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Familiar Epistles To Frederick J---s, Esq

On the Present State of the Irish Stage. Second Edition with Considerable Additions [by J. W. Croker]
  
  
  

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FOURTH EPISTLE.
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67

FOURTH EPISTLE.

------ tragœdus
Sub nutrice, velut si luderit insans.
Hor. Epis. ad Aug.

Hush! 'tis attention all around,
Fixed is each eye and stilled each sound,
Silence on every lip is pressed,
And pleasure throbs in every breast.
What is to come? will Barry rise,
Or Garrick glad our wond'ring eyes?
What miracle is to be wrought
Beyond the common scope of thought?

68

“The cry is now they come, they come”
And lo! Glenalvon, and—Tom Thumb:
Now clapping hands, and loud huzzas
Thunder the rapture of applause,
The very walls are rocked and why—
The hero's only four feet high!
The noise redoubles,—we are told
The hero's only twelve years old!

69

But oh! what language could we find,
The raptures of the critic mind
To tell, could we our Douglas call,
But two years old, and two feet tall!!!
No wonder Randolph should be jealous,
He such a charming little fellow's,
See how he steps in stately pride
At least six inches every stride,
See how he swells with lordly rage
Altho' no higher than a page;—

70

In vain two barons stout and gaunt,
The little Grildrig strive to daunt,
O'er both he triumphs, and alack!
Slays one;—Oh giant-killing Jack!!!
And is this then the wond'rous bait
For loud applause and houses great,
The Roscius, this whose radiance bright,
Should dim the ineffectual light

71

Of all the glow-worms of the stage,
Of every size and every age?—
An infant taken from his school,
A pitying Public to befool,
A baby victim, to atone
For all the faults of folks full grown:
As for the people's sins, of old
They slew the firstling of the fold,

72

And thought the Gods would never damn
Those who should sacrifice a lamb.
Poor child, thy age and infant fears,
Thy talents far beyond thy years,
Thy simple tones untuned by art,
Would melt to praise the critic heart,
Were praise not ruin;—if you now
To plain advice refuse to bow,
And rather lay thy boyish claim
To gusts of praise, than lasting fame;—

73

For some few months we'll call you clever,
And then, poor child,—farewell for ever.”
But to thy studies hence again—
Turn the page, and guide the pen;
Leave to the fribble and the fool,
To scorn the seasoning of the school.
In History's magic glass, descry
How sages live, and heroes die,

74

From lively Greece, and sober Rome,
Import their manners and costume,
Weigh all thy parts with learned care,
Be first a critic, then a player;—

75

And when, too soon, the flight of time
Shall give thy shape its manly prime,
And thought and study have resin'd,
And stored with classic taste thy mind;
Then to the scene return, and claim
Thy well-earned mead,—perennial fame.
Enough;—fair Kn---ton now to you—
The poet's critic song is due;

76

Mild and attractive—nature's mould
Ne'er formed thee for the loud and bold—
To rule with haughty Margaret's air,
To shriek Alicia's mad despair,
To pour with Constance, hatred's flood,
Or grasp the daggers steeped in blood.
It meant thee for the gentler parts
Of moistened eyes, and melting hearts;
The humble sympathetic friend,
Prompt to weep—to bear—to bend,
The duteous child, submissive wife,
And all the softer shades of life.
But sad reverse—the face and form
Which art might animate and warm,

77

You clearly shew in every part,
Have never known the care of art.
And thus the choicest gifts are lost,
Torpor your calm,—your mildness frost;
Untouched you smile,—unmoved you weep,—
Your voice a dream—your silence sleep.
To bear our opera's whole weight,
The atlas of our vocal state,
Who of all Crow-street's sons alone,
Can read a note or swell a tone,
Comes smirking Ph---ips full of graces,
Tottering in his girlish paces,

78

With feeble voice, yet sweet and true,
(Where taste has done, what taste can do.)
But of his pipe so vain withal,
That faith he never sings at all—

79

Poor gentleman, he's moved with wonder,
That folks should think he'd act Leander—
But if you give the part of Braham,
Perhaps he'll condescend to play 'em;
Or if you beg it, will attack a
Bravura, Arriette, Polacca,
But to sing every common air,
Is more than gentlemen can bear.

80

Be not, good Sir, so wond'rous vain,
Tho' heaven bestowed the vocal strain—
All but yourself can see your cursed
To sing the best, and act the worst.
 

A child of the name of Beatty, a native of Belfast, has been very lately added to the force of the company, “mercy on us, a bearne; a very pretty bearne” indeed—but so young, as even in the part of Douglas, to throw an appearance of ridicule and fantocinity over the whole performance. This folly of exhibiting children, is not quite modern. “There is, Sir,” says Rosincrantz to Hamlet “an aiery of young children little eyases, that cry out on the top of question, and are most tyrannically clapped for it.—These are now the fashion”—but I believe it never was, before this year, the fashion to introduce one infant to play the first characters among men and women—oh! 'tis a dainty device to attract an audience, Daly's poney races were not much worse.

Though I only take notice of this part, it is meet to set it down, that the infant played Romeo to Mrs. Kni---ton's Juliet, and that they looked like an overgrown girl and her doll. I should not be much amazed to see him advertised for Henry the VIII. or Sir John Falstaffe.—He has also played Prince Arthur: this was as it should be, mirabile dictu!—Since the first part of this note was written, this ill-fated Baby has been exhibited in Hamlet!!!—Absurdity, cruelty, and contempt, could have devised nothing more insulting to good sense, humanity, and the Public.

The victory of Beatty over Hargrave, (Infelix puer atque impar congressus Achilli) was like the battles in Mother Goose's tales, in which fairies never fail to overcome giants; but the wonder is not greater than that one individual should subdue the good sense of a whole city, into a thraldom.

This was the modest title under which the “little eyase,” was announced “ad captandum vulgus,” and it did its office with a vengeance. I heard some of my brethren of the pit discoursing, “who this Roscius could be;” one learned gentleman asserted, that it was one Garrick's christian name; but the general opinion seemed to be, that he was a French actor, who had been guillotined in the early days of the revolution. Those critics I observed to be particularly loud and judicious in their applauses, as might be supposed.

Children have ever been an engine of pity and pardon;

------ Speak, thou boy,
Perhaps thy childishness will move them more
Than our reason ------
but in this instance the very production of the intercessor is an aggravation.

La quale (dispositione) accompagnata del' ajuto ordinario delle forze umane, può un giorno, rendere quel giovine de sommo talento. Vit. de Sisto. V.

I do not deny the boy's abilities, but I protest against turning the stage into a nursery; and I lament that a promising child should be deprived “del' ajuto ordinario,” which might make him an useful man, to be converted into a source of theatrical revenue, and public ridicule.—“Young men,” says Bacon, “should be learners, while men grown up are actors:”—This is true in every sense.

The number of good actors who were not men of education is very small: but now a days we imagine that all talents come by inspiration, and that great abilities are the result of the temporary exertion of what are called, our energies.—“Tout est bien, sortant des mains de l'auteur des choses, tout dégénère entre les mains de l'homme.” Many persons seem to have read no farther in Emile than the first sentence, which is the most false and sophistical in the whole work—et c'est beau-coup dire.

Fatendum Latinos fere à Græcis vinci lepôre, sed vincere gravitate. Voss. de Poet. Lat. c. 7.

Were it not for some men of education who, luckily for the pleasures of the world, became managers and actors, we should still have Cato played in a full-bottomed wig, and Coriolanus en habit galonné, and peruque a la reine—

When from the court a birth-day suit bestowed,
Sinks the last actor in a tawdry load.
Booth enters;—hark! the universal peal!
“But has he spoken?”—not a syllable,
“What shook the stage and made the people stare?”
Cato's long wig, flower'd gown, and lacquer'd chair.

Pope.

“Il portait,” says Scarron of M. Destin, des chausses troussées a bas d'attache comme celles des comediens quand ils reprèsentent un héros de l'antiquité.”

I have given, perhaps, to Beatty more than his share of attention, but I shall not lament my trouble, if I should have any influence in dissuading him from persisting, at present, in his dramatic pursuits, and in restoring him to the lessons of his masters 'till he can say with the son of Ulysses:—

------ εγω δ' ετι νηπιος ηα.
Νυν δ' οτε δη μεγας ειμι, και αλλων μυθον ακουων
Πυνθανομαι, και δη μοι αεξεται ενδοθι θυμος,
Πειρησω.------

This lady has some neglected capabilities about her, but she is one of the most inanimate actresses I have ever seen.

In heroic soubrettes, the Annas, the Cleones, and the Cephisas, Mrs. Kn---ton might be very respectable. We could wish to see her name substituted in general, for that of Mrs. Chal---ers, who is by no means fit even for the parts she plays.

It is very agreeable to me to be able to say, that in some passages of the character of Amelrosa, Mrs. Kn---ton was an exception to herself—she was animated and affecting.

Phi---ips has some merit as a singer;—his voice is, however, better adapted to a room, than to a theatre—and to the accompaniment of a forte-piano, than of an orchestra—but he is, as I am informed, so intolerably vain, that it is sometimes difficult to induce him to play. Singers have ever been remarked for their capriciousness, but even he whom Horace ridicules for that folly, did not, as would seem, presume to carry it farther than his own private circle.

Omnibus hoc vitium est cantoribus, inter amicos Ut nunquam inducant animum cantare rogati.” Tigellius would never, I dare swear, disappoint the public. Poor Mr. Phi---ps, who, like other fine gentlemen, is rather nervous, has been prodigiously disconcerted at this mention of him; but to do him justice, I think he will take care not to deserve a repetition of my notice, and that I shall have the pleasure of reclaiming him from lounging Dame-street, and founding clubs.

To check these heroes, and their laurels crop,
To bring them back to reason and the shop.
has been one of my principal objects, and that in which, it seems, I am most likely to succeed.

Mr. Phi---ips is reported to have refused the part of Leander in the Padlock, as below his mark; and still more wonderful to relate, they had no one to supply his place, Mr. Phi---ips being the only professed singer at present on the Irish stage, except Messrs. Co---e and Li---say, who, I suppose, declined the character also. I should have been much pleased to have seen either of those latter gentlemen attempt it, “it would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever.”

Mr. Phi---ips, I am told, piques himself on being much of a gentleman, I am exceedingly glad of it; and as it is now become quite vulgar to be indisposed, we hope he will get entirely well of those sudden and periodic colds that so often affect him, and deprive us of the pleasure of hearing him. Is Mr. Phi---ips ashamed of a title which the first Lord of the Treasury boasts of, that of a servant of the Public?

At present I shall say no more of this muscadinsongster—but

Habeo alia multa quæ nunc condonabitur.
Quæ proferentur post, si perget tædere.