We do not allude to proper pauses, in the duration of which the actor may be allowed some little license—and an extension of which is frequently a beauty. Thus when Balthazar informs Romeo of Juliet's death, Mr. Cooper maintained a pause of great length with the most felicitous effect. He stood overwhelmed, stupified, and bereft of speech with horror and astonishment, then said
"Is it even so?—then I defy you stars!"
and paused again. Here like a great artist he filled up the picture of which Shakspeare only gave the outlines: but when, afterwards he expostulated with the apothecary, we could see no reason why he should deliver out the lines syllable by syllable like drops of blood reluctantly given from the heart.
Art—thou—so—bare—and—full—of—wretchedness
And—fear'st—to—die?
To us the last appeared as ludicrous as the former was beautiful and affecting. But, "in the name of all the gods at once," why this? Though Mr. Wood sometimes falls into this error, a few of the first lines of his Jaffier smacked of it wofully. We should find no apprehension of laying any sum upon it, if the thing could possibly be ascertained, that in pronouncing the words
Not hear me! by my sufferings but you shall!
My lord—my lord! I'm not that abject wretch
You think me.
he occupied full double the time that Barry did, or even the late Hodgkinson, whose good fortune it was not to have studied, or seen, or drawn one drop of his professional sap from the great root of these abuses. It is said by some of Mr. Kemble's advocates that he speaks in that manner from necessity—that he does it to nurse his voice in the beginning, which else would flag before the end of a long performance. If this were a sufficient excuse for Mr. K. we should not disallow it in the case of any other gentleman who labours under the disadvantage of a weak voice. But we think it is not; it would be infinitely better for the audience to compound with the actor and allow him resting between the speech times. The majestic Spranger Barry when we last saw him was not only so decrepit that he hobbled along the stage, and so bent in the middle that his body formed an angle with his lower limbs, almost as acute as that of a mounted telescope, but was so encumbered by infirmity and high living that upon any violent exertion of the lungs he puffed very painfully; yet even in that state we have heard him speak the part of Rhadamistus in Zenobia, with all the fire, rapidity, and animation of youth, his fine person all the time raised erect for the purpose: but as soon as the speech was over, down he sunk again to his angle, and puffed and blowed, while the audience, with emotions mixed up of admiration and grief gazed in a kind of melancholy delight on the finest ruin that ever time made in the works of nature: thunders and shouts of plaudits filled the house; every female was seen gazing upon the wonderful man as if her eyes were nailed upon their axes, and were melting away with floods of tears, while he, from a face of almost divine sweetness, gave back their love and their indulgence with interest. He was allowed to take his own time—not in the speeches, but between them.
Though these remarks are introduced in a part of our criticism dedicated to the performances of Mr. Wood, we by no means would have it understood that it applies exclusively, or even particularly to him. There is no performer on the American stage, perhaps, to whom they less frequently apply; but we have started the subject with him purposely to point out by an instance a fortiori how dangerous it is to a young actor, not to guard against a great imperfection. When he whose sound judgment and industry may reasonably be supposed to secure him from such errors, insensibly falls into them, actors of inferior capacity and less industry will see, or at least ought to see the necessity of standing upon a more vigilant guard.
Since the subject is started we will proceed with it, though perhaps to the exclusion from this number of some other matter originally intended for it. Can those, who, loving the drama, and feeling its beauties with a true classic spirit, wish to see the public taste won over to the tragic muse, hope that it can be accomplished, or can they be surprised that on the contrary, tragedy so often excites merriment when they reflect upon the way dramatic poetry is often delivered upon the stage. Let the first three men who pass by the playhouse door be called in, one of them taken from the highest order of life, a second from the middle order, and the third from the very lowest class—let them hear a tragedy through, or even some parts of a comedy, and let them then give their verdict as on oath, whether what they heard, resembled anything they had ever heard before out of a playhouse, or perchance a madhouse, and they must answer in the negative or perjure themselves.
This was one of the evils which Garrick had the glory of eradicating. Just before him, actors spoke in the ti-tum-ti monotonous sing-song way of the new school. Old Macklin some years ago, assured the writer of this, that except in some few declamatory speeches, or in the ghost of Hamlet, Quin would not be endured at that time in tragedy: and what said this Quin himself when he was prevailed upon to go to Goodman's Fields to see Garrick for the first time? "I dont know what to say," he replied to one who asked his opinion of the young actor, "but if he be right, we have all been wrong." Quin's integrity would not let him deny a truth which his judgment told him in the very teeth of his prejudices.