The distresses of actors distress nobody but themselves. A tale of woe told
off the stage by a broad comedian, begets little sympathy; and if he is in
the "heavy line," people say he is used to it, and is only acting--playing
off upon you a melancholy joke, that he may judge how it will _tell_ at
night. Thus, when misfortune takes a benefit, charity seldom takes tickets;
for she is always sceptical about the so-called miseries of the most giddy,
volatile, jolly, careless, uncomplaining (where managers and bad parts are
not concerned) vainest, and apparently, happiest possible members of the
community, who are so completely associated with fiction, that they are
hardly believed when telling the truth. _Par exemple_--nothing can be more
true than that Astley's Theatre was burnt down the other day; that the
whole of that large establishment were suddenly thrown out of employ; that
their wardrobes were burnt to rags, their properties reduced to a cinder,
and their means of subsistence roasted in a too rapid fire. True also is
it, that to keep the wolf from their own doors, those of the Olympic have
been opened, where the really dismounted cavalry of Astley's are continuing
their campaign, having appealed to the public to support them. Judging from
the night we were present, that support has been extended with a degree of
lukewarmness which is exactly proportionate to the effect produced by the
appeals of actors when misfortune overtakes them.
But, besides public sympathy, they put forth other claims for support. The
amusements they offer are of extraordinary merit. The acting of Mr. H.
Widdicomb, of Miss Daly, and Mr. Sidney Forster, was, in the piece we
saw--"The Old House at Home"--full of nature and quiet touches of feeling
scarcely to be met with on any other stage. Still these are qualifications
the "general" do not always appreciate; though they often draw tears, they
seldom draw money. Very well, to meet that deficiency, other and more
popular actors have come forward to offer their aid. Mr. T.P. Cooke has
already done his part, as he always does it, nobly. The same may be said of
Mr. Hammond. When we were present, Mrs. H.L. Grattan and Mr. Balls appeared
in the "Lady of Munster." Mr. Sloan, a popular Irish comedian from the
provinces, has lent a helping hand, by coming out in a new drama. Mr.
Keeley is also announced.
The pieces we saw were well got up and carefully acted; so that the patrons
of the drama need not dread that, in this instance, the Astleyan-Olympic
actors believe that "charity covers a multitude of sins." They don't care
who sees their faults--the more the better.
* * * * *
"BEHIND THE SCENES."
When a certain class of persons, whose antipathy to gratis sea-voyages is
by no means remarkable, are overtaken by the police and misfortune; when
the last legal quibble has been raised upon their case and failed; when,
indeed, to use their own elegant phraseology, they are "regularly stumped
and done up;" then--and, to do them justice, not till then--they resort to
confession, and to turning king's evidence against their accomplices.
This seems to be exactly the case with the drama, which is evidently in the
last stage of decline; the consumption of new subjects having exhausted the
supply. The French has been "taken from" till it has nothing more to give;
the Newgate Calendar no longer affords materials; for an entire dramatic
edition of it might be collected (a valuable hint this for the Syncretic
Society, that desperate association for producing un-actable dramas)--the
very air is exhausted in a theatrical sense; for "life in the clouds" has
been long voted "law;" whilst the play-writing craft have already robbed
the regions below of every spark of poetic fire; devils are decidedly out
of date. In short, and not to mince the matter, as hyenas are said to stave
off starvation by eating their own haunches, so the drama _must_ be on its
last legs, when actors turn king's evidence, and exhibit to the public how
they flirt and quarrel, and eat oysters and drink porter, and scandalise
and make fun--how, in fact, they disport themselves "Behind the Scenes."
A visit to the English Opera will gratify those of the uninitiated, who are
anxious to get acquainted with the manners and customs of the ladies and
gentlemen of the _corps dramatique_ "at the wing." Otherwise than as a sign
of dramatic destitution, the piece called "Behind the Scenes" is highly
amusing. Mr. Wild's acting displays that happy medium between jocularity
and earnest, which is the perfection of burlesque. Mrs. Selby plays the
"leading lady" without the smallest effort, and invites the first tragedian
to her treat of oysters and beer with considerable _empressement_, though
supposed to be labouring at the time _under_ the stroke of the headsman's
axe. Lastly, it would be an act of injustice to Mr. Selby to pass his
_Spooney Negus_ over in silence. PUNCH has too brotherly an affection for
his fellow-actors, to hide their faults; in the hope that, by shewing them
_veluti in speculum_, they may be amended. In all kindness, therefore, he
entreats Mr. Selby, if he be not bent upon hastening his own ruin, if he
have any regard for the feelings of unoffending audiences, who always
witness the degradation of human nature with pain--he implores him to
provide a substitute for _Negus_. Every actor knows the difference between
portraying imbecility and _being_ silly himself--between puerility, as
characteristic of a part _in posse_, and as being a trait of the performer
_in esse_. To this rule Mr. Selby, in this part, is a melancholy exception;
for he seems utterly ignorant of such a distinction, broad as it is--he is
silly himself, instead of causing silliness in _Spooney_. This is the more
to be regretted, as whoever witnessed, with us, the first piece, saw in Mr.
Selby a respectable representative of an old dandy in "Barnaby Rudge."
Moreover, the same gentleman is, we understand, the adapter of the drama
from Boz's tale. That too proves him to be a clever contriver of
situations, and an ingenious adept with the pen and scissors.