but just, that the major theatres should not be allowed to encroach upon the admitted province of the minor. What right, it may be fairly asked, have the patent theatres to complain of infringement of their rights, when they are nightly infringing the rights of their inferior rivals ? Looking back only as far as the last year, we shall see that Drury Lane and Covent Garden have employed themselves very much in exhibitions which undoubtedly ought to belong to them, but which, it is contended, are the peculiar property of the smaller stages. At Drury Lane, Kean may indeed have gone through most of his old characters; but it is undeniable, that when there was nothing of show or spectacle in the bill of the day to attract, the pit and boxes were scarcely half filled; and there have been nights when there were not one hundred spectators (auditors they could hardly be) in both the galleries. There is nothing more miserable and cheerless than to sit in a house so thin that the wind whistles all around one: exery thing bears a melancholy air: the auditors are shivering and yawning, the actors are tame and dispirited, and even the gas appears to burn with a blue and dreary dimness. Even the absence of Kean in America failed to excite curiosity on his return; and I saw him play Richard for the ninety-fifth time, (not the ninety-fifth time I have seen him in the part: Heaven forefend!) to a house not exceeding three hundred persons. It was the worse for Drury Lane, because it could ill afford to get up expensive melo-drames; but the ceremony of the Coronation was a lucky hit for Mr Elliston, and that gaudy and unmeaning show was literally the only thing that season which fully succeeded. In vain did he play Rover, Dornton, Surface, and other parts for which he might have been fit twenty-five years ago: he could draw no houses; and but for the Coronation, he never could have paid the rent of his theatre. A dull spectacle, called Almoran and Hamet, was got up for the last Easter holidays, but it did not live through them, so heavy was the plot, so stupid the dialogue, and so bad the scenery. At Covent Garden the course has been nearly similar, excepting that it has been attended with a little more success. There, too, a Coronation ceremony was tacked to Henry IV. and Two Gentlemen of Verona; Twelfth Night and the Comedy of Errors were converted into operas, that singing might be added to scenery, to cover the benches which unadulterated Shakspeare could no longer fill. A second edition of the Coronation was got up, with the Exile, and Cleopatra's Galley, which, for a time, called down the plaudits of those who "wondered with a foolish face of praise." It is needless to be more particular, in reference to the repre sentations; for that plan was followed until Easter; when here, al so, a new melo-dramatic pantomimic fairy tale, called "Cherry and Fair Star," was brought forward. It had nothing but the scenery to recommend it; but it is only fair to allow, that that scenery was more beautiful than any before exhibited, even at this theatre, where the painters are excellent: though they "Outdo Nature with their brushes, And put her modesty to blushes." They are obliged to do so, or their representations would not be sufficiently gorgeous. Meanwhile, at the minor theatres, spectacle and pantomime have been nearly abandoned; and writers of no inconsiderable talents have been employed to invent or adapt pieces for them. Shakespeare, indeed, in some instances, has been a little mangled; but not so much as at Covent Gar den. Even at Drury Lane, where his plays have not been made operas, nearly half is omitted in the representation; or, to speak more properly, passes in dumb show. But if the plays at the minor theatres were not always good-if their tragedy was "Where Shall I Dine?" an after piece, produced at the Olympic, is a bet.. ter farce than has been written for either of the winter theatres since" Raising the Wind." I know not who is the author. bombastic, and their comedy farcical -still, if things were allowed to take their own course-if the public were permitted to seek its own amusement, in its own way, these defects would soon be remedied; and authors, instead of having only two patent theatres, for which they can write comedies and tragedies, (which also must be written upon a peculiar sys tem, adapted to the dimensions of the houses,) would have a wide, open, and fair market, for the display and disposal of their talents. The present state of our winter theatres is, of itself, sufficient to account for the low condition of our national drama, and for the few authors that either will or can write for them, with a chance of success. It may be true, as far as printing is concerned, that "Damnation follows death in other men, But your damn'd poet lives, and thrives again;" but it is seldom true with regard to the stage: when once a play has been condemned in a theatre, the author has rarely courage to renew an attempt, which, from former prejudice, without any other cause, is so likely again to fail. It now requires more tact than talent to write for the great stages. But if the system about to be revived is to be illiberal as to theatres, it affects to be very liberal as to performers. The rule, that an actor at one patent house, if discharged, shall not be engaged at the other, until after the lapse of two years, is to be abolished. They will thus have their choice of engagements at two theatres: now they have their choice at twelve. If dialogue is not to be permitted at Astley's, the Surrey Theatre, Sadler's Wells, the Adelphi, &c. a great number of deserving public favourites must be thrown out of employment, and both the winter theatres will not require the services of half of them: their companies are already full. What has been said, will perhaps be sufficient to show the state of the drama, (taken in its largest sense,) at the commencement of this critical correspondence. I apprehend, it will, be sufficient, also, to show, that the legitimate patent and restrictive system, which public taste had explo ded, is injurious to literature, inconvenient to audiences, and destructive of the interests of performers. One comfort, as I said before, is, that, if restored, it cannot last. London, May 8th. The renewed engagement of Mr Braham at Drury Lane has not been attended with any extraordinary success. It is the fashion to blame him for the extreme luxuriance of his style of singing. It is sometimes a fault; but not so often as many of our common-place critics would make us believe. A celebrated German poet says, that "architecture is frozen music:" the observation is just and beautiful; and, inverting it, we may add, that, as there are different orders in architecture, so there are different styles in music and in singing, as a branch of musical science: one order and one style may suit one place and purpose, and another, another. Every body must know that Braham has at least two styles; -the one, plain and simple, but grand, like the Doric order in architecture; the other, florid, rich, and laboriously ornamented, like the Gothic architecture of the fourteenth century. He has repeated the part of the Seraskier, in the siege of Belgrade, several times within the last fortnight; and it is just as absurd to complain of his modulations, cadences, and graces, in that character, as to object to the taste of the architect, who crowded such a profusion of highly-wrought devices into the chapel of Henry VII. When Braham confounds the two styles, so essentially at variance, "Gothic and Grecian, mixture most uncouth," He has then he deserves censure. he gives some of the ballads in troduced into the part of Henry Bertram, (which he performed on Tuesday last), and the bravura airs in the Seraskier; and it will be seen that he well knows how to restrain the luxuriance of his style, according to the characters of the melody. Though, as far as voice and expression go, no man in Henry Bertram can sing the air of "Scots wha wi' Wallace bled" better than he does; I always wish he stood behind a curtain at the time: his insignificant figure does not at all accord with the words, and he makes the dispropor tion the more remarkable, by the manner in which he flourishes a walking-stick vice the Highland broad-sword. At least this might be omitted. He has also appeared in the Haunted Tower, one of the most amusing of the class of Operas to which it belongs. His first song," Though age has from your lordship's face," in its character, very much resembles the satirical air, "Oh sure a pair were neyer seen," in the Duenna, (in which he played Carlos yesterday,) with the greatest possible spirit; and made the irony perfectly intelligible, which is not always easy in music. When people object to the action of Braham, they refer to that which accompanies the usually insipid dialogue of his part. During his songs, it is extremely appropriate, and by no means deficient in force or elegance. The inspiration of the air affects more than his voice. Miss Forde, who has been singing with Braham, does not want, as musicians say, the organ, but she wants cultivation. She has been brought forward too early, and may be contrasted with Miss Wilson, who not long since was passed into the ignorant admiration of the town: she had great cultivation, and little voice: she had hardly the compass of an octave, that was pleasing and natural. London, May 10th. Mr Kean's Sir Pertinax MacSycophant is in all its parts a failure: if the scene where he relates to his son, the manner in which he made his fortune, be excepted, there was hardly a passage that drew down much applause. Kean's accent is very defective: sometimes Scotch, sometimes Irish, and now and then a very agreeable and palateable mixture of English, Scotch, and Irish, in the same sentence. Cooke had peculiar gifts for the part; at best, Mr Kean has only acquirements. He seems to think, that because both performed Richard III. well, both must perform Sir Pertinax well. He has also played Osmond in the Castle Spectre since Easter; but it is below his talents, and could only be chosen for variety: it is some degrees, inferior to Sir Edward Mortimer in the Iron Chest. The defect of sudden transitions of voice, to which he was always subject, grows upon Kean, and now and then it becomes positively offensive. It is a mere trick and clap-trap resorted to whenever he thinks his part flags, and he wants to wake his auditory. The first half of the sentence is gabbled over at the top of his voice, and the last half grumbled over at the bottom of it. The galleries take it for granted that is all extremely fine, and applaud accordingly. "Romeo and Juliet" has been reproduced, in order to afford an opening to Miss P. Glover. Kean is ra ther endured than liked in the part of the young lover; and the more so, because there is nobody else at Drury Lane who can play the character at all decently. Of the Juliet of Miss P. Glover I would fain speak with as much forbearance as possible; but it is my decided opinion, that she will never make a good actress. The extreme degree of tutoring she has received, may, perhaps, have overlaid and smothered her natural talents; and, of all the characters of Shakespeare, Juliet is the most natural and unstudied. Miss P. Glover made the scene where she takes the sleeping draught, rather ludicrous than tragical, by overstrained effort. She is very young; and, if she ever reach any eminence, it must be, by forgetting all the stage lessons she has been taught. All the earlier part of Miss Edmiston's Lady Macbeth is more than respectable; but she failed altogether in the banquet scene. She was in judicious in attempting so arduous a character. Miss O'Neil, who rivalled Mrs Siddons in Mrs Haller, in Mrs Beverley, and even in Belvidera, if we recollect rightly, never attempted to follow her in this great part. Some passages, in the character of Elvira, Miss Edmiston gave with consider able force; but the whole wanted sustained dignity and strength. Kean was of course the Rolla, but, except ing energy, he has not a single qualification for the part: I think the better of him for it. Two nights ago he represented Lear, but without any improvement, where a great deal was wanting. His Othello is his most perfect performance: he appeared in it on the third of this month: there was nothing deficient, nothing too much. However, ""Tis a folly, though no crime, To say things for the hundredth time," like some of our diurnal critics; and even if one were to strike out something new, credit would hardly be given for it. Mr Cooper's Iago was heavy, but not injudicious. Mr Kean is advertised for Cardinal Wolsey. I wonder he has not more discretion. This sacrifice for variety shews that he is not rising in public estimation. Covent Garden, under the management of Charles Kemble, has brought out Julius Cæsar with many advantages it embraces nearly the whole tragic strength of the company. Young plays the part formerly filled by John Kemble, and thereby incurs the inconvenience of a comparison, which, recollecting that Brutus was one of Kemble's noblest representations, could not be in his favour. If Mr Young does not always satisfy, he very rarely offends: his chief deficiency was in the scene where the ghost of Cæsar appears: to read it, one would suppose that nothing very striking could be produced out of it; but Kemble made every thing of it; Young nothing. The latter has a fine bust, and look ed the Roman admirably: if he had spoken the Roman as well, there would have been nothing to complain of. Macready performed Cassius. He is a very ambitious actor, and always exerts himself to the utmost: his part was one of passion, and it therefore suited him. He never acted better, or exhibited with more force, the fine contrast Shakespeare intended between the characters of Brutus and Cassius. The quarrel scene was excellently done on both sides: Brutus stood like a rock, and Cassius, like a foaming wave, beat against it without moving it. There is something very affecting in the situation of the two friends, and the audience almost wept for joy at the reconciliation. Charles Kemble's Mark Antony is just what it used to be six or seven years ago: he has every qualification for the part, and none to go much beyond it. He keeps his face like his wig, in too "formal buckle," his eyes and eye-brows forming an immoveable triangle. This revival is the only novelty of any importance at this theatre since Easter: its success has been so great, that the Manager has been called upon to make no other exertion. Nevertheless, a new Opera (from the pen of Mr Colman) is in preparation. It is founded on some law of Java, for the author does not seem to agree with Ben Jonson's Lanthorn Leatherhead (Bartholemew Fair, Act V. Scene I.) "that your home-born projects ever prove the best." Mr H. Twiss is hashing up one of the Scotch novels for Drury Lane: we hope, for his own and Mr Elliston's sake, that his dramatic will have more success than his parliamentary efforts. SMALL WITS. THERE was a time when people set about writing verses, much in the same manner as the solution of a problem in mathematics; first of all came the "enunciation," and then the "construction." "Let the twelve months of the year be any given subject, it is required to stuff them into a corresponding number of lines." The poor Parnassian wight having thus specified the precise" thing to be done," proceeded to work without stop, instinctively scratching, at convenient intervals, the cells of those or gans which he wished to bestir themselves with the greatest activity; and laboured, days and nights, with intense anxiety, till the task was completed. If he had a mind to give full scope to his powers of description, he allowed himself twenty-four lines; but the one achievement being onehalf more difficult, was exactly onehalf more glorious than the other. It were hopeless, indeed, to attempt the reduction of the hairum-scairum rhapsodists of these our times, to a simple scale of excellence, by means of this sort of arithmetical criticism. In addition to the regular nicknacks in monostics, distics, and tetrastics, there were various other contrivances equally fantastical, which afforded to the small craft an opportunity of displaying their ingenuity. Such were the verses which began, and terminated with words of one syllable, where, to enhance the "miseriam cogitandi" (which it is impossible to translate), that which ended the one behoved to be the first of the next *-a kind of game at shuttlecock, in which one player stationed on the left, tossed a line across the page to a second, who, passing with the velocity of thought to the same side, hurled another at a third; and thus continued the match, till he who began the sport put a stop to it, by making his appearance on the opposite list. In this way the hapless poetaster was forced to hitch and hobble along an avenue, guarded on either side by a row of unrelenting monosyllables, which failed not to bring him effectually to his senses, if his unadvised Fancy manifested any inclination to scamper according to the freedom of her own will. Even men of the best talents did not disdain to employ themselves upon these miserable monastic puzzles; and the whole herd of dabblers, who are ever ready to imitate the great, and continually find their meagre capacities best qualified to ape their follies, cockled over them with per Res Fors Spes Mors fect delight. Blessed was he who possessed the tact of hitting off an epigram, for this was thought the highest point of sublimity which it was possible for genius to reach. A writer who was so fortunate as to light upon a quibble or a pun, doled it stupidly forth with the most provoking complacency. "Idem aliterIdem aliter." The same monotonous chime was rung ten times over, till it sunk away in total exhaustion. The vocabulary was ransacked for the purpose of beating up "quips, and cranks," and trim conceits. Classical terms were stretched upon the rack, and squeezed, and mangled, and twisted, until they could no longer furnish entertainment to their diabolical tormentors; and then it was that these industrious barbarians, having exhausted the stores of their own language, imagined new. Hence arose the Greekish Dog-Latin of the latter days of Rome, and hence will probably spring up an unsanctified dialect of Franco-Anglian, in future dark ages. It is the misfortune of second-rate aspirants after fame, that they estimate admiration by the width of gap which their exhibitions succeed in effecting, without regard to the further qualifications of the persons so acted upon. Thus, they set the great staring goggle-eyes and spread lips of the clown, in array against the drowsy lids and alarming yawn of the man of judgment and good taste; and misconstruing dull wonderment into a manifestation of genuine delight, foist themselves into bastard popularity, swelling into as much imaginary importance, at the same time, as a landward bailie, who looks upon himself as only "a little lower" than majesty itself. Though dulness can no longer enscone itself behind the bulwark of pedantic scholarship, and manage to look smart with a few stray patches of knowledge, scraped by mere slavish research, the tribe of dunderheads persevere in imagining hominum alit, regit, et perimit dubia aeternumque labens, quam blanda fovet nullo finita aevo, cui terminus est avida, &c. Ausonii Technopacgnion. Edyll, xii. Fors. Spes. Mors. |