So called were the houses at which I first acted here, situated in the
two fine streets bearing the same names.
The Walnut is a summer theatre, and the least fashionable; and here it
was my fortune to make my _debut_ to the Philadelphians with good
success: a French company occupied at the same time the Chestnut, where,
after a seven nights' engagement at the other house, I succeeded them;
the proprietors being the same at both.
These houses are large, handsome buildings, marble-fronted, having ample
and well-arranged vomitories; and are not stuck into some obscure alley,
as most of our theatres are, but standing in the finest streets of the
city, and every way easy of approach: within, they are fitted up
plainly, but conveniently, and very cleanly and well kept. I prefer the
Chestnut, as smaller, and having a pit--as I think all pits ought to
be--nearly on a level with the front of the stage, instead of being sunk
deep below, looking, when filled, like a huge dark pool, covered with
upturned faces.
A crowded audience here presents as large a proportion of pretty,
attractive women as are anywhere to be seen; and the male part is
singularly respectable and attentive. Here again I must protest against
the charge of insensibility being laid at their doors; that is, as far
as my own feeling and experience goes.
If by applause, a constant clapping of palms or hammering of sticks is
only meant, interspersed with cries of "Bravo!" I admit they are
deficient; but if an evident anxiety to lose no word or look of the
artist, an evident abstraction from everything but the scene, with
demonstrations of admiration discriminating and well applied, may be
accepted as sufficient marks of approval, then has the actor no cause of
complaint.
With the tragedian, who strains after what in stage parlance are called
_points_, and calculates on being interrupted by loud clapping before
the sense of the sentence be complete, or else wants breath to finish
it, a Philadelphian audience might prove a slippery dependence, since
they come evidently to hear the author as well as see the actor, and are
"attentive, that they may hear."
For myself, the unreserved laughter in which they indulged I found
abundant applause, and in well-filled houses the best assurance that
they were pleased. The company here was a very good one, and the pieces
as well gotten up as anywhere in the States.
I paid frequent visits to this charming city, and shall have occasion
again to refer to it. My first impressions are here set down, and
favourable as these were, a more intimate knowledge only served to
confirm them.