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All that we have said of acting in general applies to his Richard II. It has been supposed that this is his finest part: this is, however, a total misrepresentation. There are only one or two electrical shocks given in it; and in many of his characters he gives a much greater number. The excellence of his acting is in proportion to the number of hits, for he has not equal truth or purity of style. Richard II. was hardly given correctly as to the general outline. Mr. Kean made it a character of passion, that is, of feeling combined with energy; whereas it is a character of pathos, that is to say, of feeling combined with weakness. This, we conceive, is the general fault of Mr. Kean's acting, that it is always energetic or nothing. He is always on full stretch-never relaxed. He expresses all the violence, the extravagance, and fierceness of the passions, but not their misgivings, their helplessness, and sinkings into despair. He has too much of that strong nerve and fibre that is always equally elastic. We might instance to the present purpose, his dashing the glass down with all his might, in the scene with Hereford,2 instead of letting it fall out of his hands, as from an infant's; also, his manner of expostulating with Bolingbroke, "Why on thy knee, thus low," etc.3 which was altogether fierce and heroic, instead of being sad, thoughtful, and melancholy. If Mr. Kean would look into some passages in this play, into that in particular, "Oh that I were a mockery king of snow, to melt away before the sun of Bolingbroke," he would find a clue to this character, and to human nature in general, which he seems to have missed -how far feeling is connected with the sense of weakness as well as of strength, or the power of imbecility, and the force of passiveness.

We never saw Mr. Kean look better than when we saw him in Richard II., and his voice appeared to us to be

1 "No general truth" in The Examiner.

2 Richard II, IV, i.

3 lbid., III, iii, 190-5.

4 Ibid., IV, i, 260-2.

stronger. We saw him near, which is always in his favour; and we think one reason why the Editor of this Paper1 was disappointed in first seeing this celebrated actor, was his being at a considerable distance from the stage. We feel persuaded that on a nearer and more frequent view of him, he will agree that he is a perfectly original, and sometimes a perfectly natural actor; that if his conception is not always just or profound, his execution is masterly; that where he is not the very character he assumes, he makes a most brilliant rehearsal of it; that he never wants energy, ingenuity, and animation, though he is often deficient in dignity, grace, and tenderness; that if he frequently disappoints us in those parts where we expect him to do most, he as frequently surprises us by striking out unexpected beauties of his own; and that the objectionable parts of his acting arise chiefly from the physical impediments he has to overcome.

Of the other characters of the play, it is needless to say much. Mr. Pope was respectable in John of Gaunt. Mr. Holland was lamentable in the Duke of York, and Mr. Elliston indifferent in Bolingbroke. This alteration of Richard II.2 is the best that has been attempted; for it consists entirely of omissions, except one or two scenes which are idly tacked on to the conclusion [for Mrs. Bartley3 to rant and whine in].

THE UNKNOWN GUEST.

[Drury Lane] April 2, 1815.

THE English Drama has made an acquisition of no less than three new pieces in the course of the week. The

1 The Examiner. [W. H.] There was an unfavourable notice in the number for February 26.-[ED.]

2 Richard II, "with alterations and additions, by Richard Wroughton," 1815. 3 Mrs. Bartley was the Queen.

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Unknown Guest (said to be from the pen of Mr. Arnold, the manager) is, we suppose, to be considered as a dramatic trifle: it is one of the longest and dullest trifles we almost ever remember to have sat out. We think in general, that the practice of making the manager bring out his own pieces on the stage, is a custom which would be more honoured in the breach than the observance: it is offering a premium for the rejection of better pieces than his own. In the present instance, it would be a compliment to say, that the author has failed in wit, character, incident, or sentiment; for he has not attempted any thing of the kind. The dialogue bears no proportion in quantity to the songs; and chiefly serves as a vehicle to tack together a certain number of unmeaning lines, arranged for different voices, and set in our opinion to very indifferent music. The music of this opera professes to be by Mr. Kelly and Mr. Braham, except that of one song, which is modestly said to beselected a title which we apprehend might be extended to the whole. We do not recollect a single movement in the airs composed by Mr. Kelly, which was not familiar even to vulgarity; and the style of Mr. Braham's songs has no other object than to pamper him in his peculiar vices, and to produce that mannerism, which is the destruction of all excellence in art. There are two or three favourite passages which seem to dwell upon his ear, and to which he gives a striking expression; these he combines and repeats with laborious foolery; and in fact, sings nothing but himself

Wednesday, March 29.

The Unknown Guest; or, The Explosion of the Mine,
by Samuel J. Arnold.

over and over continually. Nothing can be worse than this affected and selfish monotony. Instead of acquiring new and varied resources, by lending his imagination to the infinite combinations of which music is susceptible, and by fairly entering into his subject, all his ideas of excellence are taken from and confined to the sound of his own voice. It is on this account that we listen to Mr. Braham's singing with less pleasure than we formerly did. It is not assuredly that Mr. Braham has fallen off in his singing; on the contrary, he has improved and perfected his particular talent, but we constantly know what we have to expect, or rather to apprehend, for this anticipation at last amounts to apprehension: we perceive a limit, and this perception is always painful, where it seems to arise from any thing wilful or systematic. Those who first hear Mr. Braham, are struck with a noble simplicity and fervour in his manner of expressing certain emotions, in the eagerness with which he seems to fling himself into his subject, disdaining the rules of art, like the combatant who rushes without his armour to the battle: the sounds he utters appear to rend his own bosom, or, at other times, linger in fluttering accents on his lips. The communication between the voice and the feelings is immediate, instantaneous, irresistible; and the language of music seems the language of nature and passion. But when the sound becomes not only an echo to the sense, but to itself—when the same alternation of bursts of heroic passion, and thrillings of sentimental tenderness is constantly played off upon us—when there is nothing but this trite transition from the con furio, con strepito, to the affettuoso and adagio style, in their greatest extremes-we then begin to perceive something like a trick, and are little more affected than by reading the marginal directions in a music book. The inspiration of genius is fled; that which before breathed the very soul of music, becomes little better than a puppet, and like all other puppets, is good only according to its compass, and the number of evolutions it performs. We have here spoken of

directness and simplicity of style, as Mr. Braham's forte in singing; for though we agree that he has too much ornament (a very little is too much), yet we can by no means allow that this can be made an unqualified objection to his style, for he has much less than other singers.

Of Mr. Philipps we would not wish to speak; but as he puts himself forward and is put forward by others, we must say something. He is said to be an imitator of Mr. Braham; if so, the imitation is a vile one. This gentleman has one qualification, which has been said to be the great secret of pleasing others, that he is evidently pleased with himself. But he does not produce a corresponding effect upon us; we have not one particle of sympathy with his wonderful self-complacency. We should wish never to hear him sing again; or, if he must sing, at least, we should hope never to see him act: let him not top his part--why should he sigh, and ogle, and languish, and display all his accomplishments -he should spare the side-boxes!-Mrs. Dickons never appeared to us any thing but an ordinary musical instrument, and at present she is very much out of tune.' We do not well understand what has been said of this piece having called forth all the musical strength of the house: except Braham's, there was not a single song sung so as not to give pain, even to a moderately cultivated ear. In this censure, we do not (of course) include Miss Kelly; in seeing her, we never think of her singing. The comic parts of this opera (if such they can be called) were sustained by Miss Kelly, Mr. Munden,3 and Mr. Knight. Miss Kelly did the

1 Mrs. Dickons made "her first appearance since her late severe indisposition." Her maiden name was Maria Poole.

2 Frances Maria Kelly (1790-1882) made her first appearance at the Haymarket in 1808. She was known as The Child of Nature."

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3 Joseph Shepherd Munden (1758-1832) made his first appearance at Covent Garden in 1790, and took his farewell of the stage May 31, 1824. 4 Edward Knight (1774-1826) made his first appearance at the Lyceum in 1809. He was known as "Little Knight,” being only about five feet two inches in height.