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MRS. SHARPE.
This lady, though a favorite with the public,
scarcely holds that place in their estimation which
might be expected from her varied and manifold
qualifications. The parts, to be sure, in which she
generally appears, do not admit of any brilliant
display of talent, and therefore Mrs. Sharpe's sensible
and spirited manner of performing them only
elicits a moderate share of approbation, though the
aggregate pleasure derived from her performances
is probably greater than from those of many who
claim a loftier station in the profession. She is the
Mrs. Woodhull of the Park theatre—that is, she
holds the same rank in the feminine department,
which that worthy gentleman does in the masculine,
and is, like him, endowed in a high degree,
with the yankee faculty of turning her hand to any
thing. She is a very fair singer, an excellent
“walking lady,” and a capital comedian. Besides,
rather, a tolerable knack at declamation, and scolds
in blank verse “with good emphasis and discretion.”
The necessities of the theatre, we presume,
caused her to appear once or twice as Elvira during
the past season; and although it is a character altogether
out of her line, she performed it better than
any woman we have seen attempt it on these
boards. She looked well as the haughty Spanish
beauty—“disdain and scorn rode sparkling in her
eyes”—and in the fourth act she rated Pizarro in
good round terms. This, however, is not the department
in which Mrs. S. must hope to attain excellence.
In comedy she is always happy, and
divides the chambermaid business with the inimitable
Mrs. Wheatley, without losing much by the
comparison. She also takes charge of the characters
of nearly all the young and middle-aged ladies.
Now, there are plenty of actresses who undertake
to do the same thing, but unfortunately they cannot
change their manners with their dress, and
continue just as vulgar in silk as they were in
calico; being evidently nothing better than dressedup
chambermaids. This is not the case with Mrs.
Sharpe, she can scold, lie, and flirt like a waitingwoman,
and look, speak, and act like a lady—she can be
boisterous in the kitchen, and stately in the hall—
skill and dexterity. By the way, she has an uncommonly
picturesque manner of repulsing improper
overtures; when playing an innocent maid,
wife, or widow, and any of the stage libertines go
down on their knees and unfold their wicked intentions,
she has a style of curling her lip, flashing
her eye, folding her arms, and drawing up her person
with an air of insulted virtue, which must produce
a prodigious moral effect upon the kneeling
sinner and the attentive audience. In parts, likewise,
where an union of good acting and tolerable
singing is required, such as Georgette Clairville or
Donna Anna, in Don Giovanni, it would be difficult
to find her equal.
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