THE DRAMA.
Park Theatre.—We congratulate the friends of the drama upon the bright auspices under which this establishment has commenced the present season. Those who have long predicted the downfall of things theatrical, and the utter extinction of the legitimate drama, find but little in the present aspect of affairs at this house to flatter their spirit of prophecy. So long as we continue upon the civilized side of barbarism, so long will a true taste for the drama remain with us. It is the natural food of an intellectual society, and as such will be cherished wherever that society exists; the vagaries of fashion on the one hand, and the railings of fanaticism on the other, to the contrary notwithstanding.
Mr. Wallack.—The engagement fulfilled by this gentleman, after an absence of some years, proved to his admirers that the vigor and vivacity of his acting have lost none of their former charms. In those personations which he has long since made his own, he displayed the same excellence which ever characterized his performance. To say that Mr. Wallack stands at the head of melo-dramatic actors, is not awarding him full praise. He is immeasurably beyond all rivalry in this branch of the art. Melo-dramatic performances by other artists bear about the same relation to the chaste acting of tragedy that the art of scene-painting in water-colors does to that other art which embraces alike the power of tracing upon canvass the most delicate as well as the most magnificent works of nature, in the bold and imperishable figures of a Michael Angelo or a Claude Lorraine. The outlines, the sketchy prominences, of the landscape are what the best of the melo-dramatic actors have delineated; but Wallack has gone a distance beyond them, and added a grace and a finish to the picture, of which his subjects were before thought incapable of receiving. And yet Mr. Wallack is no tragedian. With the high regard which we entertain for his talents, we have never seen them exerted in tragedy, without lamenting their sad misdirection. In the enviable station which he occupies as the first melo-dramatic actor of the age, fearless of rivalry, he should be satisfied, and consider the dignity of third-rate tragedian as entirely beneath his ambition.
Mr. Macready.—Sixteen years ago the American public were first gratified by the performance of this great tragedian—great even then; and those who remember the peculiar character of his style at that time, have recognized it again with all its beauties improved by long study and practice, and not entirely devoid of blemishes. Mr. Macready's acting presents the effect of great study; it shows the result of sound judgment, and bears witness to the absence of all feeling. Great as was Edmund Kean, and great as is the subject of this notice, in the same department of the drama, never were two artists, on or off the stage, more completely the antipodes of each other. Kean, all soul; reckless of art, and apparently despising even the most common and long-received rules and usages of the stage; rushed before his audience, embodying as he advanced the very soul of the character which he had put on with his dress; warming with it, feeling the sensations which he expressed; with
'A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit.'
There was no study there; nothing farther than the mere committing to memory of the words of his part. He identified himself with the character, and for the time was that character, to all intents and purposes; entering into its sensations, and actually feeling its joys and its sorrows. And what are the effects of such acting? Let those whose tears have flowed at his bidding, answer! Kean did not create admiration; he awakened enthusiasm. Mr. Macready is so chaste and perfect, so artistical, to use a cant term, that admiration is the usual feeling which he creates. His acting is like a beautiful piece of mechanism, where every wheel and spring performs its perfect work. There is no jarring, no clog, to mar the exquisite regularity of its movements. But it is a piece of machinery, after all. It is man's work, to say the best of it. The power which Kean possessed was no more a merit to the man, as being the work of study, than the genius of Byron was a creation of his own. Nature made him an actor—a thing of feeling; and he could not shut within himself the rays of that divine influence. It could not be cribbed, narrowed down, or fashioned by study, but it shone forth in all its native effulgence—dazzling and unshaded. Therefore it is fairly maintained, that the high station which Mr. Macready occupies as the first tragedian of his time is more to his honor than would be the same position, if gained for him by nature alone. The profession to which he belongs has reason to be proud of its head. He has done more to elevate the drama to its true position than any of his contemporaries, if John Kemble alone be excepted. We have observed during this engagement of Mr. Macready's many new and beautiful readings, many striking effects, and many bold points, which together with the unusual care and fitness in the 'dressing' of the stage, will form the subject of some future notice. We can foresee much benefit that is to grow out of his visit to the American stage. We can already perceive the good effects produced both upon the actors and the stage-manager by Mr. Macready's first engagement at the Park; and we sincerely hope that any suggestions which he may be induced to make, may be liberally and promptly acted upon.
C.
Apropos of the foregoing: Here is our friend the 'Mail-Robber,' with a most timely and apposite paper, in his