dropping on one knee, hung over the mangled body: his attitude surpassed all powers of description. Then when after gazing for a time in horror at the corse, with his hands clasped in speechless agony, he looked to heaven, as if appealing to its justice, and again turning to his murdered friend, exclaimed——

All the conflicting passions, and excruciating feelings which Antony can be supposed to have felt on that awful occasion—astonishment, fear, suspicion, grief, tender affection, indignation, and horror seem rising in tumultuous confusion in his face, and glared and flashed in his eyes. And though Mr. Cooper less than any actor of equal merit that we recollect affects the heart in pathetic passages, we only do him justice in declaring that we have rarely known the feelings of an audience so forcibly or successively appealed to, as by him in the last words: "Fare thee well."

Through the whole of that scene Mr. Cooper was truly admirable. In the speech in which he shakes the conspirators by their bloody hands, and, like a consummate, artful politician, postpones the indulgence of his grief and indignation for the accomplishment of a higher purpose, he was not excelled by Barry himself. But in the harangue from the Rostrum he missed the mark by aiming too high. Could he forget that that celebrated speech is considered the chief test of the performer of Antony, he would, we think, deliver it well; but, intent upon making the most of it, he failed, and was laboriously erroneous and defective.

In the last speech beginning "This was the noblest Roman of them all" Mr. Cooper was censurable. If he had ever committed it to memory, he had now forgotten it, and omitting the very best lines, destroyed the whole effect of that beautiful passage. That he should be so negligent is to be deplored. For errors in judgment, deficiency in talents and powers, nay, for casual lapses themselves, candor will make allowance—but want of diligence admits of no excuse or palliation.

ALEXANDER.

In this character Mr. Cooper would extort commendation from the most churlish critic. Alexander is a compound of Hero and Lover, and in both extravagant and enthusiastic almost to madness. It is in the former of these Mr. C. chiefly displayed his powers. His voice, his person, and his manner qualified him for an impressive delineation of that portion of the character—but as a lover Mr. Cooper only serves to remind us with disadvantage to him, of actors we have seen before. In the proud and boastful exultation, the starts of anger, the quick resentment, and ardent friendship, the sudden alternation of storm and calm, and, in a word, the medley of eccentric vices and virtues which compose this gigantic offspring of Lee's bright but fevered brain, the severest criticism must concur with the public opinion, which ranks Mr. Cooper's Alexander high among the first specimens of the art exhibited in the English language. Adverting to the first scene of the second act, when irritated by Lysimachus demanding the princess Parisatis in marriage; in the swell of passion from the mild rebuke,

up to the storm of rage

The climax of temper was in every transition marked by Mr. Cooper with a natural propriety which, though a vigorous and accurate critical judgment might suggest, nothing but a high dramatic genius, seconded by correspondent organs, could possibly have executed.

Several steps higher still in merit criticism must place the whole of the banquet scene. The intoxicated vanity of Alexander—his soft and puerile susceptibility of gross and fulsome adulation, his idle contest with the blunt old Clytus, his fury and cruel murder of that brave old soldier, and his outrageous grief and self reproach for that murder, in all of which the fiery brain of the poet has urged the passions to the utmost verge of nature, Mr. Cooper was all for which the most sanguine admirer could wish, or a reasonable critic hope. But as, in the best drawn portraits, one or more limbs or features will be found superior to the rest, so in this scene of aggregate excellence, there were three successive speeches of such preeminent excellence and superiority that they ought to be commemorated. They all turn upon the provoking insinuation of Clytus:

In the jealousy, the astonishment, the wrath of the insulted hero, the expression of the actor kept equal flight with the bold wing of the poet. Accustomed as we have been to the prodigious exertions of the greatest actors in the world we have not witnessed nor can we conceive any thing superior to Mr. Cooper in the following speeches——

Never was a crisis in human passion, more naturally, more appropriately, more exquisitely marked and illustrated by action than that of Alexander at this juncture by the action of Mr. Cooper. He leaped like a foaming tyger from the throne, and, with his arms extended and his fingers crooked, seemed rushing upon Clytus as if to tear him in pieces. Then, stopping short, as if forbearing a prey too weak for him, he in breathless rage exclaimed——

After this scene we could relish nothing in the play. We endeavoured to disengage ourselves sufficiently to attend to the sequel—but all seemed frigid and uninteresting till the mad dying scene of Alexander again furnished Mr. Cooper with an opportunity to give scope to his talents, which he did, so successfully, that if we had not been filled with the former scene it is likely that we should have pronounced this his chef a'œuvre.

As we mean to be full upon the tragedy of alfonso, we postpone our further observations on Mr. Cooper to the next number.

MR. DWYER.

The fame of this young actor reached America before him. Those who are in the habit of perusing the critical productions of London or Edinburgh, had learned from them that he was a performer of considerable merit in a particular department, and of great promise as a general actor. The most favourable reports of the British publications were amply confirmed by American gentlemen who saw him perform in Europe; and the acknowledged taste and judgment of a respectable literary character at New-York, who engaged Mr. Dwyer for the manager of that theatre, would have been of itself a sufficient warranty for the most sanguine presumptions in his favour. Accordingly he was received by the New-York audience for some nights with enthusiastic applause, and on the ground of the reports of that city, the play-loving folks of this wound their minds up to a strained pitch of expectation. In consequence of this, Mr. Warren, who never fails to make use of every opportunity that arises to gratify his audience, proceeded to New-York for the purpose of engaging Mr. Dwyer for a few nights, if his merits should be found to correspond with the general reports respecting him. Mr. Warren's own judgment confirmed those reports, and he engaged Mr. Dwyer upon terms which do honour to the liberality of his heart, and to his spirit as a manager.

Mr. Dwyer's performances here have answered the expectations we had built upon the various criticisms we had read, and the verbal communications we had received upon the subject of his professional talents. We conjectured that his acting might not entirely, or all at once, accord with that kind of taste which the actors we have been accustomed to naturally generated in the multitude. His performance of Belcour was as new to our audience as the chaste and natural acting of Garrick was on his first appearance to the admirers of Booth and Quin, and for some time our audience could scarcely admire it. In some few instances, indeed, a positive disrelish for it was openly avowed, and we could not help feeling that those opinions were entitled to particular respect as they could have come only by inspiration. Being uttered before it was possible for the propounders to have formed a judgment by mere human means upon that gentleman's merits. This we can aver, that he had spoken only four lines, according to the letter press of the copy now before us, when some person on one side of us remarked that he was nothing to Mr. Chalmers, and in four lines more, another person on the other side laid him down under another actor—but one, indeed of a very superior kind to Mr. Chalmers.

As we have no pretensions to that kind of inspiration—that critical second sight (as the Highland Scotch call it) but are fain to judge by the mere humdrum human means of reason and experience, we felt it to be our duty to see the character entirely performed by Mr. Dwyer before we ventured to form an opinion on his acting it; and we are free to confess that if all critics find it as difficult as we do to estimate the value of an actor's performance, and are honestly disposed, they will not only wait as we always do till the whole evidence is before them, but weigh it scrupulously, without affection, prejudice, or malice, before they venture to pass sentence.

Now it so happened that we differed essentially from those inspired ones. We thought, as most critics who have seen him in England do, that Mr. Dwyer's Belcour was a most elegant and accomplished specimen of genteel acting—chaste, graceful, and where the character required and admitted it, interesting and impressive. And we had the satisfaction to perceive as the play advanced the audience conformed more and more to the same opinion. It is greatly to Mr. Dwyer's credit that all the applause he received, was extorted by his own merit, and drawn like drops of blood reluctantly distilled from languid hearts.

In Tangent a character in which broader humour afforded him an opportunity of coming nearer to the genteel taste. Mr. Dwyer met with a superior reception at first, and before the end of the play drew the most unequivocal acknowledgments of his supreme comic powers.

In the character of Ranger, (Suspicious Husband) though he was wretchedly supported by the performers of every character, save Strictland and Tester, he was no less successful.

In Vapid he was truly excellent and delivered the epilogue with a force and humour which merited and indeed received three successive rounds of applause after the curtain dropped.

The English critics concur in pronouncing Mr. Dwyer's the best wilding (Lyar) on the British boards. Nor will an enlightened critic, provided he be honest as well as enlightened, deny his great superiority in that part. Having seen Lewis, Palmer, I. Bannister, and several others, perform young Wilding, we have no hesitation to declare that in many parts of the character, but particularly in his account of the feigned marriage with Miss Lydia Sibthorpe, and the adventure of the closet and the cat, he was superior to any actor but the great original and the author of the piece, Sam Foote.

Of his Rapid we are unable to say any thing, having been detained from the theatre by business to a late hour. His Sir Charles Racket, which followed it, was, like Belcour, an elegant specimen of high genteel comedy. Something went wrong however towards the conclusion of the piece which occasioned it to end rather abruptly.

Upon the whole we must in justice say, that Mr. Dwyer, so far as we have seen him go, has shown uncommon talents for the stage—that he is an acquisition to the American boards, such as we had not dared to hope for, and that we trust next season will bring him back, and exhibit him in a range of characters more varied and extensive, and better calculated to call forth the great natural powers of which he seems to be amply possessed.

Grand Musical Performances.

In no country in the world is the practice of music more universally extended and at the same time the science so little understood as in America. Almost every house included between the Delaware and Schuylkill has its piano or harpsichord, its violin, its flute, or its clarinet. Almost every young lady and gentleman from the children of the Judge, the banker, and the general, down to those of the constable, the huckster, and the drummer, can make a noise upon some instrument or other, and charm their friends, or split the ears of their neighbours, with something which courtesy calls music. Europeans, as they walk our streets, are often surprised with the flute rudely warbling "Hail Columbia," from an oyster cellar, or the piano forte thumped to a female voice screaming "O Lady Fair!" from behind a heap of cheese, a basket of eggs, a flour barrel, or a puncheon of apple whiskey; and on these grounds we take it for granted that we are a very musical people.

When Boswell asked Dr. Johnson if he did not think there was a great deal of learning in Scotland, "Learning," replied the philosopher, "is in Scotland as food in a town besieged; every one has a mouthfull, but no one a belly-full." The same may be said of music in America. The summit of attainment in that delightful science seldom reaching higher than the accompanying of a song so as to set off a tolerable voice, or aid a weak one, and the attracting a circle of beaus round a young lady, while she exhibits the nimbleness of her fingers in the execution of a darling waltz, or touches the hearts of the fond youths with a plaintive melody accompanied with false notes. Thus far, or but little further, does music extend, save in a few scattered instances. Like a plover-call, it is used to allure the fluttering tribe into the meshes; but when it has done its office in that kind, is laid aside for ever. Pope Sextus Quintus, when he was a cardinal, hung up a net in his room, to demonstrate his humility, his father having been a fisherman; but as soon as he was made pope, he pulled it down again, shrewdly saying, "I have caught the fish." Miss Hannah More remarks that few ladies attend to music after marriage, however skilful they may have been before it. Indeed nothing is more common than to hear a lady acknowledge it. "Mrs. Racket will you do us the favour," &c. says a dapper young gentleman offering his hand to lead a lady to the piano. "Do excuse me, sir, I beg of you," she replies, "I have not touched an instrument of music half a dozen times since I was married—one, you know, has so much to do." Thus music as a science lags in the rear, while musical instruments in myriads twang away in the van: and thus the window cobweb having caught its flies for the season is swept away by the housemaid.

This is, in fact, an evil. It is assuming the frivolity, the waste of time, the coxcombry, and all the disadvantages of music, without any of its substantial benefits. That which Shakspeare praised, and Milton cultivated, and which is supposed to be the language of saints and angels when they hymn their Maker's praise, ought to be a nation's care: but then it ought to be so only on proper grounds and in the true ethereal spirit which fits it for divine. Not the miserable or the vitious levities of music, which serve but to unman the soul, to wake the dormant sensualities of the heart, and far from lifting the spirit to the skies, but sink it to the centre. Not what Shakspeare calls "the lascivious pleasing of a lute" for fools "to caper to in a lady's chamber," but harmony, such as befits the creature to pour forth at the altar of the Creator; the sublime raptures of Handel; the divine strains of Haydn, and the majestic compositions of Purcel, Pergolesse, and Graun.

We have been led into these observations by a report which has for some days prevailed, that a grand performance of music, such as we describe, something on the plan of the commemoration of Handel, which took place in the year 1784, at Westminster Abbey, and much superior to any thing ever heard in America, is contemplated. Upon inquiry we find the report to be true, and that a combination of musical powers hitherto unknown in this country, will, at St. Augustine Church, perform a Grand Selection of Sacred Music, after the manner of the oratorios in Europe.

Having made it our business to procure the best information upon this subject, we are enabled to state that the pieces to be performed on this occasion will be selected from the very highest order of musical composition—the Messiah of Handel, the Creation of Haydn, &c. That besides those, a number of the choicest compositions vocal and instrumental, by Handel, Graun, Pergolesse, &c. will be performed, and that, in order to make the exhibition as perfect as possible, every attainable assistance will be brought in to give magnificence to the performances and "swell the note of praise."

On this grand occasion, not only all the professional musicians of this city will unite, but all who can be collected from the other States will be summoned to lend their aid, in addition to which a number of ladies and gentlemen, amateurs, will give their assistance.

A plan so well worthy of an enlightened nation's patronage, cannot fail of success in such a country as America.

FOOTNOTES: