Part 3

Mrs. Russell, while at Burton's in 1849, and a great favorite, was married to John Hoey of express fame, and shortly thereafter retired from the stage, the manager doing the honors at her farewell, and presenting her on the occasion with a valuable testimonial of his regard. Long afterward Mrs. Hoey was induced by the elder Wallack to forsake her retirement, and for many years was the leading lady at his theatre, her refined manners, correct taste, and exquisite toilets, exciting anew public esteem and admiration. She quitted the stage and returned to private life in 1865.

Miss Lizzie Weston, whose beauty, dramatic aptitude, and versatility, won nightly plaudits, and whose performance was not without much that was highly meritorious, signalized a career more or less checkered by uniting her fortunes with those of the late Charles Mathews, during his starring tour in 1858, and is now the widow of that famous actor.

Miss Malvina, a sister of Mrs. Barney Williams, was a _danseuse_ at Burton's,--for it was the fashion in the old days to beguile the lazy time between the pieces with a Terpsichorean interlude; and we remember but one instance of her appearance in any other character, and that was a minor part in the farce of "A School for Tigers." She became Mrs. Wm. J. Florence in 1853, and has since shared her husband's fortunes and honors. Miss Agnes Robertson made her débût in New York at the Chambers Street Theatre, October 22, 1853, as _Milly_ in "The Young Actress," and has since been well known as the wife of Dion Boucicault.

A more illustrious alliance--so soon to end in piteous sorrow--was the portion of Mary Devlin. She was a minor actress at Burton's, but a woman of rare and lovely character. So much so, that she won the heart of Edwin Booth, and became his wife, and the idol of his home, till death early called her from his side. It was in memory of this sweet and gentle lady, that the poet Thomas William Parsons penned the following exquisite stanzas:

"What shall we do now, Mary being dead, Or say, or write, that shall express the half? What can we do but pillow that fair head And let the spring-time write her epitaph?

"As it will soon in snow-drop, violet, Wind-flower, and columbine, and maiden's tear,-- Each letter of that pretty alphabet That spells in flowers the pageant of the year.

"She was a maiden for a man to love, She was a woman for a husband's life, One that had learned to value far above The name of Love the sacred name of Wife.

"Her little life-dream, rounded so with sleep, Had all there is of life--except gray hairs: Hope, love, trust, passion, and devotion deep, And that mysterious tie a Mother bears.

"She hath fulfilled her promise and hath past: Set her down gently at the iron door! Eyes! look on that loved image for the last: Now cover it in earth--her earth no more!"

Let us now summon, as first in order, the name that heads the list of the actors above given. Henry Placide enjoyed in public estimation a fame worthy and well deserved. He was an actor of the old school, and his conceptions were the fruit of appreciative and careful study; his acting was a lucid and harmonious interpretation of his author; and his elocution, clear and resonant, was the speech of a scholar and a gentleman. The artistic sense was never forgotten in his delineations, and his name on the bills was a guaranty of intellectual pleasure. He was not broadly funny like Burton, or Holland; but those who remember his _Sir Harcourt Courtley_, his _Jean Jacques François Antoine Hypolite de Frisac_, in "Paris and London," and his _Clown_, in Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night," will not deny that he was the owner of a rich vein of eccentric humor, and that he worked his possession effectually. He was an expert in the Gallic parts where the speech is a struggle between French and English, and, indeed, since his departure they, too, have vanished from the stage. But those who saw him as _Haversac_, in "The Old Guard"; as _The Tutor_, in "To Parents and Guardians"; or as _Monsieur Dufard_, in "The First Night," will bear witness to his inimitable manner, and to his facile blending of the grave and gay. We shall never forget how, in the last-named character (_Mons. Dufard_), having engaged his daughter for a "first appearance," and having declared his own ability to manage the drum in the orchestra on the occasion, he, suddenly, during the mimic rehearsal, at an allusion in the text to sunrise, stamped violently on the stage; and to the startled manager's exclamation of "What's that!" serenely replied: "Zat ees ze cannon vich announce ze brek of day--I play him on ze big drum in ze night." In choleric old men Placide was unsurpassed. All the touches that go toward the creation of a grim, irascible, thwarted, bluff old gentleman, he commanded at will. His _Colonel Hardy_, in "Paul Pry," for instance, what an example was that! I hear him, now, at the close of the comedy, when things had drifted to a happy anchorage--hear him saying in reply to the soothing remark: "Why, Colonel, you've every thing your own way,"--"Yes, I know I have every thing my own way; but ---- it, I hav'n't _my own way_ of having it!" His repertory covered a wide range; and we retain vivid recollections of his _Sir Peter Teazle_, his _Doctor Ollapod_, and his _Silky_; the last in "The Road to Ruin," in which comedy, by the way, we remember seeing Placide, Blake, Burton, Lester, Bland, and Mrs. Hughes; truly a phenomenal cast.

Such, briefly sketched, was the actor who constituted one of Burton's strongest pillars. For some years he played at no other theatre in New York. He gave enjoyment to thousands, and in dramatic annals his name and achievements have distinguished and honorable record. As one of the many who remain to own their debt of pleasure and instruction, the present writer pays this tribute to the genius and memory of Henry Placide.[7]

[7] "When Edwin Forrest was in Europe on a visit, he was asked whom he deemed the best American actor; he promptly and unequivocally replied: 'Henry Placide is unquestionably the best general actor on the American boards, and I doubt whether his equal can be found in England.'"--HENRY DICKINSON STONE'S "Theatrical Reminiscences."

We now summon another name from the famous corps, for the purpose of analysis, since we should be ill content with the cold respect of a passing glance at an artist so celebrated as was William Rufus Blake. We can recall no actor of the past, and we know of but one in the present, comparable with Blake in certain lines of old men--certainly in the rôle of tender pathos like _Old Dornton_, and in the portrayal of a sweetly noble nature framed in venerable simplicity, as in _Jesse Rural_, he had no equal; and it is simply truth to say that with him departed from the stage that unique, all-affecting, wondrous embodiment of _Geoffrey Dale_, in "The Last Man."

The characteristics of Blake's power were a broad heartiness, suggestive sentiment, and eloquent idealization. These traits informed respectively the parts he essayed, and gave to each in turn rare flow of spirit, richness of color, and poetic fervor. For the verbal expression of these salient elements, he possessed a tuneful voice, which rose or fell as the sway of feeling dictated, and his delivery was singularly felicitous in tone and emphasis. Nor was he lacking in a humor at once subtle and delicate, happily evinced in his acting of _Mr. Primrose_, in the comedietta of "Bachelors' Torments."

Those who saw Blake at the period of which we are writing, found it hard to believe that the _Sir Anthony Absolute_ of aldermanic proportions before them was once a slender young man and played light comedy! Yet so it was. Very old play-goers will recollect the Chatham Garden theatre, and perhaps some tenacious memory bears record of having seen Blake there in the long ago; for there he first appeared to a New York audience, in 1824, playing _Frederick_, in Colman's "Poor Gentleman." We never saw him earlier than at Burton's, and then with added years had come a rotundity of person which, however unobjectionable in the famous impersonations of his prime, was not, it must be confessed, the ideal physique of light comedy; so his _Frederick_ had long departed and his _Sir Robert Bramble_ had appeared.

The first time we saw Blake was in "The Road to Ruin," and the impression he made has never been effaced. We were young, it is true, and sentimental, and easily moved; but our heart tells us that the effect would be the same could we see the actor in the play to-morrow. We have read since of the extraordinary sensation produced by the great Munden in the part of _Old Dornton_; but we have an abiding faith that the acting of the famous Englishman would have been no revelation to Blake; and we cannot, indeed, conceive of any added touch that would not have impaired, rather than heightened, the latter's superb delineation. But Blake's portrayal of the outraged, doting, fond, tender father, is, like his _Jesse Rural_, so fresh in the memory of living persons, that we feel it to be needless to descant upon its beauties. Few will forget the years of his last and long engagement at Wallack's--a fitting crown for a great artistic career. Blake played many parts and rarely touched but to adorn. Even his _Malvolio_, had it not been for the advent of Charles Fisher (who was born in yellow stockings and cross-gartered), would have passed into history as a carefully conceived and highly finished performance. Whenever we see Mr. John Gilbert we are reminded of Blake. There is a grace of action, a courtliness of manner, inseparable from Gilbert, which lends to all his efforts an elevating charm, a feature Blake did not possess in like degree. But the two actors belonged to the same school; their traditions will be much akin; and neither loses in being spoken of in the same breath, and with the same accent of admiration.

Following Placide and Blake is the name of an actor better remembered than either, and whose death is of comparatively recent date. We refer to John Brougham, who for thirty years and more was one of New York's prime favorites, and his name is associated with many of the drama's brightest and worthiest triumphs. His inexhaustible flow of spirits, in his best days, pervaded all his acting, and invested the most unattractive part with an alluring charm, as many a prosaic spot in nature becomes enchanted land by the music of falling waters. Add to this exuberant vitality a rich endowment of mother wit; a bright intelligence; keen sympathy and appreciation, and rare personal magnetism, and you have before you "glorious John," whose hearty voice it was always a pleasure to hear, and whose face, beaming with humor, was always welcomed with delight.

Brougham was Burton's stage manager in 1848, and his dramatization of "Dombey and Son" was first produced in that year. The representation of this play established the Chambers Street Theatre, drew attention to the talents of the stock company, and put money into Burton's purse. If theatres, like other things, succeed either by hook or crook, as the saying is, surely it was by hook that the manager won fame and fortune, for the digit of _Captain Cuttle_ held sway like a wizard's wand. The temptation to dwell here on this renowned Burtonian impersonation is hard to resist; but we must be patient and bide our time.

Brougham played _Bunsby_ and _Bagstock_, investing the oracular utterances of the tar, and the roughness and toughness and "devilish" slyness of the _Major_, with a humor and spirit all his own. We laugh outright as we think of that scene where _Cuttle_ is being rapidly reduced to agony and despair by _Mrs. MacStinger_, and is rescued therefrom by _Bunsby_, who, with a hoarse "Avast, my lass; avast!" advances solemnly on the redoubtable female, and with a soothing gravity ejects the entire _MacStinger_ family, following in the rear himself--_Cuttle_ meanwhile gazing in speechless astonishment at the unexpected succor, until the door is closed; and then, drawing an immense breath, and turning toward the audience his inimitable face, exclaims in a tone of profound respect and admiration: "There's wisdom!"

It was a great treat to see Burton and Brougham together. The two actors were so ready, so full of wit, so alive to each other's points and by-play, that any fanciful interpolation of the text, or humorous impromptu, by the one, was instantly responded to by the other; and the house was often thrown into convulsions of merriment by these purely unpremeditated sallies. This was notably the case in the afterpiece of "An Unwarrantable Intrusion"--committed by Mr. Brougham upon Mr. Burton--when in the tag the comedians suddenly assumed their own persons, and, addressing each other by their proper names, engaged in a droll colloquy respecting the dilemma of having nothing to say to conclude the piece; and each suggesting in turn something that ought to or might be said to an audience under such peculiar and distressing circumstances,--the audience meanwhile in a state of hilarious excitement, drinking in every sparkling jest and repartee, and wishing the flow of humor would last forever.

And here we are reminded of an incident not down in the bills, which furnished an audience with an unlooked-for and affecting episode. It occurred during the performance of Colman's comedy of "John Bull," produced for the benefit of a favorite actor; Burton playing _Job Thornberry_, and Brougham, who had volunteered for the occasion, appearing in his capital rôle of _Dennis Brulgruddery_. Brougham was no longer with Burton--an estrangement existed between them of which the public was aware--and the conjunction of the two actors naturally awakened a lively interest. It chances in the comedy that _Mary Thornberry_ finds a refuge in her distress at the "Red Cow," and is greatly befriended by _Dennis_. Her father, discovering her there, and grateful for the service rendered, exclaims: "You have behaved like an emperor to her. Give me your hand, landlord!" Now, in the play, the reply of _Dennis_ is: "Behaved!--(_refusing his hand_)--Arrah, now, get away with your blarney,"--but Brougham paused for a moment before Burton's outstretched hand, and then, as if yielding to an impulse, stretched forth his, and the two actors stood with clasped hands amidst an outburst of applause that fairly shook the building. Of course they were "called out" at the close, and Brougham, in the course of a felicitous little speech, remarked--alluding, perhaps, to the success of his Lyceum not being all he could wish--that he had "lately run off the track"; to which Burton, in his turn, responded by saying: "Mr. Brougham says he has 'run off the track.' Well, he _has_ run off the track; but he hasn't burst his boiler yet!" At this speech the enthusiasm of the audience knew no bounds; and indeed, with the exception of Mary Taylor's farewell benefit, we can recall no theatrical occasion where more genuine feeling was manifested.

But to return to "Dombey and Son." Mrs. Brougham was the original _Susan Nipper_, and played the part acceptably; but all previous _Nippers_ suffered eclipse when Caroline Chapman appeared at a later date, giving us a _Susan_ that seemed to have sprung full-_Nippered_ from the head of Boz himself. Her inimitable acting and ring of delivery were like a new light turned on the scene. Her flow of spirit and alert movement, her independent air and saucy glance, her not-to-be-put-down-under-any-circumstances manner,--all was freshness and sparkle, and her presence was as welcome to the audience as a summer shower to drooping wayside flowers. Miss Chapman was a great acquisition to Burton's, and her bright individuality shone in all her assumptions. Her line was the stage soubrette, a specialty which she lifted entirely out of the commonplace and informed it with force and distinction. It is a pleasure to place on record the memory of happy hours that we owe to the performances of Caroline Chapman.

The original _Toots_ was Oliver B. Raymond, whom we never saw. T. B. Johnston was his successor, and as that admirable comedian never did any thing unacceptably, his _Toots_ was a memorable effort; and had _Uriah Heep_ not followed we should have been satisfied with his _Toots_; but when "Copperfield" was produced and Johnston appeared as _Heep_, it seemed as if he was born for that and nothing else. Now that we think of it, it seems to us, as we recall Johnston, that nature had peculiarly fitted him for the delineation of many of Dickens's characters. Something in his spare figure, his grotesqueness of demeanor, his whimsical aspect, his odd manner of speech, continually suggested a flavor of Boz; and whether as _Toots_, or _Heep_, or _Newman Noggs_, he seemed to have glided into his element, and was _en rapport_ with the great novelist.

We must not forget, in writing of "Dombey and Son," to note how much its attraction was enhanced by the assumption, in 1849, of the part of _Edith_ by Mrs. Josephine Russell (the present Mrs. Hoey). Laurence Hutton, referring to the event in his volume of "Plays and Players," says: "Up to the time of her assumption of the rôle, _Edith_, in Brougham's version of the story, was comparatively a secondary part, and one to which but little attention had been paid either by performer or audience. Mrs. Russell, however, by her refined and elegant manner, brought _Edith_ and herself into favor and prominence. She made of _Edith_ more than Brougham himself ever imagined could be made; and _Edith_ made her a reputation and a success on the New York stage, which, until her honorable and much-to-be-regretted retirement, she ever sustained.[8]

[8] The first appearance of Mrs. Russell (whose maiden name was Shaw) in Chambers Street was made September 3, 1849.

We have dwelt thus on "Dombey and Son," because, in the first place, it gained for the Chambers Street Theatre an enduring public regard, and was no doubt the incentive to the after-production of dramatizations of Dickens, which gave us Burton in _Micawber_, _Squeers_, _Mr. Bumble_, and _Sam Weller_; and because in so celebrating it we pay a deserved tribute to Brougham, from whose fertile brain and ready pen it came. We may say, in this connection, that not only as actor, but as playwright also, Brougham achieved fame and honor. Many of his comedies are well known to the stage, and are included in the published drama; and as a writer of burlesque we question whether any thing better or funnier than his "Po-ca-hon-tas or the Gentle Savage" has ever been composed. Of one thing we are certain: an incarnate pun-fiend presided over its creation. This extravaganza, first acted at Wallack's Lyceum, took the town by storm, and its bons-mots, local hits, and trenchant witticisms, were on the lips of everybody. In structure, idea, and treatment of theme, it was ludicrous to a degree. Who does not remember Brougham and the late Charles Walcot in their respective parts of _Powhattan_ and _Captain Smith_?

It goes without saying that Brougham's Hibernian delineations were perfect and to the manner born. Many an Irish farce we recall, during his stay at Burton's, to which he gave a new lease of life; and we congratulate ourselves that our memory holds record of having once seen him as _Sir Lucius O'Trigger_, the only cast in our experience wherein Sheridan's creation found a fitting representative.

We now pause before an actor of illustrious lineage; of a name honored in dramatic annals by encomiums bestowed only upon abilities of the highest order; an actor who, conscious of his inheritance of genius, worthily perpetuates the traditions of his house; and who is now, despite the flight of time, the most engaging and accomplished comedian known to the American stage. Our readers will need no further introduction to Lester Wallack, the "Mr. Lester" of Burton's, where first we saw him so many years ago. We recall the evening when we sat in the cosy parquette, awaiting with eager interest the rising of the curtain on Charles Dance's comic drama of "Delicate Ground," in which Mr. Lester would make his "first appearance since his return from England" (so the bill ran), in the character of _Citizen Sangfroid_. We say eager interest, for we had heard much of Mr. Lester: that he was graceful, handsome, _distingué_,--in fact, splendid generally; and our expectancy was akin to that of the watching astronomer--

"When a new planet swims into his ken."

At last the tinkle of the bell; the curtain rose, and enter Miss Mary Taylor, the universal favorite, as _Pauline_. Her soliloquy closes with the cue for _Sangfroid's_ entrance, and at the words, "Hush! my husband!" a pause succeeded--and then from "door left" was protruded an elegantly booted foot, and a moment later Lester stood before us, bowing with characteristic ease and grace to the demonstrations of welcome. We confess to an unconditional surrender on that occasion. The actual fact was far beyond any expectation or hope. We thought we had never seen any one quite so splendid; and _Sangfroid_ was forthwith invested with the best and noblest elements that combine to elevate mankind. We endeavored for many days afterward to conform our daily life to the general teachings of _Sangfroid_; we imitated the gait and manner, the calm aplomb of _Sangfroid_; the accent of _Sangfroid_ was impressed on all our ordinary forms of speech; our conversation on whatever topic was plentifully sprinkled with _Sangfroidisms_; in short, the whole tenor of our existence was shaped and directed by _Sangfroid_ in the person of Mr. Lester. We recovered in due course from our abject submission to the spell of _Sangfroid_; but Lester continued to stretch forth the "sceptre of fascination," and to his matchless grace and finish we owe many a delightful recollection.