Chapter XIV (4)

It would be well, if it were in our power, in looking back upon the past season, to find that _all_ things had been done, which justice requires to be done, by an establishment so flourishing as the Park Theatre. But unluckily, there is more left undone, than any excuse which the management can produce can palliate. We can affirm, without fear of contradiction, that there is no theatre in the world, whose immediate support, from the _public_, can bear comparison with the Park Theatre. No theatre in this country, it is well known, pretends to boast of the immense and constant patronage of the Park. The successive bankruptcies of almost every manager who has attempted to direct the concerns of the principal English theatres, is notorious, and is quite sufficient proof of their want of support from the public; and among the uncounted and uncountable theatres of the gayest and most theatrical nation in the world, those that depend upon their superior attractions for their great names, depend also upon government for their principal support. In Germany, there is the same dependence; and in Italy, the land of song, the very hot-bed of musical genius, opera itself does not find its support in the public alone, but is fostered and encouraged, both by the civil and ecclesiastical authorities. Such being the enviable situation of the Park Theatre, it is no more than reasonable to expect from it a just acknowledgment of its incomparable obligations, in the _perfection_ of every thing belonging to its management and direction. A very brief examination of its present qualifications, will show whether or not this acknowledgment has been, or is likely to be, promptly awarded. There is in the stock company of this theatre, _one_ good comedian, unequalled in America, we _know_, and unexcelled in any other country, we _believe_; one comic actress, without a superior, in the characters of the veteran dowagers, venerable and doting nurses, ancient spinsters, and old women generally; one tolerable _farceur_, who would be a comedian, if he would be content to be natural, and had a sufficient knowledge of the eccentricities of character to be aware that extravagance is not _always_ their prominent trait. One second comedian for old men, country-clowns, talkative, officious servants, such as _Pedro_, in 'Cinderella;' one 'actress of all work,' especially good in chambermaids, and never bad in any thing which the paucity of talent among the ladies of this company _obliges_ her to undertake; two good light comedians, one of them always sufficient for second characters in tragedy, and the other particularly effective in the heavy villains of opera and melodrama; one interesting and sensible actress for the ladies of comedy, and never at fault as a hoyden, or the spoilt miss of a boarding-school;[12] one third-rate singer among the men; one 'ditto ditto' among the women; one infatuated youth, whose pretty face is regularly disfigured with the paint that goes to make up the faces of 'scape-grace nephews' or interesting 'lovers' in sentimental farces; one good reader, who plays second parts in tragedy; one bad reader, and worse actor, who rolls though Shakspeare and Sheridan with equal effect; one man who does the dukes, and plays the kings, because he is _fat_; these, with sundry female chorus-singers, who appear constantly as 'walking ladies,' and do occasionally a bit of heavy business in tragedy, and several individual supernumeraries, who are constantly sent on as 'gentlemen,' and being so addressed by the other characters, endeavor, by all sorts of awkward graces, to stultify the audience into the belief that they _are_ so--these, and these alone, constitute the stock-company of the most liberally-supported metropolitan theatre in the world! Ask where is its single tragedian, either male or female; its duplicate comedian; its additional actor or actress, of any character; its capacity, in short, to enact any one tragedy or comedy in all its parts, and 'echo answers where!' And to _manage_ this inefficient company, seek for the 'stage-manager,' and if we are not mistaken, he will be found among the things 'that were, but are not.' There are the materials in this city alone, sufficient to furnish forth a _corps dramatique_ worthy of the Park Theatre. We have shown that the company _needs_ replenishing, and it should be so replenished that every character in the drama might have a fitting representative. As the company at present exists, its best members do double duty; playing both tragedy and comedy, as dire necessity requires; while its subordinates are constantly forced into characters utterly beyond their ability even to comprehend, and to shape them even into an outward resemblance of which, all the efforts of tailors and stage-dressers must prove totally abortive. It is not proper that Mr. JOHN MASON should play both _Macbeth_ and _Jeremy Diddler_, unless for his own amusement. It is not reasonable, that the same person who officiates as tragedian, should be compelled, after 'doing the terrible' in a five-act tragedy, to assist in executing the comicalities of a broad farce; nor is it more in keeping with the illusion of theatrical displays, that the identical lady who does the 'heavy business' of tragedy, should throw aside her robes of dignity, and immediately thereafter come tripping on in the after-piece, as a coquettish chambermaid. Yet such incongruities have been repeatedly practised, and must of necessity continue to be so, until the management see fit to supply their establishment with a full complement of forces.

There are many other things which need reform. The 'wardrobe wants replenishing.' The orchestra needs both addition and subtraction, as well as the company on the stage. The police are worse than useless; being notorious for creating more disturbance than they ever quell. When all these matters are brought to their just propriety, the Park Theatre will be worthy of the liberal encouragement which the public have shown themselves disposed to exhibit toward it, and not before.

FOOTNOTE:

[12] We regret to state, that the lady here alluded to has taken her farewell of the American public and that the company has thereby suffered a loss it cannot soon repair.

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SINCE the above was penned, the Park Theatre, after a brief intermission, has reopened, to commence another, and we hope a prosperous season. The interior of the house has been much improved, in the decoration and thorough painting which it has undergone. The new drop-curtain, painted by Mr. EVERS, is the most prominent addition to the local ornaments of the house. It represents the well-known picture of the court, as convened for the trial of Queen Catharine, and is well worthy of the high reputation of the artist. The likenesses, according to the original picture, by Harlowe, are generally well preserved. The figure of Mrs. Siddons is perhaps somewhat large and masculine, but the bold, commanding dignity of her look and action is perfectly maintained. The portrait of Charles Kemble is true and familiar, even to those of us who have only seen him when time had somewhat wrinkled his noble front. The face of John Kemble seems to us, in the copy, more full and round, and the features more massive, than in the original. Our own lamented Conway presents a figure on the canvass at the Park, which is hardly justified by Harlowe. His face and person are not as we remember them. They are too muscular and broad in their proportions. Conway, as we knew him, was of a tall figure, but rather delicately than strongly put together. The other personages do not differ materially from the pictured originals, and are certainly far superior, as figures, to any that we have ever before seen from the hand of Mr. Evers. We think, however, that the artist has committed the common fault of crowding his figures too closely. The frame seems too small for so many _tall_ persons, and all of them _prominent_. If the space within the frame were larger, or the figures smaller, and placed at more reasonable distances, this production would be almost faultless. The draperies are naturally and gracefully drawn; the coloring, perhaps, a little too bright and glaring for the chaste and subdued white and gold in which the interior of the house is dressed. Of the good taste displayed in the coloring and decorations of the pannels of the boxes, and of the whole interior, from pit to gallery, with the splendid dome which crowns the regenerated arena of our 'Old Drury,' too much cannot be said in commendation. A rich propriety characterizes the painting, and ornamental devices, and the whole reflects abundant credit upon the improved taste of Mr. Evers and his assistants.

Mr. HUGHES, from the London theatres, has taken the leader's chair in the orchestra; and from the exhibitions which he has already made of his skill, seems destined to fill it worthily. Our space will not allow us to speak of our old favorite, MRS. SHARPE, who made her first appearance here for some years on the opening evening. She was greeted with a most hearty welcome, and played with all the spirit and vivacity which formerly characterized her efforts in comedy. MRS. CHIPPENDALE also made her courtesy; and her efforts to please, as Isabella, in the 'Wonder,' were well received.

C.

PATHOS.--True pathos is not only one of the most striking but the most durable attributes of real eloquence. It will live in the heart for years, recurring ever and anon to the memory, 'mournful and yet pleasant to the soul.' There is nothing so difficult to feign, as pathos. It is the language of _the heart_; and while the orator can 'pump up a feeling' of grandeur or sublimity, and wreak it upon expression, and the bard, under the influence of an imaginary afflatus, can excite a reader's _pity_ for fanciful misfortune, yet neither can affect a pathos, which an intelligent auditory or reader will not at once detect. Of the many scenes or events which have aroused this emotion in our bosom, since childhood, there is not one which may not be called up from the dark backward of the past, with the vividness of an occurrence of yesterday.

These thoughts have been awakened, by meeting the following exquisite example of pathos in an ancient common-place book. Simple as it is, we venture to say there is not one under whose eye it will fall, who can read it for the first time, or re-peruse it, without emotion:

"MY MOTHER'S GRAVE.

"I had a mother once, like you,
Who o'er my pillow hung,
Kissed from my cheek the briny dew,
And taught my faltering tongue.
But then, there came a fearful day--
I sought my mother's bed,
Till harsh hands tore me thence away,
And told me she was dead!"

"IT was thirteen years since my mother's death, when, after a
long absence from my native village, I stood beside the sacred
mound, beneath which I had seen her buried. Since that mournful
period, great changes had come over me. My childish years had
passed away; and with them had passed my youthful character.
The world was altered too; and as I stood at my mother's grave,
I could hardly realize that I was the same thoughtless, happy
creature, whose cheek she so often kissed in her excess of
tenderness. But the varied events of thirteen years had not
effaced the remembrance of that mother's smile. It seemed as
if I had seen her yesterday--as if the blessed sound of her
voice was then in my ear. The gay dreams of my infancy and
childhood were brought back so distinctly to my mind, that had
it not been for one bitter recollection, the tears I shed would
have been gentle and refreshing. The circumstance may seem a
trifling one; but the thought of it, even now, agonizes my
heart--and I relate it, that those children who have parents to
love them, may learn to value them as they ought.

"My mother had been ill a long time; and I had become so much
accustomed to her pale face, and weak voice, that I was not
frightened at them, as children usually are. At first, it is
true, I had sobbed violently--for they told me she would die;
but when, day after day, I returned from school, and found her
the same, I began to believe she would always be spared to me.

"One day, when I had lost my place in the class, and done my
work wrong-side-outward, I came home discouraged and fretful.
I went into my mother's chamber. She was paler than usual--but
she met me with the same affectionate smile that always
welcomed my return. Alas! when I look back, through the lapse
of thirteen years, I think my heart must have been stone, not
to have been melted by it.

"She requested me to go down stairs, and bring her a glass of
water. I pettishly asked why she did not call the domestic
to do it. With a look of mild reproach, which I shall never
forget, if I live to be a hundred years old, she said, 'And
will not my daughter bring a glass of water for her poor sick
mother?'

"I went and brought her the water; but I did not do it kindly.
Instead of smiling, and kissing her, as I was wont to do, I sat
the glass down very quick, and left the room.

"After playing a short time, I went to bed, without bidding my
mother 'good night;' but when alone in my room, in darkness and
silence, I remembered how pale she looked, and how her faint
voice trembled, when she said, 'Will not my daughter bring a
glass of water for her poor sick mother?' I could not sleep;
and I stole into her chamber, to ask forgiveness. She had just
sunk into an uneasy slumber; and they told me I must not waken
her. I did not tell any one what troubled me; but stole back to
my bed, resolved to rise early in the morning, and tell her how
sorry I was for my conduct.

"The sun was shining brightly when I awoke, and hurrying on my
clothes, I hastened to my mother's room.

"She was dead! She never spoke to me more--never smiled upon
me again! And when I touched the hand that used to rest upon
my head in blessing, it was so cold it made me start. I bowed
down by her side, and sobbed in the bitterness of my heart.
I thought then I wished I could die, and be buried with her;
and old as I now am, I would give worlds, were they mine to
give, could my mother but have lived to tell me she forgave
my childish ingratitude. But I cannot call her back; and when
I stand by her grave, and whenever I think of her manifold
kindness, the memory of that reproachful look she gave me, will
'bite like a serpent, and sting like an adder.'"

Near this beautiful fragment, in the time-honored receptacle of literary 'things lost upon earth' to which we have alluded, we find a kindred specimen, in the affecting 'Lines written by an East-India Officer on his Return from India.' They are as old as the hills, and as lasting; and we still sympathize as deeply and sincerely with the

----'Stranger in a stranger clime,
Where stranger voices mock his ear,'

as when we first read of his desolation of heart, we know not how many years ago. There is a melting tenderness in his musings, amid the sights and sounds now strange to his eye and ear, and among the graves of the friends of his youth, who have long since been 'followed to the house of mourning, and forgotten in the dust,' which is to us irresistibly touching. We feel the holy sadness of his blighted affection, when he wakes from dreams of departed years, and the loved ones who blessed his childhood--dreams which come to him in a sleep finally won to his bed in the late and troubled night-watches--and in alternate joy and bitterness of soul, exclaims:

'I see each shade all silvery white,
I hear each spirit's melting sigh;
I turn to clasp those forms of light,
And the pale morning chills mine eye!'

We shall never forget a scene in which deep pathos was a principal characteristic, which we once beheld, at a country church, in one of the thinly-populated, humble towns of western New-York. A pious clergyman, of the Baptist denomination, whose 'three-score years and ten' had turned his hair to snow, and given to his limbs the tremulousness of age, was to preach his farewell discourse to his little congregation, over whom he had presided for nearly half a century. The place itself, and the time, were accessaries to the 'abiding effect' which was left upon the minds of all who were present. It was the afternoon of a mild October day, and the sere leaves of the trees which shaded the church were falling in slow eddies by the open windows. After recapitulating his long labors among them--his teachings 'publicly, and from house to house'--his attendance upon the marriage festivals of those whom he had afterward consigned to the grave with bitter tears--the christenings and funerals he had celebrated--after these affectionate reminiscences, which touched an answering chord in the bosom of every hearer--he adverted to that day wherein all the actors in the drama of life must enter at the last scene, to complete and make up the sublime catastrophe, and warned them to prepare for its momentous solemnities. 'For myself,' said he, 'I can say--standing upon a narrow point between two eternities, and looking back upon a world imperfect and fading, and upon friends dear indeed, but more fleeting still--that I account myself as nothing, until I was my Saviour's, and enrolled in the register of Christ.' And raising his trembling, attenuated hands to heaven, his dim eyes streaming with tears--for, though he had struggled against emotion, his feelings now overcame him--he repeated these lines, in the most melting cadence:

'Ere since by faith I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming Love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die:
_Then_, in a nobler, sweeter song,
I'll sing thy power to save,
When this poor lisping, faltering tongue
Lies silent in the grave!

The look which followed these touching stanzas--the subdued emotion, the pious hope, which beamed in the countenance of the venerable father--will never fade from the memory of those who heard him. The heart of the speaker was poured forth; he was embodied Pathos.

* * * * *

NEW-YORK MERCANTILE LIBRARY ASSOCIATION.--We hear, with sincere pleasure, of the continued success and improvement of this widely-useful institution. A large increase of its already extended list of members; additions of new and valuable books; accessions of magazines, and the higher order of periodicals; and ample preparations for a series of lectures from some of the best minds of the country, are some of the more prominent indications of the 'high and palmy state' to which we have alluded. Let but party disaffections be religiously avoided--let the members but strengthen each other's hands in the advancement of the great interests of the association--and the institution, for whose original foundation we are mainly indebted to the benevolent efforts of WILLIAM WOOD, ESQ., of Canandaigua, will become one of which both our city and state may be justly proud.

* * * * *

LAPLACE.--We have received a small and handsomely-printed pamphlet, containing 'An Historical Eulogy of M. Le MARQUIS DE LAPLACE, pronounced in the Public Session of the Royal Academy of Sciences, at Paris, June 15, 1829. By M. Le BARON FOURIER, Perpetual Secretary.' Translated from the French, by R. W. HASKINS, ESQ., of Buffalo. We regard this as an excellent and compendious history of one of the most eminent scientific men France has ever produced. It is the tribute of a mind capable of appreciating the labors of one 'who enlarged the domain of thought, and taught man the dignity of his being, by unveiling to his view all the majesty of the heavens,' and whose name the world will not 'willingly let die.' A clear and forcible style assures us that the original has lost little in the hands of the translator.

* * * * *

*.* The reply of SAMUEL KIRKHAM, ESQ., to the extract from Mr.
GOOLD BROWN's 'Grammar of English Grammars,' will appear in
the October number. Having 'redeemed the time,' it may not be
amiss to state, 'in this connection,' that the KNICKERBOCKER,
will hereafter be issued with punctuality on the first of every
month.