And now let us in our remaining space recall our memories of the Shakespearian parts in which we saw the great actor.
"A Midsummer-Night's Dream" was produced at Burton's in 1854, and the manager played Bottom. We well remember with what delight the play was received, and what a marked sensation was created by the scenery and stage effect. The public wondered how so much could be presented on so small a stage, and its accomplishment was a theme of general admiration. The fairy element was made a beautiful feature, and the spirit of poetry brooded over the whole production. The unanimity of the press in its encomiums on the revival was remarkable; and no more emphatic recognition of Burton's appreciation and knowledge of Shakespeare could be given than was expressed in that approving accord.
As we think of it now, it seems to us that Burton's idea of Bottom was the true one, and we enjoyed the performance immensely. It is very easy to make the character a sort of buffoon; but nothing, of course, was further than that notion from Burton's conception. Mr. Richard Grant White gives, in his "Shakespeare's Scholar," an admirable analysis of Bottom's characteristics, and at the close remarks: "As Mr. Burton renders the character, its traits are brought out with a delicate and masterly hand; its humor is exquisite." We remember his acting in the scene where the artisans meet for the distribution of parts in the play to be given before the Duke;—how striking it was in sustained individuality, and how finely exemplified was the potential vanity of Bottom. With what ingrained assurance he exclaimed: "Let me play the lion too; I will roar, that it will do any man's heart good to hear me; I will roar, that I will make the duke say, Let him roar again, let him roar again!" He was capital, too, in the scene of the rehearsal, and in his translation; and the love scene with Titania aroused lively interest. What pleased us greatly was the vein of engaging raillery which ran through his delivery of the speeches to the fairies, Cobweb, Peas-blossom, and Mustard-seed. It goes without saying, that as Pyramus in the tragedy Burton created unbounded amusement, and discharged the arduous part of the ill-starred lover with entire satisfaction to everybody.
Sir Toby Belch, in "Twelfth Night," was one of Burton's richest performances, and we remember it with the greatest pleasure. It was characterized by true Shakespearian spirit, and was acted with an animation and unctuous humor quite impossible to describe. The scene of the carousal wherein Sir Toby and Aguecheek are discovered; the arrival of the Clown with his "How, now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of we three?" and Belch's greeting of "Welcome, ass,"—inaugurated an episode of extraordinary mirth, in which Burton moved the absolute monarch of merriment. The duel scene and the scene in the garden, when Malvolio reads the letter, were full of the comedian's diverting power; and we can recall no single instance of humorous execution which more perfectly fulfilled all conditions.
Burton played Touchstone and Dogberry, as has been mentioned; but it was never our good fortune to see him in either. We saw him as Caliban, in "The Tempest"; as Autolycus, in "Winter's Tale"; and as Falstaff, in "The Merry Wives of Windsor." His Caliban we have tried to forget rather than remember; it terrified us and made us dream bad dreams; but for all that, we know that it was a surprising impersonation. His Autolycus was a model of oily roguery, and another instance of that wondrous versatility of genius with which the comedian was endowed. Very dim in memory is Burton's Sir John Falstaff. We remember the scene in the Garter Inn, and the letters to the merry wives, and, of course, the dénouement of the clothes-basket, and the frolic at Herne's Oak,—but we cannot go into detail; and we always thought we should like Burton so much better in the Falstaff of "Henry IV." The mention of "Henry IV." reminds us that it was once produced at the Chambers Street Theatre, when Hackett played Sir John to Lester Wallack's Prince Hal; and in order that nothing might be lacking in honor to Shakespeare, Burton and Blake played the two Carriers in Scene I. of Act II. Fancy those two comedians with about twenty-five lines only between them in a play of five acts! But they must have covered themselves with glory.
We have endeavored in this retrospect to furnish a view of the comedian in a number of characters; and we think, however meagre our account, it still forcibly indicates the scope and range of Burton's abilities, and exhibits him in a wide scene of varied and striking dramatic power. We have depicted him in farce, in comedy, and in Shakespearian delineations; and it is not too much to say that generations will likely pass ere his fellow shall appear. We have heard and read of attempts being made by ambitious actors to revive his masterpieces, and that the efforts were highly commendable. Perhaps they were—
"A substitute shines brightly as a king
Until a king be by."