"Shake the thunder!" No sooner said than done. Up went the curtain, and "The Serious Family" commenced amidst the most terrific peal heard in that theatre for many a year.
It goes without saying that Burton's Sleek and Toodles, especially the latter, though founded on another's outlines, were so built upon and humorously amplified, that in diverting dramatic effect they were clearly his own creations, and owed their importance to the impress of the actor's transforming power. When we read "The Serious Family" as written by Morris Barnett, clever though it be, we see at once where the author ends and the actor begins; and as for "The Toodles," it is sufficient to say that the Timothy Toodles of Burton was never dreamed of by the playwright.
How shall we describe to those who were born too late to witness them, these famous performances of the great comedian? We feel that all description must fail in giving any idea of the infinite variety and scope of comic humor they exhibited. We might, indeed, for they are vivid in remembrance, take our readers through the many scenes, and show them Sleek, from the entrance of Captain Maguire, in the first act, to Burton's enraged exit in the last; picturing, as we go, the situations without parallel in droll device and mirth-moving complication; show them Toodles, from his arraignment of Mrs. Toodles for her multifarious and preposterous bargains, not forgetting the door-plate of Thompson—Thompson with a p—nor "he had a brother,"—to his inimitable tipsy scene and the memorable soliloquy, "That man reminds me";—but, however exhaustive the relation in words, after all was said, we should still hopelessly leave the effect to be guessed at with the help of imagination.
We have thus endeavored to give impressions from memory of certain parts in which Burton was specially famous; and they seem to us, on account of their versatility and range of humorous spirit, to be conspicuous examples of that varied power which led us to style the comedian an expounder of the Humor of the Drama in all its aspects. If the sojourn on earth of old Robert Burton was intended to give the world an "Anatomy of Melancholy," surely the mission of the later Burton was to lay bare the whole body of mirth.
MR. BURTON IN COMEDY AND SHAKESPEARE.
As we think of the many parts in which it was our good fortune to see Mr. Burton, we are led into a reflection on the surprising versatility displayed by them; and we question whether the record of any comedian embraces a repertory so extensive, so varied, and so distinguished for general ability. The performances we are about to recall, though exhibiting many humorous features in common, were each a distinct conception; and the execution of each was a dramatic portrait by itself, artistic in measure, faithful in delineation, and felicitous in the expression of points of character. The Burtonian element—in the shape of by-play, gesture, accent, facial device, mimetic effect—was visible in the composition, as a matter of course, contributing to the picture's expansion, deepening its tints and emphasizing its characteristics,—added touches that were the actor's stamp and sign-manual. We have cited Sleek and Toodles as strongly contrasting parts, and so indeed they were; but we might easily adduce instances of versatility quite as striking, and would do so were it not more than likely that they will appear to our readers as our memories progress. It is said that the celebrated William Farren used to style himself a "cock salmon," the only fish of his kind in the market; and if unique dramatic distinction lies in that piscatorial image, most assuredly Mr. Burton was a cock salmon of the first water.
We cannot hope to remember every thing we saw Mr. Burton play, yet we think our recollection will embrace a fair array of those characters in comedy and divers pieces which he alone in his generation seemed adequately to fill, and which were such a boon of delight to the audiences of long ago.
There was his Micawber, in the dramatization of "David Copperfield," which succeeded "Dombey and Son,"—equal to if not surpassing his Cuttle; an inimitable reproduction of the novelist's creation, full of humorous point, and sustained with an indescribable airy complacence and bland assumption of resource, that made it a perfect treat to lovers of Dickens; and those who saw "David Copperfield" may well rejoice, for they hold in memory Burton's Micawber, Johnston's Uriah Heep, and Mrs. Hughes' Betsy Trotwood!
There was Bumble, the beadle, in "Oliver Twist," a very funny piece of acting, and especially so in the well-known scene with Mrs. Corney, where, in excess of tenderness, he tells her that "any cat, or kitten, that could live with you ma'am, and not be fond of its home, must be a ass ma'am." And then when the matron is called away and the beadle remains, his proceedings are described by Dickens thus: "Mr. Bumble's conduct on being left to himself was rather inexplicable. He opened the closet, counted the teaspoons, weighed the sugar-tongs, closely inspected the silver milk-pot to ascertain that it was of the genuine metal, and, having satisfied his curiosity on these points, put on his cocked hat cornerwise, and danced with much gravity four distinct times round the table. Having gone through this very extraordinary performance, he took off the cocked hat again, and spreading himself before the fire with his back toward it, seemed to be mentally engaged in taking an exact inventory of the furniture." We deem it enough to say that Mr. Burton's management of the foregoing "business" left nothing to be desired.
We may note, in the mention of "Oliver Twist," that Nancy Sykes was played by the late Fanny Wallack, with a fidelity of purpose and a pathetic abandon that made it painful to witness.