RECOLLECTIONS

OF

MR. BURTON'S PERFORMANCES

"_And now what rests but that we spend the time

With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows._"

--SHAKESPEARE.

RECOLLECTIONS.

When Burton opened in Chambers Street, he was forty-four years old, in

the prime of life, his powers mature and approaching culmination. Let us

endeavor to give a portrait of the comedian as he appeared at this time.

Above the medium height; rotund in form, yet not cumbersome; limbs well

proportioned; deep-chested, with harmonious breadth of shoulder; neck

short and robust; large and well-balanced head; the hair worn short

behind, longer in front, and brushed smartly toward the temples; face

clean-shaven; complexion bordering on the florid; full chin and cheeks;

eyes seemingly blue or gray, beneath brows not over heavy, and capable

of every conceivable expression; nose straight, and somewhat sharply

inclined; mouth large, the lips thin, and wearing in repose a smile

half playful, half trenchant. Such is the picture memory draws, the

likeness in some degree confirmed by engravings in our possession.

Outlined thus, and in his proper person, he seemed in general aspect to

blend the suave respectability of a bank president with the easy-going

air of an English country squire. We shall have occasion to refer in due

course to the marvellous changes that were possible to that face and

form, when the man became the actor and walked the stage with Momus,

with Dickens, and with Shakespeare. Prominent among his physical

attributes was a clear, strong voice, capable of a great variety of

intonations, and his delivery was such that no words of his were ever

lost in any part of the house.

Before entering the wide field of our memories, we wish to offer some

observations respecting the comedian's mental equipment, and to consider

briefly the features of his unrivalled powers. We have no doubt but

that the classical education of his youth had much to do with his early

preference for the tragic muse. His mind, imbued with admiration for

classic form and color, was fed with divine images, which, while replete

with grace and beauty, bore still the impress of Greek austerity. He

inclined naturally, therefore, toward the conception of that which was

the predominating influence in his mental training. At the same time,

after eschewing his predilections for tragedy, he found that the classic

discipline had created a receptivity of mind in the highest degree

important to his future study; and that quickened apprehension proved of

inestimable value in his subsequent introduction to Shakespeare, the old

dramatists, and in all his intellectual excursions.

Yielding to him, then, this vantage-ground of culture, let us glance at

the attributes of his genius, which entitle him, as we think, to the

claim made for him--namely, one of the greatest actors in his line the

stage has known. We need not specify that line further than to say that

it passes with the title of "low comedy"; but Burton's versatility was

so extraordinary, his repertory so extended, his conceptions so

forcible, that the theatric nomenclature seems insufficient to define

and measure the scope and range of his abilities. His impersonations,

especially those Shakespearian, were often of too high an order to be

classed under the accepted notion of low comedy. Let us style him an

expounder and representative of the Humor of the Drama in all its

aspects, and we shall come nearer to what he really was. For an

all-embracing perception of humor revealed itself perpetually in his

acting. As the imagination of Longfellow transformed to organ pipes the

musketry of the Springfield Arsenal, so would Burton change dull

inanities into vital and joyous images. This informing power, this

native faculty of rising superior to the part assumed, and investing it

with undreamed-of humorous interest, was an instinct of his genius, and

gave to all his embodiments an originality and a flavor peculiarly his

own. The character mattered not. It might be _Nick Bottom_ or _Paul

Pry_, _Cuttle_ or _Micawber_, _Doctor Ollapod_ or _Charles Goldfinch_,

_Sleek_ or _Toodle_. There was the complete identification, the

superlative realization of the author's meaning; but the felicitous

interpretation, the by-play, the way of saying a thing, the facial

expression--his own and no other man's,--the Burtonian touch and

treatment. In the extravagance of farcical abandon no one ever was funny

as he. In comic portraits like _Toby Tramp_ or _Jem Baggs_, he

absolutely exhaled mirth; and we cannot help thinking how perfectly

Hazlitt describes him in writing of Liston: "His farce is not

caricature; his drollery oozes out of his features, and trickles down

his face; his voice is a pitch-pipe for laughter." "We have seen

Burton," says Wemyss, "keep an audience in roars of inextinguishable

laughter, for minutes in succession, while an expression of ludicrous

bewilderment, of blank confusion, or pompous inflation, settled upon his

countenance." And this was penned by Wemyss at a time when _Cuttle_,

_Micawber_, _Sleek_, and _Toodle_ were yet to be.

In thus indicating Burton's natural gifts, we must not lose sight of the

study and knowledge necessary to their development and to the

achievement of his fame. Let it not be supposed that his famous

delineations were so many intuitions, easily shaped and clothed by him

into substantial dramatic form. Easy, indeed, they might appear in the

handling--for it was characteristic of the great comedian never to seem

to entirely expend himself,--he always suggested a reserved force;--but

this facile rendering was attained at the expense of as much

intellectual attrition as Moore declared the melodious numbers of his

verse often cost him.

The late Dr. John W. Francis relates a conversation with the famous

George Frederick Cooke, respecting the actor's impersonation of _Sir

Pertinax Macsycophant_, and in reply to the question, how he acquired so

profound a knowledge of the Scotch accentuation, Cooke said: "I studied

more than two and a half years in my own room, with repeated intercourse

with Scotch society, in order to master the Scottish dialect, before I

ventured to appear on the boards in Edinburgh, as _Sir Pertinax_, and

when I did, Sawney took me for a native. It was the hardest task I ever

undertook." How do we know how many years of thoughtful application the

comedian's masterpieces expressed?

Mr. Burton was a student and man of the world as well as actor, and the

supremacy of his performances was due to his close and comprehensive

study of his author, his acquaintance with dramatic composition, his

artistic sense, his thorough knowledge of the stage, his varied

experience, his human insight,--the rest, like Dogberry's reading and

writing, came by nature.

It is a habit with old play-goers, when over their cakes and ale, to

recall the "palmy days" of the drama, and to say: "Ah, you should have

seen ----; he was a great artist--none equal to him nowadays. Ah, the

stage has declined since the old time." We do not wholly believe in the

drama's decadence, but as we enter upon our Recollections we feel that

_there_ were our palmy days, and the years seem long between.

Twenty-four have passed since the comedian died, and there has been no

sign of a successor to the mask and mantle. And it may be twice--nay,

thrice twenty before the actor shall arise who will compel us to recall

the triumphs of Burton for the sake of comparison.

MR. BURTON IN FARCE.

A man like Mr. Burton, endowed with keen humorous perception and the

mimetic faculty, competent to express easily and with unction every

phase of mirthful extravagance suggested by fancy and flow of spirit,

must occasionally yield to the imperious demands of his nature, and,

perforce, when so pressed, he opens the safety-valve of play and gives

escape to his excess of humor.

In this connection, we are reminded of Sydney Smith, as an example of

humorous irrepressibility. Restraint seldom fettered the expression of

the witty suggestions of his fancy. It was as natural in him to be gay

and mirthful as it was to breathe. His humor welled from a perpetual

spring. It was like the profanity of the Scotchman who didn't swear at

any thing particular, but just stood in the middle of the road and

"swore at large." There is a story that the divine, arriving first at a

gathering of notables, was ushered into the drawing-room, which was hung

with mirrors on all sides. Seeing himself reflected at all points, he

looked around and observed: "Ah, a very respectable collection of

clergymen!" Now his only auditor was the servant; but the thought came

and was at once expressed. Of course, Sydney Smith could be serious when

he wished, as all know who are familiar with his life and works; but he

had his play-ground at Holland House and in kindred coteries, where his

buoyant spirit worked its own sweet will. When the clergyman of

lugubrious aspect called upon poor Tom Hood, the story goes that the

humorist could not help remarking: "My dear Sir, I'm afraid your

religion doesn't agree with you!"--and we are quite willing to believe

the story to be one of "Hood's Own," for it has all the flavor of the

author who gave us "Laughter from Year to Year." Instances might be

multiplied of this humorous self-abandonment; but we are growing

digressive. The train of reflection, however, leads us to the belief

that Burton's merry-making powers needed occasionally an avenue of

escape; and the safety-valve, in his case, was often found in the farces

his acting made so popular--those exhibitions of fun and drollery in

which, through the lens of memory, we now intend to view him.

The farce, by the way, is a thing of the past. It may almost be said

that as a form of the acting drama, at least in America, it has been

passed to the limbo of disuse. Rarely, if ever, do our programmes

nowadays bear the old, familiar formula: "To conclude with the

laughable Farce of ----." We are no longer invited to laugh at the droll

situations and funny dialogues contained in the many pieces of

Buckstone, Mathews, and Morton; yet all will admit their efficacy to

beguile a lagging hour, and to smooth away the obtrusive wrinkle from

the proverbial brow of care. Such, certainly, was the power they exerted

in other days; and perhaps it is to be lamented that the frolic

atmosphere diffused by those comic productions is ours no more to make

merry and revel in. "Custom exacts, and who denies her sway?" remarks

Colman, the younger; and for many years the design of our managers, in

catering for the public, has comprehended the representation of one play

only for the performance of an evening; setting it elaborately,

bestowing upon it a wealth of scenic embellishment, and presenting it

generally with a due regard to strength and fitness of cast. Many of the

standard comedies have been thus illustrated--notably "The School for

Scandal" and "She Stoops to Conquer"; the comedies of Robertson--"Home,"

"Caste," "School," "Ours,"--have been so rendered at Wallack's, and at

the same theatre that play of charming improbabilities, "Rosedale," has

enjoyed a periodic return. "Led Astray," acted so long at the Union

Square Theatre; Mr. Daly's many successful adaptations, and the Irish

dramas of Mr. Boucicault; "The Two Orphans"; "The Banker's Daughter";

"Hazel Kirke";--all these, and more, are like examples. Mr. Jefferson's

"Rip Van Winkle" suffices for an evening; so also does Mr. Raymond's

_Col. Sellers_, and so also did Mr. Sothern's _Dundreary_. This new

departure may be a very good departure, for it gives us perfection in

the details of scenery and costume, and concentrates the managerial

resources in one splendid whole; and we may add, that a theatrical

system is to be commended when it permits the audience to get

comfortably home and to bed before midnight. But, all the same, if

Burton were living and acting, the farce would hold its own; and every

auditor would remain to the fall of the curtain, for the last glimpse of

that face, the last word and action of that comedian who held such sway

over the risibilities of mankind.

If among our readers there should be any old play-goers, they cannot

fail to remember how often they dropped in for an hour's hilarity with

"The Wandering Minstrel," or "Poor Pillicoddy." For, as previously

stated, it was a circumstance by no means unusual to see fresh arrivals

lining the walls of the theatre, drawn thither by the potent magnet of

Burton in the farce. It was a matter of almost as much consequence to

know what afterpiece was on the bill as what comedy. Often, indeed, the

effect produced by Burton in some exceptionally droll part had become so

widely known, that to see him in it was the prime object of a visit to

the theatre; and if to the question--"What does Burton play to-night?"

the answer named _Toby Tramp_, _Madame Vanderpants_, or the like, it

was enough: "Let us go!" was the eager exclamation.

What a piece of fun was _Toby Tramp_, in "The Mummy"! How many who are

living now will laugh as they recall the appearance of Burton in that

close-fitting garment, covered with hieroglyphics! The plot is simple

and easily told. _Toby_ is an itinerant player, needy and shabby, out at

elbow and out of money; and agrees for a cash consideration to personate

a mummy, already sold and promised to an old antiquarian. As we think of

the scene in which the bargain is concluded we remember how full of

stage strut and quotation Burton was, and how he embraced the

opportunity to present a specimen of _Toby's_ histrionic quality,

selecting the familiar soliloquy of _Richard_, and giving it as he

(_Toby_) declared Shakespeare ought always to be interpreted. He

commenced:

"Now is the winter of our discontent"--

and with the words turned up his coat-collar, blew his fingers,

shivered, and was frozen generally. Continuing then:

"Made glorious summer by this sun of York"--

he instantly thawed, threw open his coat, puffed, and from his brow

wiped the perspiration. And so he went through the whole. At the words

"Grim-visag'd war," a gloomy and malignant frown darkened his features,

which changed, as he pronounced "hath smooth'd his wrinkled front," to a

bland expression of peace;--and the climax was reached when at the

lines:

"He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,

To the lascivious pleasing of a lute"--

he executed a fantastic dance, thrumming the while an imaginary guitar.

This burlesque, for aught we know, may have been an interpolation, a

contribution of Burton himself to the fund of merriment--one of the

instances, in fact, where he dropped the rein and let Momus have his

way. But however it came, the travesty created unbounded amusement, and

put the audience in the best possible humor; yet we feel how pointless

is our sketch to even suggest the facial power, the comic attitudes, the

air, the touches of drollery, born of the whole scene; and our readers

must summon their imagination to help our failure.

The next scene is the antiquarian's museum, and the mummy is brought

in. After the necessary raptures consequent upon such a unique

possession, the professor withdraws and the stage is left alone. There

lies the mummy in his case, and a pause succeeds. The intent audience

observe a slight movement in the box. Slowly the head of Burton is

raised, and he glances warily around the room. Raising himself to

a sitting posture in the case, he turns toward the audience his

marvellous face, on which rests an expression of doleful humiliation.

We shall never forget how, finally, he rose to his feet, stepped out

of the case, walked abjectly to the foot-lights, looked his disguise

all over with intense concern, and then turned to the house--by this

time scarcely able to contain itself--and said, with the accent of

self-reproach and mortification--"I'm ---- if I'm not ashamed of myself!"

Situations follow, affording full opportunity for the display of

Burton's humorous characteristics; but we need not pursue them in

detail. He frightens everybody as a mummy; makes love as a mummy;

devours the antiquarian's dinner; has his tragic bursts;-- in short,

leaves nothing to be desired on the part of those who paid their money

to laugh and be jolly with him.

_Mad. Vanderpants_ was another uproarious creation, more laughable even,

in some ways, than "The Mummy." _Joe Baggs_ (Burton) is a lawyer's

clerk, and during the absence of his employer on a journey, arranges a

programme of deviltry for himself and comrade (T. B. Johnston). _Baggs_

becomes _Mad. Vanderpants_, and his companion _Miss Smithers_, her

assistant, and they advertise for "A Thousand Milliners." Burton's

"make-up" was one of the most astonishing things we ever saw, and

Johnston's was by no means lacking in artistic finish. The milliners

arrive (that is a representation), and then ensues an hour of

unparalleled fun and frolic. The manner of Burton in sustaining the

character and in replying with complacent air to the numerous questions

asked by the deluded damsels, was so supremely ludicrous that we pause

in writing to laugh at the remembrance. Some work is wanted, and the

window shades are unceremoniously torn down and given to the milliners.

"What shall we do with it?" ask they. "Do?" replied Burton, with

imperturbable gravity, "Why, you can hemstitch it up one side, and

back-stitch it down the other--and then gusset it all around!" The fun

waxes fast and furious, when suddenly the employer returns. The

_dénouement_ can be imagined; we cannot describe it;--but those who

remember Burton's mimetic power, and his faculty to express abject

terror and kindred emotions, can well understand what a scene of

indescribable riotous humor it was. And we cannot omit, in referring to

this farce, to mention the admirable support given by the lamented Mrs.

Hughes, who, as one of the milliners, contributed largely to the general

success by her conscientious acting.

How can we, in this allotted space, deal justly with our crowding

memories? What shall we say of _Jem Baggs_, in "The Wandering

Minstrel"?--that minstrel whose entrance on the stage was heralded by a

sounding strain certainly never before heard on sea or land, and whose

appearance, as he emerged from the wing, continuing still the dirge-like

air, was a signal for a gleeful burst all over the house. How paint his

introduction, under a mistaken identity, into musical society; the

situation that follows; his song of "All Around My Hat"; the comic

incidents that strew the too-fleeting hour of his career?

How view him as _Pillicoddy_, awaiting with supreme anguish the "turning

up" of his wife's "first," through all the phases of ludicrous bravado

and comic despair?

How depict him in "Turning the Tables"? or in "The Siamese Twins"? or in

"That Blessed Baby"? How see him as _Mr. Dabchick_, in "The Happiest Day

of My Life"? or as _Megrim_, in "Blue Devils," and ever so many more?

And yet we ought to linger on each one; for we have never seen them

since, and it may be we may never see them again--certain is it that we

shall never see them so performed. And only for the sake of refreshing a

memory of something greater would we wish to behold them now.

In concluding this imperfect tracing of recollection, we are conscious

of many deficiencies; one of these a few final words may supply.

We have said nothing of the individualization of Burton's many

characters in farce. It is true that the native hue and flavor of the

comedian's humor were so strong, and his physique so pronounced, that he

himself was always more or less apparent in whatever guise; but it

would be a great mistake to suppose that in the parts above named there

was no essential difference, with respect to portraiture. There was a

difference, and it was clearly marked. Each was a picture by

itself--each a distinct characterization; and in the development the

author was often left so far behind that the actor became the creator.

But this loyalty to ideal perception denotes, as it seem to us, that

even in farcical abandon his delineations were shaped and governed by

his artistic sense.

MR. BURTON IN PARTS HE MADE SPECIALLY FAMOUS.

The familiar picture of John Philip Kemble in the character of _Hamlet_,

standing at _Ophelia's_ grave, in sad retrospection over the skull of

Yorick, always impressed us as a revelation of the fact that an actor's

fame is bequeathed to posterity in the traditions of effect produced by

a few celebrated embodiments, and is forever associated with those

special triumphs. That Kemble was a supreme representative of the

impressive school, that he merited the glowing eulogium contained in

Campbell's eloquent verses, there will be no question; but when we think

of him or read of him, the figure of the Dane looms up in sombre

majesty, and we are haunted by the avenging spirit of Elsinore.

The picture of Edmund Kean, as _Richard_, kneeling at the feet of _Lady

Anne_, with the words, "Take up the sword again, or take up me," upon

his lips, impresses us in the same way; and any thought of that great

tragedian conjures an attendant vision of the dark and aspiring

_Gloster_.

When, in the years to come, the name of Jefferson is spoken, will not

imagination linger on _Rip Van Winkle's_ long slumber amid the

everlasting hills? and will not Sothern and Raymond appeal to a future

generation as _Dundreary_ of the glaring eye, and _Sellers_ of the

uplifted arm? And we have no doubt that Mr. Burton is, in the memory of

those now living who saw him, and will be to those who shall know him

from tradition and dramatic annals, the actor who was so inimitable as

_Captain Cuttle_, _Aminadab Sleek_, and _Timothy Toodles_. And no

wonder. The mere mention of them opens the flood-gate of recollection,

and we seem to hear far down the aisles of time the free, glad laughter

of delighted audiences. If, haply, in our memories hitherto we have

struck in some heart the chord of reminiscence, surely now we may hope

to prolong the strain. For, among the many who are still here to tell of

their nights at Burton's, few, perchance, will revert to _Bob Acres_ or

_Goldfinch_, _Nick Bottom_ or _Autolycus_; while all, at the comedian's

name, will at once summon the images of _Cuttle_, _Sleek_, and

_Toodles_.

In view of the extraordinary popularity of these performances, we shall

treat now of certain parts made specially famous by Mr. Burton, and

present in another group a view of other and various characters in his

comedy repertory.

A favorite part, and one which always delighted us, was that prince of

stage busybodies, _Paul Pry_. The character as Poole drew it affords

unusual scope for the exhibition of comic power, and in Burton's hands

its humorous possibilities were made the most of. The play was

frequently on the bills, and always drew a house that followed the

comedian through all his mirth-moving entanglements in a state of

hilarious enjoyment. The more we think of it, the more we are disposed

to class _Paul Pry_ as one of Burton's masterpieces, so rich was it in

certain phases of humor and so replete with droll suggestiveness. It may

not, perhaps, be generally known that Mr. Burton was the second comedian

who played the part in England, and it was a favorite of the renowned

Liston, whose impersonation of it won him fame and fortune. There is a

story to the effect that at the last rehearsal of the comedy, previous

to its presentation at the Haymarket, Liston was undecided as to his

costume; and while on the stage, still doubtful and uncertain, a

workman entered on some errand, wearing a large pair of Cossack

trousers, which, it being a wet day, he had tucked into his wellingtons.

The appearance of the trousers struck Liston, who adopted the idea; and

hence the origin of the dress peculiar to _Pry_. We remember very well

the general effect of Burton's "make-up"; can recall various details;

but the point of the trousers is not clear; so a better memory than ours

must determine whether or no Liston's notion was perpetuated by his

successor.