William E. Burton: Actor, Author, and Manager / A Sketch of his Career with Recollections of his Performances

by William L. Keese

Then in early manhood,[9] the unrestrained alertness and vivacity of youth were his in bounteous measure. He was in the Percy Ardent and Young Rapid period, and had not yet entered the corridor of years at the far end of which lurked the blasé figure of "My Awful Dad." We remember him in so many parts which in all likelihood he never will play again! There was Rover, in "Wild Oats," that buskined hero, with his captivating nonchalance dashed with tragic fire; his tender conversion of Lady Amaranth—played, be it said, with all proper demureness by Miss Lizzie Weston; his triumph over Ephraim Smooth—one of Blake's instances of versatility—in a scene rich with the spirit of frolic abandon; and his humorous tilt with Sir George Thunder—a belligerent sea-dog, played by Burton as he alone could play it—an episode replete with comic power;—all these contributed to a performance which we revelled in many and many a night; and the memory of it, now as we write, draws near in a succession of vivid pictures. There was Tangent, in "The Way to Get Married," a capital part in Lester's hands, blending manly action and debonair grace with that easy transition to airy farcical expression, a favorite and effective dramatic habit of this actor, and given full play in that memorable prison scene in the comedy, when, a victim to adverse circumstances, and actually fettered, he makes felicitous use of his handkerchief to hide his mortification and his chains from the eyes of the heroine during her visit of sympathy. Percy Ardent, in "The West End," was another of his characteristic assumptions in those days; so also were Young Rapid, in "A Cure for the Heartache," and the Hon. Tom Shuffleton, in "John Bull"; and, indeed, Burton's frequent revivals of the old comedies would have been a difficult matter without Lester; for in every one of them a light comedy part is distinctly drawn, and unquestionably the rarest among all dramatic artists is the first-class light comedian.

Let any one who thinks otherwise endeavor to recall the names of those who have been or are famous in that special line, and he will be surprised to find how few he can enumerate. One might suppose that all young actors would naturally incline toward light comedy, and be ambitious in that direction, since in that sphere are found the charm of youth, the expression of lofty sentiment, the impulse to chivalrous action, the opportunity for the display of graceful and manly bearing,—not to mention the lover, whom, as Emerson declares, all the world loves; and why then, one may ask, should there not be always a plentiful crop of ripening light comedians? Alas, it is not enough to be young, good-looking, intelligent, and of virtuous impulse, or even a lover. Something more is needed, and we conceive it to be that gift of nature, which study and practice develop into seeming perfect art, but which neither study nor practice can create; the gift, let us say, of perceiving instinctively the salient points of a character, and going beyond the author in felicitous and suggestive expression of them. It is easier, we think, to compass tragedy; easier to simulate age; easier to be funny; than to be at once airy and gay, delicately humorous, and engagingly manly. There are fewer light comedians born,—that is the whole story; and where we find one actor like Lester Wallack, we meet with plenty of every other specialty. This was made strikingly evident by Burton's experiments in supplying Lester's place, when the latter joined his father in the establishment of Wallack's Lyceum. Charles Fisher was imported, and he for a season essayed to succeed Lester; but

"The expectancy and rose of the fair state"

he was not, and it was not long before the fiddle of Triplet and the yellow stockings of Malvolio emancipated him from the bondage of light comedy, revealed his true powers, and made us grateful to Burton for introducing to New York one of the best eccentric comedians of the day. Dyott, Norton, and even Holman, were severally thrown into the breach, such was the strait in which the manager found himself; and it was not until he secured George Jordan that equilibrium was restored to the company.

But to return. The versatility of Lester, so conspicuous throughout his career, was early made apparent. We remember him as Steerforth, as Sir Andrew Aguecheek, and Captain Murphy Maguire; and though in the last he acted under the shadow of Brougham's rich impersonation, still he was a delightful Captain. We saw him as the young lover, in "Paul Pry"; as Frederick, in "The Poor Gentleman," and many more; besides those parts, such as Young Marlow, Charles Surface, and Captain Absolute, which need no reference, since they remain ripe and finished conceptions in his present repertory. But of all his delineations of the past, that which we linger on with the greatest pleasure, and which affected us most, was his Harry Dornton, in "The Road to Ruin." From the moment he appears beneath his father's window, importunate for admittance, he awakens an interest and sympathy that follow him to the end. The part abounds in touches of Lesterian hue and flavor: the scene just mentioned; that wherein Milford makes careless and heartless allusion to Old Dornton, and is met by Harry's eloquent and electric rebuke; the scene with the Widow Warren, and with Sophia;—all are charming; and we feel it to be no small tribute to hold in memory Lester's Harry side by side with the Old Dornton of Blake.

We have spoken of T. B. Johnston, and referred to famous parts of his, particularly to the conception and execution of certain characters in Dickens which undeniably he made his own; but we remember this actor in other and sundry enjoyable delineations, of which brief mention may be made. The odd aspect of Johnston, joined to his whimsical method, so in keeping, as before remarked, with the creations of Boz, peculiarly fitted him for the apt portrayal of those idiosyncrasies of nature and temperament shadowed forth by characters in many of the old farces, in which he often appeared, those pieces being quite the fashion in the days of which we are writing. We may instance Panels, in "A School for Tigers," as one of these; his part in "A Blighted Being" (the name quite forgotten), was another; Humphrey Dobbins, in "The Poor Gentleman" (that not a farce, however), was a capital portraiture, and an amusing foil to Burton's Sir Robert Bramble; his Miss Swithers, in "A Thousand Milliners," where he almost divided the honors with Burton as Madam Vandepants;—these are a few of the many that come floating back on the tide of recollection.

Bland was a useful member of Burton's company, though we think his stay was brief, and he contributes less to memory, as it chances, than many others. We never regarded him as a great actor, though we have read of his being thought the best Jacques of his day, and very fine as Sir Thomas Clifford. We never saw him in either, and have no recollection of "The Hunchback" being produced at the Chambers Street Theatre. In "The Honeymoon" Burton himself was the Jacques. We remember Bland very well as Sulky, in "The Road to Ruin," and as Ham, in "David Copperfield," and both efforts were creditable and contributed to the general success—his share in the exciting and touching scenes between Old Dornton and himself, as Sulky, being admirably done.

We are surprised that we remember so little interesting to record of Jordan. Succeeding Lester, and deemed by many the peer of that comedian, one might naturally suppose that his achievements would figure largely in these reminiscences; but we can recall very few impersonations of which we retain a vivid impression. We cannot concur with that estimate of his powers which ranked him with Lester, yet we cordially admit that he came nearer than any actor we know of. He was very handsome, had a fine stage presence, and was agreeable in all that he did. We recall his spirited performance of Rover; his Kitely, in Ben Jonson's "Every Man in His Humor"; his Ferdinand, in "The Tempest"; his Lysander, in "Midsummer Night's Dream"; and his Captain Hawksley, in "Still Waters Run Deep," was superb and unequalled. It was always a pleasure to see Jordan, and we owe to his acting many an hour of enjoyment.

George Barrett—or, "Gentleman George," as he was quite as well known—was one of Burton's company for a short period, and with his name are associated many pleasant memories. Among them we may mention with delight his performance of Sir Andrew Aguecheek, a companion picture to Fisher's Malvolio. His long body and attenuated "make up," his piping voice, his fantastic manner, and absurd assumption of acumen,—all contributed to an embodiment artistic and entertaining in the highest degree. He also played Flute, the Bellows-Mender, in the revival of "Midsummer Night's Dream"; and it seems but yesterday, so vivid is the remembrance, that we saw him stalking about the stage, in the guise of Ben Jonson's bombastic hero, Captain Bobadil.

Old play-goers, if they remember nothing else of John Dyott, will recollect his admirable reading—his distinct utterance—his fine emphasis,—qualities specially noticeable in his Shakespearian assumptions and in characters of a didactic cast; and which made acceptable many a part he undertook, half redeeming it from deficiencies consequent upon natural unfitness. It was such a pleasure to listen to his delivery of the text, that you overlooked or pardoned inadequacy of treatment in other respects. Necessarily his impersonations were of very unequal merit. Certain phases of the character assumed might be justly conceived and well executed; others manifestly lacking in the expression of what was naturally suggested, or sufficiently obvious. We might cite instances of this—Claude Melnotte or Alfred Evelyn, for example; but we prefer to think of him in his most agreeable aspects, which were not conspicuous in light comedy, though that rôle, under the stress of exigency, often fell to his lot.