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CLARA FISHER
When nature quits the even tenor of her way to
form a prodigy, and manufactures clay out of the
ordinary routine of business, to which long habit
has accustomed her, she generally does herself no
credit, but instead of a beauty spot, drops a blot upon
the fair face of creation—a wart—an excrescence.
Her commonest freaks in this way are—giants
and dwarfs—learned pigs—calves with two heads,
which those with only one throng to see—or calculating
youths, like famous Master Bidder, who go
through the arithmetic without flogging, and know
by intuition that two and two make four. But of
all her prodigies, the precocious theatrical prodigy is
the most to be dreaded and avoided. It is in general
a pert little creature, which has been taught to
repeat certain words like a parrot, and drilled to
imitate certain actions like a monkey, and is then
stuck upon the stage for “children of a larger
better reason than because it is six years old and
two feet odd inches high, as if all man and womankind
had not been, at one period of their lives, just
as old and as high. To sit and witness the abortive
attempts of such animalcules, when there are
full grown men and women in the world, is about
as sensible as to eat green fruit when one can get
ripe. We always eschewed these small evils; and
though having numerous opportunities, could never
be prevailed upon, same few years back, to go and
see the then little Miss Clara Fisher represent Gloster,
“that bloody and devouring boar;” Hamlet, Shylock,
or any other appropriate character; and hearing
that she was on her way to this country, we
thought Mr. Simpson had done a very foolish thing,
and made many wise predictions to the effect that
she would be found altogether worthless and good
for nothing.—Perhaps no one ever entered a theatre
more full of prejudice than we did against the young
and blooming girl, just bursting into womanhood,
who at that moment came forward upon the stage,
and dropped one of the most graceful curtsies that
ever woman made, to the admiring audience. We
expected to see something small, impertinent, and
disagreeable; but instead, here was a sight of all
others most grateful to the eye—a beautiful female
feelings was at once swept away. The first three
acts of the piece (The Will) exhibited some agreeable
acting, though nothing extraordinary; but
when, in the fourth, she gave “The Bonnets of
Blue,” with all the fire and enthusiasm of a devoted
follower of “Charlie the chief o' the clan,” an instantaneous
and total renunciation of all preconceived
opinions took place; and before she had
finished her personation of the four Mowbrays, we
were thoroughly convinced that Clara Fisher was
one of the most natural, charming, clever, sensible,
sprightly actresses that ever bewitched an audience,
and to that opinion we ever have since firmly adhered.
In form and feature Clara Fisher is neither dignified
nor beautiful, but she is irresistibly fascinating,
and that is better than all the dignity and
beauty in the world. Her form is finely proportioned—smoothly
and gracefully rounded, with
more of the Hebe than the sylph about it, and when
in motion most flexible and waving. Her face, as
was said of Mrs. Jordan's, “is all expression, without
being all beauty.” There is no word that will
exactly characterize it: “pretty,” is unmeaning,
and it does not strictly come up to the idea conveyed
by the word “handsome.” It is at all times,
of calm repose; but when the passion of the
scene stirs the mind within, and that mind is reflected
in the countenance—when the eloquent
eye is lighted up by feeling, and the smooth
cheeks clustered with smiles and dimples, then
that face is indeed lovely.—In appropriate gesture
and action she is most “express and admirable.”
This is, in fact, one of her most prominent
characteristics; and if we were asked in what particular
Clara Fisher was superior to any other
actress, we should answer, in the perfect grace and
freedom of her motions. In this respect she is a
little English Vestris; and if any one doubts it, let
him pay particular attention to the singularly appropriate
beauty of her action in singing the spirited
Scotch ballad before alluded to: the toss of her
head which accompanies the utterance of the word
“hurrah,” is precisely the one thing that Matthews
cannot imitate.
She is one of nature's actresses. Perhaps no one
ever so completely possessed the faculty of mobility,
or entered with more keen enjoyment into the spirit
of the part represented. Her whole soul appears to
be in every thing she does, and we believe it is not
only so in seeming, but in reality. From the infinite
variety of characters in which she appears, it
analysis of them. The days of her Richard and
Shylock are, it is to be hoped, over for ever, though
there were many sensible things in both these parts
—correct conceptions and original and spirited readings,
which older heads might adopt with advantage;
but it was vexing to see a young and beautiful
girl in such a part as Shylock, and the better she
played it, the more provoking it was. In comedy
there is a glorious and boundless prospect before her,
and it is there she appears most perfectly at home.
To the high-flown fashionable dames of genteel
comedy she cannot as yet do justice, though the
time may come when she will do so. One thing is
against her. In the lady of high life there is much
that is artificial. Now Miss Fisher is too natural
for such characters; her spirits are too wild and untameable
to be “cabin'd, cribbed, confined, bound
in,” by the ordinances of a highly polished state of
society. Her fine ladies are consequently full of
brilliant points—excellent in detached scenes and
sentences, but not in keeping as a whole. In parts
where nature has fair play, such as Peggy in the
Country Girl, or Phebe in Paul Pry, “none but
herself can be her parallel.” How different from
these, yet how delightful in itself, was her Viola in
Twelfth Night. We were never before so conscious
voice,” as when giving utterance to the exquisite
poetry which Shakspeare has put into the mouth of
“brown Viola.” It was in truth “most musical,
most melancholy.”
The reputation of Clara Fisher has, in a great
measure, been built on her representation of the
more eccentric parts of the drama, such as the
Mowbrays, Little Pickles, &c. and of their kind
they are perfect specimens of dramatic excellence.
Some may think these are at the best but trifling
affairs; we do not. A delineation true to nature is
a rare thing, and well worth looking after in whatever
shape it is to be found. Miss Fisher has rather
a penchant for male attire, which is not to be wondered
at, for it becomes her well: all other women
whom we have seen wear the inexpressibles in public,
cannot forget their sex, but betray throughout a
smirking consciousness that they are feminine, and
are of course for the most part awkward and embarrassed;
she appears to forget her dress and all
other minor considerations in the character she is
representing.
Before coming to a conclusion, a few words about
her singing. Perhaps no one with such limited
powers of voice, ever equalled Miss Fisher
in the effect which she gives to a song. She
spirited or tender and impressive manner. Her face
is a mirror where every sentiment of humor or
feeling expressed in the verse is reflected. What a
delightful piece of pleasantry is her “Fall not in
love;” and how tame and vapid any of her little
simple ballads sound when sung afterwards by
vocalists of superior pretensions. But there is no
end to her varied qualifications, and there seems to
be scarcely any limit to her powers.
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