Personal Sketches of His Own Times, Vol. 2 (of 3)
The distinguishing merits of the old actors I cannot recollect, and indeed of many of the more modern ones I profess myself but a very moderate judge. One thing, however, I am sure of; – that, man or boy, I never admired tragedy, however well personated. Lofty feelings and strong passions may be admirably mimicked therein; but the ranting, whining, obviously premeditated starting, disciplined gesticulation, &c. – the committing of suicide in mellifluous blank verse, and rhyming when in the agonies of death, – stretch away so very far from nature, as to destroy all that illusion whereon the effect of dramatic exhibition in my mind entirely depends. Unless occasionally to witness some very celebrated new actor, I have not attended a tragedy these forty years; nor have I ever yet seen any tragedian on the British stage who made so decided an impression on my feelings as Mr. Kean, in some of his characters, has done. When I have seen other celebrated men enact the same parts, I have remained quite tranquil, however my judgment may have been satisfied: but he has made me shudder, and that, in my estimation, is the grand triumph of the tragedian’s art. I have seldom sat out the last murder scene of any play except “Tom Thumb,” or “Chrononhotonthologos,” which certainly are no burlesques on some of our standard tragedies.
In serious comedy, Kean’s Shylock and Sir Giles Overreach, seemed to me neither more nor less than actual identification of those portraitures: so much so, in fact, that I told him myself, after seeing him perform the first-mentioned part, that I could have found in my heart to knock his brains out the moment he had finished his performance.31
Two errors, however, that great actor has in a remarkable degree: some of his pauses are so long, that he appears to have forgotten himself; and he pats his breast so often, that it really reminds one of a nurse patting her infant to keep it from squalling: it is a pity he is not aware of these imperfections!
If, however, I have been always inclined to undervalue tragedy, on the other hand, the great comic performers of my time in Ireland I perfectly recollect. I allude to the days of Ryder, O’Keeffe, Wilks, Wilder, Vandermere, &c. &c. &c.
The effect produced by even one singular actor, or one trivial incident, is sometimes surprising. The dramatic trifle or translation called “Paul Pry” had a greater run, I believe, than any piece of the kind ever exhibited in London, though it is a mere bagatelle– in itself nothing. I went to see it, and was greatly amused – not by the piece, but by the ultra oddity of one performer. Put any handsome, or even human-looking person, in Liston’s place, and take away his umbrella, and Paul Pry would scarcely bring another audience. His countenance certainly presents the drollest set of stationary features I ever saw, and has the uncommon merit of being exquisitely comic per se, without the slightest distortion: no artificial grimace, indeed, could improve his natural. I remember O’Keeffe, justly the delight of Dublin: and Ryder, the best Sir John Brute, Ranger, Marplot, &c. in the world: the prologue of “Bucks, have at ye all!” was repeated by him four hundred and twenty-four times. O’Keeffe’s Tony Lumpkin, Vandermere’s Skirmish, Wilder’s Colonel Oldboy, Wilks’s Jessamy, and the performances of several others in the comic line, came as near nature as acting and mimicry could possibly approach. There was also a first edition of Liston as to drollery, on the Dublin stage, usually called “Old Sparkes.” He was very tall, and of a very large size; with heavy-hanging jaws, gouty ancles, big paunch, and sluggish motion; but his comic face and natural drollery were irresistible. He was a most excellent actor in every thing he could personate: his grotesque figure, however, rendered these parts but few. Peachum, in the “Beggar’s Opera,” Caliban, (with his own additions) in “The Tempest,” and all bulky, droll, low characters, he did to the greatest perfection. At one time, when the audiences of Smock-Alley were beginning to flag, Old Sparkes told Ryder, if he would bring out the afterpiece of “The Padlock,” and permit him to manage it, he would ensure him a succession of good nights. Ryder gave him his way, and the bills announced a first appearance in the part of Leonora: the débutante was reported to be a Spanish lady. The public curiosity was excited, and youth, beauty, and tremulous modesty were all anticipated; the house overflowed; impatience was unbounded; the play ended in confusion, and the overture of “The Padlock” was received with rapture. Leonora at length appeared; the clapping was like thunder, to give courage to the débutante, who had a handsome face, and was very beautifully dressed as a Spanish donna, which it was supposed she really was. Her gigantic size, it is true, rather astonished the audience. However, they willingly took for granted that the Spaniards were an immense people, and it was observed that England must have had a great escape of the Spanish Armada, if the men were proportionably gigantic to the ladies. Her voice too was rather of the hoarsest, but that was accounted for by the sudden change of climate: at last, Leonora began her song of “Sweet Robin” —
Say, little foolish fluttering thing,Whither, ah! whither would you wing?and at the same moment Leonora’s mask falling off, Old Sparkes stood confessed, with an immense gander which he brought from under his cloak, and which he had trained to stand on his hand and screech to his voice, and in chorus with himself. The whim took: the roar of laughter was quite inconceivable: he had also got Mungo played by a real black: and the whole was so extravagantly ludicrous, and so entirely to the taste of the Irish galleries at that time, that his “Sweet Robin” was encored, and the frequent repetition of the piece replenished poor Ryder’s treasury for the residue of the season.
I think about that time Mr. John Johnstone was a dragoon. His mother was a very good sort of woman, whom I remember extremely well. Between fifty and sixty years ago she gave me a little book, entitled “The History of the Seven Champions of Christendom,” which I have (with several other books of my childhood) to this day. She used to call at my grandmother’s, to sell run muslins, &c. which she carried about her hips in great wallets, passing them off for a hoop. She was called by the old women, in pleasantry, “Mull and Jacconot;” sold great bargains, and was a universal favourite with the ladies. Young Johnstone was a remarkably genteel well-looking lad; he used to bring presents of trout to my grandmother, which he caught in the great canal then going on close to Dublin. He soon went into the army: but having a weakness in his legs, he procured a speedy discharge, and acquired eminence on the Irish stage.
I never happened to meet Mr. John Johnstone for many years in private society till we met at dinner at Lord Barrymore’s, in 1812, where Col. Bloomfield, my old and good-hearted friend Mr. Richard Martin, and others, were assembled. I was glad to meet the distinguished comedian, and mentioned some circumstances to him which proved the extent of my memory. He sang that night as sweetly as ever I heard him on the stage, and that is saying much.
Mr. Johnstone was a truly excellent performer of the more refined species of Irish characters; but Nature had not given him enough of that original shoulder-twist, and what they call the “pot-sheen-twang,” which so strongly characterise the genuine national vis comica of the lower orders of Irish. In this respect, Owenson was superior to him, of whom the reader will find a more detailed account in a future page.
No modern comedy, in my mind, equals those of the old writers. The former are altogether devoid of that high-bred, witty playfulness of dialogue so conspicuous in the works of the latter. Gaudy spectacle, common-place clap-traps, forced dialogue, and bad puns, together with ill-placed mongrel sentiment, ad captandum vulgus, have been substituted to “make the unskilful laugh,” and to the manifest sorrow of the “judicious.” Perhaps so much the better: – as, although there are now most excellent scene-painters and fire-workers, the London stage appears to be almost destitute of competent performers in the parts of the old genuine comedy, and the present London audiences seem to prefer gunpowder, resin, brimstone, musketry, burning castles, dancing ponies, and German hobgoblins, to any human or Christian entertainments, evidently despising all those high-finished comic characters, which satisfy the understanding and owe nothing to the scenery.
In Paris the scenery and orchestra at the first theatre for acting in the world (the Theatre François) are below mediocrity. But there is another species of theatrical representation extant in France – namely, scriptural pieces; half burlesque, half melodrame. These are undoubtedly among the drollest things imaginable; mixing up in one unconnected mass, tragedy, comedy, and farce, painting, music, scenery, dress and undress, decency and indecency!32
I have seen many admirable comedians on the continent. Nothing can possibly exceed Mademoiselle Mars (for instance) in many characters: but the French are all actors and actresses from their cradles; and a great number of performers, even at the minor theatres, seem to me to forget that they are playing, and at times nearly make the audience forget it too! Their spectacle is admirably good; their dancing excellent, and most of their dresses beautiful. Their orchestras are well filled, in every sense of the word, and the level of musical composition not so low as some of Mr. Bishop’s effusions. The French singing however is execrable; their tragedy rant; but their prose comedy nature itself!
In short, the French beyond doubt exceed all other people in the world with regard to theatrical matters: and as every man, woman, and child in Paris is equally attached to spectacle, every house is full, every company encouraged, – all tastes find some gratification. An Englishman can scarcely quit a Parisian theatre without having seen himself or some of his acquaintances characteristically and capitally represented: the Anglais supply certainly an inexhaustible source of French mimicry; and as we cannot help it, do what we will, our countrymen now begin to practise the good sense of laughing at themselves! John Bull thinks that roast beef is the finest dish in the whole world, and that the finest fellow in Europe is the man that eats it: on both points the Frenchman begs leave, tout à fait, to differ with John; and nothing can be sillier than to oppose opinions with a positive people, in their own country, and who never yet, right or wrong, gave up an argument.
No part of this world, I believe, combines corporeal and intellectual luxuries to an equal extent with Paris; and I am sure no place can afford them on such easy terms. There is a variety for the eye, the mind, and the palate quite inexhaustible, and within the reach of all purses. – However, no persons but those some time resident in the metropolis of France can even imagine its conveniences or its pleasures, and their cheapness: nor can there be any city where strangers are more kindly used, or more sedulously protected. In point of courtesy, sociability, animated good-nature, address and dress, I regret to say we cannot approach their well-bred females.
MRS. JORDAN
Public mis-statements respecting that lady – The author’s long acquaintance with her —Début of Mrs. Jordan, at the Dublin Theatre, as Miss Francis – Her incipient talents at that period – Favourite actresses then in possession of the stage – Theatrical jealousy – Mrs. Daly (formerly Miss Barsanti) – Curious inversion of characters in the opera of “The Governess,” resorted to by the manager to raise the wind– Lieut. Doyne proposes for Miss Francis – His suit rejected from prudential considerations – Miss Francis departs for England – Mr. Owenson, Lady Morgan’s father – Comparison between that performer and Mr. John (commonly called Irish) Johnstone – Introduction of the author to his Royal Highness the Duke of Clarence – Reflections on the scurrilous personalities of the English press – Mrs. Jordan in the green-room, and on the stage – Her remarks on the theatrical art, and on her own style of acting – Her last visit to Dublin, and curious circumstances connected therewith – Mr. Dwyer the actor and Mr. Serjeant Gold – Mrs. Jordan in private society – Extracts from her letters – Her retirement from Bushy and subsequent embarkation for France.
The foregoing short and superficial sketches of the Dublin stage in my juvenile days bring me to a subject more recent and much more interesting to my feelings. I touch it nevertheless with pain, and must ever deeply regret the untimely catastrophe of a lady who was at once the highest surviving prop of her profession and a genuine sample of intrinsic excellence: had her fate descended, whilst filling her proper station, and in her own country; or had not the circumstances which attended some parts of that lady’s career been entirely mistaken; – had not the cause of her miseries been grossly misrepresented, and the story of her desertion and embarrassed state at the time of her dissolution altogether false; – I probably should never have done more (under the impression of its being intrusive, perhaps indelicate) than mention her professional excellences.
But so much of that lady, and so much relating to her death, has been recently mis-stated in the public prints, (not for the purpose of doing her justice, but of doing another injustice,) that I feel myself warranted in sketching some traits and incidents of Mrs. Jordan’s character and life – which I know to be true, and a proportion whereof I was personally acquainted with. – Some degree of mystery has doubtless rested, and will probably continue to rest, on the cause which led that lady to repair to a foreign country, where she perished; all I shall say, however, on that score is, that this cause has been known to a very limited number of individuals, and never had, in any shape or degree, bearing or connexion with her former situation. The reports current on this head I know to be utterly unfounded, and many of them I believe to be altogether malicious.
I am not Mrs. Jordan’s biographer; my observations only apply to abstract portions of her conduct and abstract periods of her life. I had the gratification of knowing, for some time intimately, that amiable woman and justly celebrated performer. Her public talents are recorded; her private merits are known comparatively to few. I enjoyed a portion of her confidence on some very particular subjects, and had full opportunity of appreciating her character.
It was not by a mere cursory acquaintance Mrs. Jordan could be known: – confidence alone could develope her qualities, and I believe few of them escaped my observation. I have seen her in the busy bustling exercise of her profession: – I have seen her in the tranquil lap of ease, of luxury, and of magnificence; – in a theatre, surrounded by a crowd of adulating dramatists – and when surrounded by a numerous, interesting, and beloved offspring. I have seen her happy: – I have seen her miserable: and I could not help participating in all her feelings.
At the point of time when I first saw Mrs. Jordan, she could not be much more I think than sixteen or seventeen years of age; and had made her début as Miss Francis, at the Dublin Theatre. It is worthy of observation, that her early appearances in Dublin were not in any of those characters (save one) wherein she afterward so eminently excelled; though such as, being more girlish, were better suited to her spirits and age. I was at that time, of course, somewhat less competent than now to form a judgment; yet could not then but observe, that in these parts she was perfect even on her first appearance: she had no art to study; – Nature was her sole instructress. Youthful, joyous, animated, and droll, her laugh arose from her heart, her tear started ingenuously from her feeling. Her countenance was all expression, without being all beauty: – her form, then light and elastic – her flexible limbs – the juvenile graces of her every movement impressed themselves, as I perceived, deeply upon those who attended even her earliest performances.
Her expressive features and eloquent action at all periods harmonised blandly with each other – not by skill, but by intellectual sympathy: when her figure was adapted to the part she assumed, she had only to speak the words of an author to become the very person he delineated. Her voice was clear and distinct, modulating itself with natural and winning ease; and when exerted in song, its gentle flute-like melody formed the most captivating contrast to the convulsed and thundering bravura. She was throughout the untutored child of Nature: she sang without effort, and generally without the accompaniment of instruments; and whoever heard her Dead of the Night, and her Sweet Bird, either in public or private, if they had any soul, must have surrendered at discretion.
In playful genteel comic characters, such as Belinda, &c., she was excellent: but in the formal, dignified, high-bred parts of comedy, her superiority was not so decided: – her line, indeed, was distinctly marked out; within its extent she stood altogether unrivalled – nay, unapproached.
At the commencement of Mrs. Jordan’s theatrical career she had difficulties to encounter which nothing but superiority of talent could so suddenly have surmounted. Both of the Dublin theatres were filled with performers of high popular reputation, and thus every important part in her line of acting was ably preoccupied. The talent of the female performers, matured by experience and disciplined by practice, must yet have yielded to the fascinating powers of her natural genius, had it been suffered fairly to expand. But the jealousy which never fails to pervade all professions was powerfully excited to restrain the development of her mimic powers; and it was reserved for English audiences to give full play and credit to that extraordinary comic genius, which soon raised her to the highest pitch, at once of popular and critical estimation.
Mrs. Daly (formerly Miss Barsanti) and Mrs. Leyster were foremost among the successful occupants of those buoyant characters to which Miss Francis was peculiarly adapted: – others had long filled the remaining parts to which she aspired, and thus scarcely one was left open to engage her talents.
Mr. Daly, about this time, resorted to a singular species of theatrical entertainment, by the novelty whereof he proposed to rival his competitors of Smock-Alley; namely, that of reversing characters, the men performing the female, and the females the male parts in comedy and opera. The opera of “The Governess” was played in this way for several nights, the part of Lopez by Miss Francis. In this singular and unimportant character the versatility of her talent rendered the piece attractive, and the season concluded with a strong anticipation of her future celebrity.
The company then proceeded to perform in the provinces, and at Waterford occurred the first grave incident in the life of Mrs. Jordan. Lieutenant Charles Doyne, of the third regiment of heavy horse (Green’s), was then quartered in that city; and, struck with the naïveté and almost irresistible attractions of the young performer, his heart yielded, and he became seriously and honourably attached to her. Lieutenant Doyne was not handsome, rather the reverse, but he was a gentleman and a worthy man. He had been my friend and companion some years at the university; I therefore knew him intimately, and he entrusted me with his passion. (Miss Francis’s mother was then alive, and sedulously attended her.) Wild and thoughtless myself, I told him, if he could win the young lady, to marry her; adding, that no doubt Fortune must smile, whether she chose or not, on so disinterested a union; he being no beauty himself, and having no chance of getting a moneyed wife by his attractions, as young ladies seldom fall in love with the unsophisticated goodness of a lover: an ordinary picture without either frame or gilding is seldom seen in a fashionable drawing-room.
Her mother, however, was of a different opinion; and as she had no fortune but her talent, the exercise of which was to be relinquished with the name of Francis, it became matter of serious consideration whence they were to draw their support – with the probability too of a family! Here was a real enigma. His commission was altogether inadequate, and his private fortune small. – This, in short, was insurmountable. Mrs. Francis, also anticipating the future celebrity of her child, and unwilling to extinguish in obscurity all chance of fame and fortune by means of the profession she had adopted, worked upon her daughter to decline the proposal. The treaty accordingly ended, and Lieut. Doyne appeared to me for a time almost inconsolable. Miss Francis I did not see afterward; she accompanied her mother, soon after, to England, and soon commenced her ascent toward the pinnacle of fame. Lieut. Doyne lately died collector of the Queen’s County. His esteem for Mrs. Jordan was never obliterated.
Mr. Owenson, the father of Lady Morgan, was at that time highly celebrated in the line of Irish characters, and never did an actor exist so perfectly calculated, in my opinion, to personify that singular class of people. Considerably above six feet in height; – remarkably handsome and brave-looking, – vigorous and well-shaped, – he was not vulgar enough to disgust, nor was he genteel enough to be out of character: never did I see any actor so entirely identify himself with the peculiarities of those Irish parts he assumed. In the higher class of Irish characters (old officers, &c.) he looked well, but did not exhibit sufficient formal dignity; and in the lowest, his humour was scarcely quaint and original enough; but in what might be termed the “middle class of Paddies,” no man ever combined the look and the manner with such felicity as Owenson. Scientific singing was not an Irish quality; and he sang well enough. – I have heard Mr. Jack Johnstone warble so sweetly and so very skilfully, and act some parts so very like a man of education, that I almost forgot the nation he was mimicking: that was not the case with Owenson; he acted as if he had not received too much schooling, and sang like a man whom nobody had instructed. He was, like most of his profession, careless of his concerns, and grew old without growing rich. His last friend was old Fontaine, a very celebrated French dancing-master, many years domiciliated and highly esteemed in Dublin. He aided Owenson and his family whilst he had means to do so, and they both died nearly at the same time – instances of talent and improvidence.
This digression I have ventured on, because in the first place it harmonises with the theatrical nature of my subject, and may be interesting – because it relates to the father of an eminent and amiable woman; and most particularly, because I was informed that Mr. Owenson took a warm interest in the welfare of Miss Francis, and was the principal adviser of her mother in rejecting Mr. Doyne’s addresses.
After a lapse of many years I chanced to acquire the honour of a favourable introduction to His Royal Highness the Duke of C – , who became the efficient friend of me and of my family – not with that high and frigid mien which so often renders ungracious even the favours of upstart authorities in the British government, but with the condescending frankness and sincerity of a royal prince. He received at an early age, and educated, my only son with his own, and sent him, as lieutenant of the fifth dragoon guards, to make his campaigns in the Peninsula. This introduction to His Royal Highness gave me unerring opportunities of knowing, appreciating, and valuing, Mrs. Jordan. In her there was no guile; her heart was conspicuous in every word – her feelings in every action; and never did I find, in any character, a more complete concentration of every quality that should distinguish a mother, a friend, and a gentlewoman.
