2 in The Courier logical as well as "poetical." By the rule above hinted at, every actor is qualified to play Falstaff who is physically incapacitated to play any other character. Sir John Falstaffs may be fatted up like prize oxen. Nor does the evil in this case produce its own remedy, as where an actor's success depends upon his own leanness and that of the part he plays. Sir Richard Steele tells us (in one of the Tatlers) of a poor actor in his time, who having nothing to do, fell away, and became such a wretched, meagre-looking object, that he was pitched upon as a proper person to represent the starved Apothecary in Romeo and Juliet. He did this so much to the life, that he was repeatedly called upon to play it: but his person improving with his circumstances, he was in a short time rendered unfit to play it with the same effect as before, and laid aside. Having no other resource, he accordingly fell away again with the loss of his part, and was again called upon to appear in it with his former reputation. Any one, on the contrary, who thrives in Falstaff, is always in an increasing capacity to overlay the part. But we have done with this unpleasant subject. THEATRICAL DEBUTS. October 20, 1816. THERE have been two theatrical or operatic débuts, to which we are in arrears, and of which we must say a word-Miss Mori's Rosetta in Love in a Village," at Covent-Garden, and Miss Keppel's Polly in The Beggar's Opera,* at Drury-Lane. 1 Allusion to As You Like It, III, iii, 16. 2 The Guardian, No. 82. The actor's name was William Peer (d. 1713). 3 Miss A. Mori, sister of the dancer, made a single appearance at Covent Garden, October 11. Miss Matthews was Lucinda. * Miss Keppel "from Liverpool" first appeared October 12. Both of them appeared to us to be indifferent. Miss Mori is by much the best singer of the two, but there is something exceedingly unprepossessing and hard both in her voice and manner. She sings without the least feeling, or lurking consciousness that such a thing is required in a singer. The notes proceed from her mouth as mechanically, as unmitigated by the sentiment, as if they came from the sharp hautboy or grating bassoon. We do not mean that her voice is disagreeable in itself, but it wants softness and sweetness of modulation. The words of the songs neither seem to tremble on her lips, nor play around her heart. Miss Mori did not look the character. Rosetta is to be sure a waiting-maid, but then she is also a young lady in disguise. There was no appearance of the incognita in Miss Mori. She seemed in downright earnest, like one of the country girls who come to be hired at the statute-fair. She was quite insensible of her situation, and came forward to prove herself a fine singer, as one of her fellow-servants might have done to answer to a charge of having stolen something. We never saw a débutante more at ease with the audience: we suppose she has played in the country. Miss Matthews, who is a goodnatured girl, and wished to patronize her on so delicate an emergency, presently found there was no occasion for her services, and withdrew from the attempt with some trepidation. If Miss Mori did not enchant us by her incomprehensible want of sensibility, neither did Miss Keppel by the affectation of it. Sensibility is a very pretty thing, but it will not do to make a plaything of, at least in public. It is not enough that an actress tries to atone for defects by throwing herself on the indulgence of the audience—their eyes and ears must be satisfied, as well as their self-love. Miss Keppel acts with very little grace, and sings very much out of tune. There were some attempts made to prejudice the audience against this young lady before she appeared: but they only had the effect which they deserved, of procuring a more flattering reception than she would otherwise have met with: but we do not think she will ever become a favourite with the town. [Owing to the early filling of the house, we were prevented from seeing Othello on Tuesday;' but we understand that Mr. Young played Othello like a great hummingtop, "full of sound, but signifying nothing," and that Mr. Macready in Iago was like a mischievous boy whipping him; and that Miss Boyle did not play Desdemona as unaffectedly as she ought. But we hope we have been misinformed: and shall be glad to say so, if possible, in our next.] MR. KEMBLE'S CATO. [Covent Garden] October 27, 1816. MR. KEMBLE has resumed his engagements at CoventGarden Theatre for the season; it is said in the play-bills, for the last time. There is something in the word last, that, "being mortal," we do not like on these occasions: but there is this of good in it, that it throws us back on past recollections, and when we are about to take leave of an old friend, we feel desirous to settle all accounts with him, and to see that the balance is not against us, on the score of gratitude. Mr. Kemble will, we think, find that the public are just, and his last season, if it is to be so, will not, we hope, be the least brilliant of his career. As his meridian was bright, so let his sunset be golden, and without a cloud. His reception in Cato,' on Friday, was most flattering, and he well deserved the cheering and cordial welcome which he received. His voice only failed him in strength; but his tones, his looks, his gestures, were all that could be required 1 October 15. 2 Cato, by Addison; revived October 25. Exame in the character. He is the most classical of actors. He is the only one of the moderns, who both in figure and action approaches the beauty and grandeur of the antique. In the scene of the soliloquy,1 just before his death, he was rather inaudible, and indeed the speech itself is not worth hearing; but his person, manner, and dress, seemed cast in the very mould of Roman elegance and dignity. [After the play we saw The Broken Sword, which is a melodrame of some interest, for it has a dumb boy, a murderer, and an innocent person suspected of being the perpetrator of the crime, in it; but it is a very ill-digested and ill-conducted piece. The introduction to the principal events is very tedious and roundabout, and the incidents themselves, when they arrive, come in very great disorder, and shock from their improbability and want of necessary connection as much as from their own nature. Mr. Terry played the part of a murderer with considerable gravity. We do not know at all how he came to get into so awkward a situation. The piece is, we understand, from common report, by Mr. Dimond. It is by no means one of his best. For he is a very impressive as well as a prolific writer in this way, and would do still better, if he would mind his fine writing less, and get on faster to the business of the story. Mr. Farley was highly interesting as Estevan, the servant, who is unjustly accused of the murder of his master; in fact, he always plays this class of characters admirably, both as to feeling and effect; and Miss Luppino played the dumb Florio very prettily. In the first act there was a dance by the Miss Dennetts.3 If our readers have not seen this dance we hope they will, 1 Cato, V. 2 By W. Dimond; it was produced October 7, and repeated almost nightly. Miss Luppino was Myrtillo; Terry, Colonel Rigolio; and Farley, Estevan. There was no character named Florio. 3 The three Miss Dennetts "from Dublin" made their début at Covent Garden, on September 11, in a ballet divertissement called The Seraglio. and that they will encore it, which is the etiquette. Certainly it is the prettiest thing in the world, except the performers in it. They are quite charming. They are three kindred Graces, cast in the same mould; a little trinity of innocent delights; dancing in their "trinal simplicities below."1 They are like "three red roses on a stalk; "2 and in the pas de trois which they dance twice over, they are, as it were, twined and woven into garlands and festoons of blushing flowers, such as "Proserpine let fall from Dis's wagon." You can hardly distinguish them from one another, they are at first so alike in shape, age, air, look; so that the pleasure you receive from one is blended with the delight you receive from the other two, in a sort of provoking, pleasing confusion. Milton was thinking of them when he wrote the lines: "Whom lovely Venus, at a birth, With two sister Graces more, Yet, after all, we have a preference, but we will not say which it is, whether the tallest or the shortest, the fairest or the darkest, of this lovely, laughing trio, more gay and joyous than Mozart's.* 66 But pray, dear Sir, could you not give us a little bit of a hint which of us it is you like the very, very best?" Yes, yes, you rogue, you know very well it's you; but don't say a word of it to either of your sisters.] 1 An allusion to Spenser's Faerie Queene, I, xii, 39. 2 An allusion to Richard III, IV, iii, 12. 3 MILTON, L'Allegro, lines 14-16. 66 4"E voi ridete" in Cosi fan Tutti. See ante, p. 237. |