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THE casual sight of an old Py Bill, which I picked up the other day -- I know not by what ce it resered so long -- tets to call to nd a few of the Pyers, who ke the principal figure in it. It presents the cast of parts iwelfth Night, at the old Drury-heatre two-and-thirty years ago. There is sothioug in these old rerahey ke us think how we once used to read a Py Bill -- not, as now peradenture, singling out a faorite perforr, and casting a negligent eye oer the rest; but spelling out eery na, down to the ery tes as of the se when it was a tter of no sll nt to us whether Whitfield, or Packer, took the part of Fabian; when Benson, and Burton, and Phillire -- nas of sll at -- had an iortance, beyond what we be tent to attribute now to the tis best actors.-quot; Orsino, by Mr. Barryre. quot;What a full Shakspearian sound it carries! how fresh to ry arise the ige, and the nner, of the geor!
Those who hae only seen Mrs. Jordan withi ten or fifteen years, hae no adequate notion of her perfornce of such parts as Opheli Helena, in Alls Well that Ends Well; and Vio in this py. Her oice had tterly acquired arseness, which suited well enough with her Nells and Hoydens, but in those days it sank, with her steady ing eye, into the heart. Her joyous parts -- in which her ry now chiefly lies -- in her youth were outdone by her pintie ohere is no giing an at how she deliered the disguised story of her loe for Orsino. It was speech, that she had foreseen, so as to weae it into an harnious period, line necessarily following lio ke up the sic -- yet I hae heard it so spoken, or rather read, not without its grad beauty -- but, when she had decred her sisters history to be a quot;bnk,quot; and that she quot;old her loe,quot; there ause, as if the story had ended -- and then the ige of the quot;worin the budquot; ca up as a new suggestion -- and the heightened ige of Patieill followed after that, as by so growing (and not ical) process, thought springing up after thought, I would alst say, as they were watered by her tears. So in those fine lines -
Write loyal tos of ned loe --
Hollow your o the reerberate hills -
there was no preparation de in the foing ige for that which was to follow. She used no rhetori her passion or it was natures oworic, st legitite then, when it seed aogether without rule or w.
Mrs. Powel (now Mrs. Renard), then in the pride of her beauty, de an adrable Oliia. She articurly ecellent in her unbending ses iion with the . I hae seen so Oliias -- and those ery sensible actresses too -- who in these interlocutions hae seed to set their wits at the jester, and to ie ceits with hiin dht etion. But she used hifor her sport, like what he was, to trifle a leisure sentence or two with, and then to be disssed, and she to be the Great Lady still. She touched the ierious fantastic huur of the character with y. Her fine spacious person filled the se.
The part of Malolio has in judgnt been so often suood, and the general rits of the actor, who the, so unduly appreciated, that I shall hope for pardon, if I aa little proli upon these points.
Of all the actors who flourished in ti -- a ncholy phrase if taken aright, reader -- Bensley had st of the swell of soul, was greatest in the deliery of heroiceptions, the etions sequent upon the prese of a great idea to the fancy. He had the true poetical enthusias-- the rarest facuy ang pyers. hat I reer possessed een a portion of that fine dness which he threw out in Hotspurs faus rant about glory, or the transports of the Veian indiary at the ision of the fired city. His oice had the dissonance, and at tis the inspiriting effect of the truet. His gait was uth and stiff, hut no way earrassed by affectation; and the thh-bred gentle in eery ent. He seized the nt of passion with the greatest truth; like a faithful cloeer striking before the ti; neer anticipating or leading you to anticipate. He was totally destitute of trid artifice. He seed e upoage to do the poets ssage sily, and he did it with as genuine fidelity as the nuncios in Hor delier the errands of the gods. He let the passion or the se do its own work without prop or bolstering. He would hae sed to untebank it; arayed none of that cleerness which is the bane of serious ag. For this reason, his Iago was the only endurable one which I reer to hae seen. No spectator frohis uld diine re of his artifice than Othello was supposed to do. His fessions in soliloquy alo you in possession of the stery. There were no by-intitions to ke the audience fancy their own disnt so ch greater than that of the Moor-who only stands like a great helpless rk set up for ne A, and a quantity of barreors, to shoot their bos at. The Iago of Bensley did not go to work so grossly. There was a triuhant tone about the character, natural to a general sciousness of power; but none of that petty anity which chuckles and ot tain itself upon any little suessful stroke of its knaery -- as is on with your sll ilins, and green probationers in schief. It did not cp or crow before its ti. It was not a ing his wits at a child, and winking all the while at other children whhtily pleased at bei into the secret; but a te ilirapping a ure into toils, against whio disnt was aaible, where the nner was as fathoess as the purpose seed dark, and without tie. The part of Malolio, iwelfth Night, erford by Bensley, with a riess and a dignity, of which (to judge froso ret castings of that character) the ery tradition st be worn out frothe stage. No nager in those days would hae dread of giing it to Mr. Baddeley, or Mr. Parsons: when Bensley was oasionally absent frothe theatre, Johhought it nation to sueed to the part. Malolio is not essentially ludicrous. He bees ic but by act. He ild, austere, repelling; but dignified, sistent, and, for pears, rather of aretched rality. Maria describes hias a sort of Puritan; a hae worn his gold with honour in one of our old round-head falies, in the serice of a Laert, or a dy Fairfa. But his rality and his nners are spced in Illyria. He is opposed to the proper leities of the piece, and falls in the unequal test. Still his pride, or his graity, (call it which you will) is i, and o the n, not ck or affected, which tter only are the fit objects to ecite ughter. His quality is at the best unloely, but her buffoon nor ptible. His bearing is lofty, a little aboe his station, but probably not ch aboe his deserts. We see no reason why he should not hae been brae, honourable, aplished. His careless ittal of the ring to the ground (which he was issioo restore to Cesario), bespeaks a generosity of birth and feeling. His diale all oasions is that of a gentlen, and a n of educatio not found hiwith the eternal old, low steward of edy. He is ster of the household to a great Princess; a dignity probably ferred upon hifor other respects than age or length of serice. Oliia, at the first indication of his supposed dness, decres that she quot;would not hae hiscarry for half of her dowry.quot; Does this look as if the character was ant to appear little or insignifit? Once, indeed, she auses hito his face -- of what ? -- of being quot;sick of self-loe,quot; -- but with a gentleness and siderateness whiculd not hae been, if she had not thought that this particur infirty shaded so irtues. His rebuke to the knight, and his sottish reellers, is sensible and spirited; and wheake into sideration the unprotected dition of his stress, and the strict regard with which her state of real or disseled would draw the eyes of the world upon her house-affairs, Malolio ght feel the honour of the faly in so sort in his keeping; as it appears not that Oliia had any re brothers, or kio look to it -- for Sir Toby had dropped all suice respects at the buttery hatch. That Malolio was ant to be represented as possessiible qualities, the epression of the Duke in his ao hae hireciled, alst infers. quot;Pursue hi areat hito a peace.quot; Een in his abused state of s and darkness, a sort of greatness see o desert hi He argues highly and well with the supposed Sir Topas, and philosophises galntly upon his straw.* There st hae been so shadow of worth about the hae been sothihan a re apour -- a thing of straw, or Ja office -- before Fabian and Mariuld hae entured sending hiupon a c-errand to Oliia. There was so sonancy (as he would say) in the uaking, or the jest would hae been too bold een for that house of srule.
Bensley, aly, threw oer the part an air of Spanish loftiness. He looked, spake, and ed like an old Castilian. He was starch, spruce, opinionated, but his superstructure of pride seed bottod upon a sense of worth. There was sothing in it beyond the b. It was big and swelling, but yould not be sure that it was hollow. You ght wish to see it taken down, but you fe that it on aion. He was gnifit frothe outset; but whe sobrieties of the character began to gie way, and the poison of self-loe, in his ceit of the tesss affe, gradually to work, you would hae thought that the hero of La Mancha in person stood before you. How he went sling to hielf with what ineffable carelessness would he twirl his gold ! what a dreait was! you
*. What is the opinion of Pythagoras ing wild fowl?
Mal. That the soul of randaght haply inhabit a bird.
. What thihou of his opinion?
Mal. I think nobly of the soul, and no roe of his opinion.
were ied with the illusion, and did not wish that it should be reed! you had no rhter! if an unseasonable refle of rality obtruded itself it was a deep sense of the pitiable infirty of ns nature, that y hiopen to such frenzies -- hut in truth you rather adred than pitied the lunacy while it sted -- you fe that an hour of such stake was worth ah the eyes open. Who would not wish to lie but for a day in the ceit of such a dys loe as Oliia? Why, the Duke would hae gien his principality but for a quarter of a nute, sleeping or waking to hae been so deluded. The o tread upon air, to taste nna, to walk with his head in the clouds, to te Hyperion. O! shake not the castles of his pride -- e for a seasht nts of fidence -- quot;stand still ye watches of the elent,quot; that Malolio y be still in fancy fair Oliias lord -- but fate aribution say no -- I hear the schieous titter of Maria -- the witty taunts of Sir Toby -- the still re insupportable triuh of the foolish knight -- the terfeit Sir Topas is unsked -- and quot;thus the whirligig of ti,quot; as the true hath it, qus in his reenges.quot; I fess that I neer saw the catastrophe of this character, while Bensley pyed it, without a kind iterest. There was good foolery too. Few now reer Dodd. What an Aguecheek the stage lost in hi Loegroe, who ca o the old actors, reied the character so few seasons ago, a suffitly grotesque; but Dodd was it, as it ca out of natures hands. It ght be said to rein in puris naturalibus. In epressing slowness of apprehension this actor surpassed all others. Yould see the first dawn of aealing slowly oer his tenance, g up by little and little, with a painful process, till it cleared up at st to the fulness of a twilight ception -- its highest ridian. He seed to keep back his intellect, as so hae had the power to retard their pulsation. The balloon takes less ti in filling than it took ter the epansion of his broad ony face oer all its quarters with epression. A glier of uanding would appear in a er of his eye, an for ck of fuel go out again. A part of his forehead would catch a little intelligence, and be a long ti in unig it to the reinder
.
I aill at dates, but I think it is now better than fie and twenty years ago that walking in the gardens of Grays Inn -- they were then far fihan they are now -- the aursed VeruBuildings had not encroached upon all the east side of the cutting out delicate green kles, and shouldering away one of two of the stately es of the terrace -- the surior stands gaping aionless as if it reered its brother -- they are still the best gardens of any of the Inns of urt, beloed Tele not fottehe graest character, their aspect being aogether reerend and w-breathing -- Ba has left the iress of his foot upon their grael walks--taking afternoon so a suer day upon the aforesaid terrace, a ely sad personage ca towards , who frohis grae air ant, I judged to he one of the old Benchers of the Inn. He had a serious thoughtful forehead, ao be iations of rtality. As I hae an instinctie awe of old Benchers, I assing hiwith that sort of subindicatie token of respect whie is apt to denstrate towards a enerable stranger, and which rather denotes an ination to greet hi than any positie tion of the body to that effect -- a species of hulity and will-worship which I obsere, is out of ten, rather puzzles than pleases the person it is offered to -- when the face turning full upely identified itself with that of Dodd. Upon close iion I was not staken. Buuld this sad thoughtful tenance be the sa at face of folly which I had hailed so often under circes of gaiety; which I had neer seen without a sle, nised but as the ush;ar;/arer of rth; that looked out so forlly ft in Foppington, so frothily pert in Tattle, so iotently busy in Backbite; so bnkly diested of all aning, or resolutely epressie of none, in Acres, in Fribble, and a thousand agreeable iertinences? Was this the face -- still of thought and carefulness -- that had so ofteed itself at will of eery trace of either to gie diersion, to clear cloudy face for two or three hours at least of its furrows? Was this the face -- nly, sober, intelligent, which I had so often despised, de cks at, de rry with? The rerance of the freedo which I had taken with it ca upoh a reproach of insu. uld hae asked it pardon. I thought it looked upoh a sense of injury. There is sothing strange as well as sad in seeing actors -- your pleasant fellows particurly -- subjected to and suffering the on lot -- their fortuheir casuaies, their deaths, seeto belong to the se, their as to be ao poetic justily. We hardly ect thewith re awful responsibilities. The death of this fior took pce shortly after this eting. He had quitted the stage so nths; and, as I learned afterwards, had been in the habit of res daily to these gardens alst to the day of his decease. In these serious walks probably he was diesting hielf of ny sid so real anities -- weaning hielf frothe friolities of the lesser and the greater theatre -- doile penance for a life of no ery reprehensible fooleries, -- taking off by degrees the buffoon sk which he ght feel he had worn too long -- and rehearsing for a re sole cast of part. Dying he quotut on the weeds of Donic.quot; *
If few reer Dodd, liing will not easily fet he pleasant creature, who in those days ehe part of the to Dodds Sir Andrew. -- Richard, or rather Dicky Suett -- for so in his life-ti he delighted to be called, and ti hath ratified the appeltion -- lieth buried on the north side of the cetery of Holy Paul, to whose serice his nonage and tender y;u９９lｉb?;/uears were dedicated. There are who do yet reer hiat that period -- his pipe clear and harnious. He would often speak of his chorister days, when he was quot;cherub Dicky.quot;
What clipped his wings, or de it epedient that he should ege the holy for the profaate; whether he had lost his good oice (his best reendation to that office), like Sir John, quot;with hallooing and singing of anthe;quot; or whether he was adjudged to ething, een in those early years, of the graity indispensable to an oupation which professeth to quot;erce with the skies quot; -- uld neer rightly learn; but we find hi after the probation of a twelenth or so, reerting to a secur dition, and bee one of us. I think he was not aogether of that tier, out of which cathedral seats and sounding boards are hewed. But if a gd heart -- kind and therefd -- be any part of sanctity, then ght the robe of Motley, with which he ied hielf with so ch hulity after his depriation, and which he wore so long with so ch bless satisfa to hielf and to the public, be aepted for a surplice -- his white stole, and albe. The first fruits of his securization was an e upon the boards of Old Drury, at which theatre he enced, as I hae been told, with adopting the nner of Parsons in old ns characters. At the period in which st of us knew hi he was no re an itator than he was in any true sense hielf itable.
He was the Robin Good-Fellow of the stage. He to trouble all things with a wele perpleity, hielf no whit troubled for the tter. He was known, like Puck, by his note -- Ha! Ha! Ha ! -- sotis deepening to Ho! Ho! Ho! with an irresistible aession, deried perhaps retely frohis elesiastical education, fn to his prototype of, -- O La! Thousands of
*Dodd was a n of reading, a at his death a choiclle of old English literature. I should judge hito hae been a n of wit. I know one instance of an irotu whio length of studuld hae bettered. My rry friend, JeWhite, had seen hione eening in Aguecheek, and reising Dodd the day i Street, was irresistibly ielled to take off his hat and salute hias the identical Knight of the preg eening with a quot;Sae you, Sir Andre;quot; Dodd, not at all discerted at this unusual address froa stranger, with urteous half.rebuking wae of the hand, put hioff with an quot;Away, Fool.quot;
hearts yet respond to the chug O La! of Dicky Suett, brought back to their rerance by the faithful transcript of his friend Mathewss cry. The quot;force of naturuld no further go.quot; He drolled upoock of these two sylbles richer than the cuckoo.
Care, that troubles all the world, was fotten in his position. Had he had but two grains (nay, half a grain) of it, huld neer hae supported hielf upon those two spiders strings, which sered hi(iter part of his uence) as legs. A doubt or a scruple st hae de hitotter, a sigh hae puffed hidown; the ght of a frown had staggered hi a wrinkle de hilose his bance. But on he went, scraling upon those airy stis of his, with Robin Good-Fello;quot;thh brake, thh briar,quot; reckless of a scratched face or a torn doublet.
Shakspeare foresaw hi when he frad his fools aers. They hae all the true Suett sta, a loose and shaling gait, a slippery tohis st the ready dwife to a without-pain-deliered jest; in words, light as air, enting truths deep as the tre; with idlest rhys taggi when busiest, singing with Lear ieest, or Sir Toby at the buttery-hatch.
Jack Bannister and he had the fortuo be re of personal faourites with the town than any actors before or after. The difference, I take it, was this : -- Jack was re beloed for his sweet, good-natured, ral pretensions. Dicky was re liked for his sweet, good-natured, no pretensions at all. Your whole sce stirred with Bannisters perfornce of Waer in the Children in the Wood -- but Dick seed like a thing, as Shakspeare says of loe, too young to know what sce is. He put us into Vestas days. Eil fled before hi-- not as froJack, as froan antagonist, -- but because iuld not touch hi ahan a on-ball a fly. He was deliered frothe burthen of that death; and, wheh ca hielf, not iaphor, to fetch Dicky, it is rded of hiby Robert Palr, who kindly watched his eit, that he receied the st stroke, her arying his aced tranquillity, nor tune, with the sile e, worthy to hae been rded in his epitaph -- O La! O La! Bobby!
The elder Palr (of stage-treading celebrity) only pyed Sir Toby in those days; but there is a solidity of wit in the jests of that half-Falstaff which he did not quite fill out. He was as ch too showy as Moody (who sotis took the part) was dry and sottish. In sock or buskin there was an air of swaggeriility about Jack Palr. He was a gentlen with a slight infusion of the footn. His brother Bob (of reter ry) who was his shadow ihing while he lied, and dwindled into less than a shadow afterwards -- was a gentlen with a little stronger infusion of the tter ingredient; that was all. It is azing how a little off the re or less kes a differehings. When you saw Bobby in the Dukes Serant,* you said, what a pity such a pretty fellow was only a serant. When you saw Jack figuring in Captain Absolute, you thought yould trace his protion to so d of quality who fahe handso fellow in his top-knot, and had bought hia ission. Therefore Ja Dick Aet was insuperable.
[Footnote] * High Life Below Stairs.
Jack had two oices, -- both pusible, hypocritical, and insinuating; but his sedary or supplental oice still re decisiely histrionic than his o was resered for the spectator; and the dratis personae were supposed to know nothing at all about it. The lies of young Wilding, and the ses in Joseph Surface, were thus rked out in a sort of italics to the audiehis secrerrespohe pany before the curtain (which is the bane ah edy) has arely happy effe so kinds of edy, in the re highly artificial edy of gree or of Sheridan especially, where the absolute sense of reality (so indispensable to ses of i) is not required, or would rather interfere to dinish your pleasure. The fact is, you do not beliee in such characters as Surface -- the ilin of artificial edy -- een while you read or see the If you did, they would shod not diert you. When Ben, in Loe for Loe, returns frosea, the following equisite dialogue ours at his first eting with his father -
Sir Sason. Thou hast been ny a weary league, Ben, since I saw thee.
Ben. Ey, ey, been! Been far enough, an that be all. -- Well, father, and how do all at ho? how does brother Dick, and brother Val?
Sir Sason. Dick! body o , Dick has beehese two years. I writ you word when you were at Leghorn.
Ben. Mess, thats true; Marry, I had fot. Dicks dead, as you say -- Well, and how ? -- I hae a ny questions to ask you -
Here is an instance of insensibility whi real life would be reoing, or rather in real lifuld not ha-eisted with the warhearted teerant of the character. But when you read it in the spirit with which such pyful seles and specious binations rather than strict taphrases of nature should be taken, or when you saw Bannister py it, it her did, nor does wound the ral se all. For what is Ben -- the pleasant sailor which Bannister gies us -- but a piece of satire -- a creation of grees fancy -- a drea bination of all the acts of a sailors character -- his pt of ney -- his credulity to won -- with that necessary estra froho which it is just within the erge of credibility to suppose ght produce su halluation as is here described. We hink the worse of Ben for it, or feel it as a stain upon his character. But when an actor es, and instead of the delightful phanto-- the creature dear to half-belief -- which Bannister ehibited -- dispys before our eyes a dht cretion of a ing sailor -- a jolly warhearted Jack Tar -- and nothing else -- when instead of iing it with a delicious fusedness of the head, and a eering ued goodness of purpose -- he gies to it a dht daylight uanding, and a full sciousness of its as; thrusting forward the sensibilities of the character with a pretence as if it stood upon nothing else, and was to be judged by thealone -- we feel the drd of the thing; the se is disturbed; a real n has got in ang the dratis personae, and puts theout. We want the sailor turned out. We feel that his true pce is not behind the curtain but in the first or sed gallery.
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