SAN DIEGO, July 10th, 1854.
As your valuable work is not supposed to be so entirely identified with
San Franciscan interests as to be careless what takes place in other
portions of this great _kentry_, and as it is received and read in San
Diego with great interest (I have loaned my copy to over four different
literary gentlemen, most of whom have read some of it), I have thought
it not improbable that a few critical notices of the musical
performances and the drama of this place might be acceptable to you, and
interest your readers. I have been, moreover, encouraged to this task by
the perusal of your interesting musical and theatrical critiques on San
Francisco performers and performances; as I feel convinced that if you
devote so much space to them you will not allow any little feeling of
rivalry between the two great cities to prevent your noticing ours,
which, without the slightest feeling of prejudice, I must consider as
infinitely superior. I propose this month to call your attention to the
two great events in our theatrical and musical world--the appearance of
the talented Miss PELICAN, and the production of Tarbox's celebrated
"Ode Symphonie" of "The Plains."
The critiques on the former are from the columns of the Vallecetos
Sentinel, to which they were originally contributed by me, appearing on
the respective dates of June 1st and June 31st.
_From the Vallecetos Sentinel, June 1st_
MISS PELICAN.--Never during our dramatic experience has a more
exciting event occurred than the sudden bursting upon our
theatrical firmament, full, blazing, unparalleled, of the bright,
resplendent and particular star whose honored name shines refulgent
at the head of this article. Coming among us unheralded, almost
unknown, without claptrap, in a wagon drawn by oxen across the
plains, with no agent to get up a counterfeit enthusiasm in her
favor, she appeared before us for the first time at the San Diego
Lyceum last evening, in the trying and difficult character of
Ingomar, or the Tame Savage. We are at a loss to describe our
sensations, our admiration, at her magnificent, her super-human
efforts. We do not hesitate to say that she is by far the superior
to any living actress; and, as we believe that to be the perfection
of acting, we cannot be wrong in the belief that no one hereafter
will ever be found to approach her. Her conception of the character
of Ingomar was perfection itself; her playful and ingenuous manner,
her light girlish laughter, in the scene with Sir Peter, showed an
appreciation of the savage character which nothing but the most
arduous study, the most elaborate training could produce; while her
awful change to the stern, unyielding, uncompromising father in the
tragic scene of Duncan's murder, was indeed nature itself. Miss
Pelican is about seventeen years of age, of miraculous beauty, and
most thrilling voice. It is needless to say she dresses admirably,
as in fact we have said all we can say when we called her, most
truthfully, perfection. Mr. John Boots took the part of Parthenia
very creditably, etc., etc.
_From the Vallecetos Sentinel, June 31st_
MISS PELICAN.--As this lady is about to leave us to commence an
engagement on the San Francisco stage, we should regret exceedingly
if anything we have said about her should send with her a
_prestige_ which might be found undeserved on trial. The fact is,
Miss Pelican is a very ordinary actress; indeed, one of the most
indifferent ones we have ever happened to see. She came here from
the Museum at Fort Laramie, and we praised her so injudiciously
that she became completely spoiled. She has performed a round of
characters during the last week, very miserably, though we are
bound to confess that her performance of King Lear last evening was
superior to anything of the kind we ever saw. Miss Pelican is about
forty-three years of age, singularly plain in her personal
appearance, awkward and embarrassed, with a cracked and squeaking
voice, and really dresses quite outrageously. _She has much to
learn--poor thing!_
I take it the above notices are rather ingenious. The fact is, I'm no
judge of acting, and don't know how Miss Pelican will turn out. If well,
why there's my notice of June the 1st; if ill, then June 31st comes in
play, and, as there is but one copy of the Sentinel printed, it's an
easy matter to destroy the incorrect one; _both can't be wrong_; so I've
made a sure thing of it in any event. Here follows my musical critique,
which I flatter myself is of rather superior order:
THE PLAINS. ODE SYMPHONIE PAR JABEZ TARBOX.--This glorious composition
was produced at the San Diego Odeon on the 31st of June, ult., for the
first time in this or any other country, by a very full orchestra (the
performance taking place immediately after supper), and a chorus
composed of the entire "Sauer Kraut-Verein," the "Wee Gates
Association," and choice selections from the "Gyascutus" and
"Pike-harmonic" societies. The solos were rendered by Herr Tuden Links,
the recitations by Herr Von Hyden Schnapps, both performers being
assisted by Messrs. John Smith and Joseph Brown, who held their coats,
fanned them, and furnished water during the more overpowering passages.
"The Plains" we consider the greatest musical achievement that has been
presented to an enraptured public. Like Waterloo among battles; Napoleon
among warriors; Niagara among falls, and Peck among senators, this
magnificent composition stands among Oratorios, Operas, Musical
Melodramas and performances of Ethiopian Serenaders, peerless and
unrivaled. _Il frappe toute chose parfaitement froid._
"It does not depend for its success" upon its plot, its theme, its
school or its master, for it has very little if any of them, but upon
its soul-subduing, all-absorbing, high-faluting effect upon the
audience, every member of which it causes to experience the most
singular and exquisite sensations. Its strains at times remind us of
those of the old master of the steamer McKim, who never went to sea
without being unpleasantly affected;--a straining after effect he used
to term it. Blair in his lecture on beauty, and Mills in his treatise on
logic, (p. 31,) have alluded to the feeling which might be produced in
the human mind by something of this transcendentally sublime
description, but it has remained for M. Tarbox, in the production of
"The Plains," to call this feeling forth.
The symphonie opens upon the wide and boundless plains in longitude 115
degrees W., latitude 35 degrees 21 minutes 03 seconds N., and about
sixty miles from the west bank of Pitt River. These data are beautifully
and clearly expressed by a long (topographically) drawn note from an E
flat clarionet. The sandy nature of the soil, sparsely dotted with
bunches of cactus and artemisia, the extended view, flat and unbroken to
the horizon, save by the rising smoke in the extreme verge, denoting the
vicinity of a Pi Utah village, are represented by the bass drum. A few
notes on the piccolo call attention to a solitary antelope picking up
mescal beans in the foreground. The sun, having an altitude of 36
degrees 27 minutes, blazes down upon the scene in indescribable majesty.
"Gradually the sounds roll forth in a song" of rejoicing to the God of
Day:
"Of thy intensity
And great immensity
Now then we sing;
Beholding in gratitude
Thee in this latitude,
Curious thing."
Which swells out into "Hey Jim along, Jim along Josey," then
_decrescendo_, _mas o menos_, _poco pocita_, dies away and dries up.
Suddenly we hear approaching a train from Pike County, consisting of
seven families, with forty-six wagons, each drawn by thirteen oxen; each
family consists of a man in butternut-colored clothing driving the oxen;
a wife in butternut-colored clothing riding in the wagon, holding a
butternut baby, and seventeen butternut children running promiscuously
about the establishment; all are barefooted, dusty, and smell
unpleasantly. (All these circumstances are expressed by pretty rapid
fiddling for some minutes, winding up with a puff from the orpheclide
played by an intoxicated Teuton with an atrocious breath--it is
impossible to misunderstand the description.) Now rises o'er the plains,
in mellifluous accents, the grand Pike County Chorus:
"Oh we'll soon be thar
In the land of gold,
Through the forest old,
O'er the mounting cold,
With spirits bold--
Oh, we come, we come,
And we'll soon be thar.
Gee up Bolly! whoo, up, whoo haw!"
The train now encamp. The unpacking of the kettles and mess-pans, the
unyoking of the oxen, the gathering about the various camp-fires, the
frizzling of the pork, are so clearly expressed by the music that the
most untutored savage could readily comprehend it. Indeed, so vivid and
lifelike was the representation, that a lady sitting near us
involuntarily exclaimed aloud, at a certain passage, "_Thar, that pork's
burning!_" and it was truly interesting to watch the gratified
expression of her face when, by a few notes of the guitar, the pan was
removed from the fire, and the blazing pork extinguished.
This is followed by the beautiful _aria_:
"O! marm, I want a pancake!"
Followed by that touching _recitative_:
"Shet up, or I will spank you!"
To which succeeds a grand _crescendo_ movement, representing the flight
of the child with the pancake, the pursuit of the mother, and the final
arrest and summary punishment of the former, represented by the rapid
and successive strokes of the castanet.
The turning in for the night follows; and the deep and stertorous
breathing of the encampment is well given by the bassoon, while the
sufferings and trials of an unhappy father with an unpleasant infant are
touchingly set forth by the _cornet à piston_.
Part Second.--The night attack of the Pi Utahs; the fearful cries of the
demoniac Indians; the shrieks of the females and children; the rapid and
effective fire of the rifles; the stampede of the oxen; their recovery
and the final repulse, the Pi Utahs being routed after a loss of
thirty-six killed and wounded, while the Pikes lose but one scalp (from
an old fellow who wore a wig, and lost it in the scuffle), are
faithfully given, and excite the most intense interest in the minds of
the hearers; the emotions of fear, admiration and delight: succeeding
each other, in their minds, with almost painful rapidity. Then follows
the grand chorus:
"Oh! we gin them fits,
The Ingen Utahs.
With our six-shooters--
We gin 'em pertickuler fits."
After which we have the charming recitative of Herr Tuden Links, to the
infant, which is really one of the most charming gems in the
performance:
"Now, dern your skin, _can't_ you be easy?"
Morning succeeds. The sun rises magnificently (octavo flute)--breakfast
is eaten,--in a rapid movement on three sharps; the oxen are caught and
yoked up--with a small drum and triangle; the watches, purses and other
valuables of the conquered Pi Utahs are stored away in a camp-kettle, to
a small movement on the piccolo, and the train moves on, with the grand
chorus:
"We'll soon be thar,
Gee up Bolly! Whoo hup! whoo haw!"
The whole concludes with the grand hymn and chorus:
"When we die we'll go to Benton,
Whup! Whoo, haw!
The greatest man that e'er land saw,
Gee!
Who this little airth was sent on
Whup! Whoo, haw!
To tell a 'hawk from a handsaw!'
Gee!"
The immense expense attending the production of this magnificent work,
the length of time required to prepare the chorus, and the incredible
number of instruments destroyed at each rehearsal, have hitherto
prevented M. Tarbox from placing it before the American public, and it
has remained for San Diego to show herself superior to her sister cities
of the Union, in musical taste and appreciation, and in high-souled
liberality, by patronizing this immortal prodigy, and enabling its
author to bring it forth in accordance with his wishes and its
capabilities. We trust every citizen of San Diego and Vallecetos will
listen to it ere it is withdrawn; and if there yet lingers in San
Francisco one spark of musical fervor, or a remnant of taste for pure
harmony, we can only say that the Southerner sails from that place once
a fortnight, and that the passage money is but forty-five dollars.