(Qarnell Hnittetaitg Sltbtatg Silfutu, 'iStto lork r n V M inc. BENNO LOEWY LIBRARY COLLECTED BY BENNO LOEWY 1654-1919 BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY wffiii.a,l!S!?M..the curtain: 3 1924 027 212 343 DATE DUE jjinniim. ^^^^^^m-- GAYLORD PRINTED IN U.SA Cornell University Library The original of tiiis bool< is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027212343 BEEORE AID BEHIID THE CUKTAIN: OS FIFTEEN YEARS' OBSERVATIONS AMONG ®l)c ^\}tattt3 of Nc'H) Uork. BY WILLIAM KNIGHT NORTHALL, AUTHOR OP "UFS AND RKCOIiLECTIOIfS OF THE LATE YANKEE KILXi." NEW YORK: W F. BURGESS, 22 ANN-STREET. 1851. Entered according of Act of Congress In the year ISSI, BY EICHAED G. HOLMES, In the Clerk's office of the Southern District of New-York, BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAII There are few people of any grade, profession, or be- lief, who, despite the objections they may have to the stage as an institution jftr se, do not feel an interest in its history, condition, and mysteries. Few who have not felt a desire to lift the curtain which conceals the doings behind the scenes, and revel in the secrets of the Green-Room. A desire to see how the mighty potentates who strut their hour upon the stage demean themselves when they have stepped b%ond the confines of their dominions into the world of ordinary life, is natural enough ; and one of the ob> jects of the following pages is to gratify that curiosity, sd far as propriety and a true regard for the interests of the stage will warrant. For our own part, we cannot remember the time when we did not feel a lively interest in matters theatrical ; and. luckily for our propensity, we have always had an opportunity of indulging it to the top of our bent. Either from a romantic turn of mind, or an impractical' character of thought, we have always been pleasantly impressed with plays, shows, and peripatetic exhibitions of aU characters and grades. Even at this date, the meri- dian of our life, we should no more think of passing Punch and Judy than ve diould of neglecting the most positivo « BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CtrRTAIK. duty of our lives ; and the poor boy who grinds his hurdy« gurdy before our door always finds in us an attentiTe, if not pleased audita. We make this confession of our own weakness (if it be one) at the risk of lowering ourself in the estimation of more staid and solemn dispositions j' but we think the avowal will make our readers aware that with so strong a sympathy with the subjects of our work, they will in no measure be slighted ; and we have therefore chosen to clear ourself of this " perilous stuff" at once. It was our intention to have given seriatim an account of our observation made daring a pretty intimate acquaint- ance with the doings of several of our metropolitan theatres for the past fifteen years ; but a more mature reflection advises, us not to mind the order of their going, but to give the events and incidents with which yfe are acquainted,' just as they may happen to arise on the surface of our memory. The citizens of New York are eminently disposed to pa- tronise dramatic establishments, and I question if there be a. city in the world of the same size and population which can exhibit a theatrical prosperity equal to New York. The taste for dramatic entertainments, so far from dimin- ishing, has been growing stronger and stronger. Fifteen years agOj two or three theatres were sufficient to satisfy the demands of the theatre-going people ; whilst now si* or seven are hardly sufficient for that purpose — nor wouldt they even be adequate to accommodate their patrons if" negro-minstrelsy establishments did not divide the patron- age with them to a very great extent. The money nishtly spent in New York upon amusements must be enormons. I am satisfied,. if the nightly expenditure by the pleasure- ewskem of our metropolis could be sieely calculated and BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAW. 7 oempared with that spent for the same purpose in cideg of twice the siae in Europe, New York would be found to he the most lavish in this particular. There are several rea- sons for this ; and among the most prominent is, I think, our boarding-house system of living. A boarding-house offers very little to make the fireside attractive. There is no domestic purpose in the arrangements of a boarding house, farther than eating, drinking, and deeping are con- cerned. The boarders will be polite to each other, and strictly observe the courtesies of life ; but the heart has little to do with this. It is but the cold observance of rules necessary to a selfish comfort and respect ; of divers professions and pursuits of dMFerent «ountries, or from widely separated sections of the same country, there is no bond of luion among the lodgers of a boarding-house ; and eoarcely anything short of a murder or a suicide has sufficient interest to cause one boarder to feel an interest in what may be occurring to the gentlemen in the next rooms. With such unsympathising materials it is scarcely to be expected that anything like a united family circle can be formed. The consequence is that in the absence of fireside enjojr- ments the boarders are entirely thrown upon their own resources for amusement. Public places of entertainment offer the readiest means to these poor undomesticated ani- mals ; and I believe a very large proportion of the audiences who nightly assemble at one pkee or another will be found the unsettled victims of the boarding-house system of living. Speaking of the dramatic condition of New York, we can- not resist introducing the following spirited and well-written article, whicl^ we find in an old number of Blackwood ; for although written for another meridian, London, it con- tains matter so apropos to theatrical affairs in New York, t BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. that we think it wUl possess quite as mnch interest on thw ■as on the other side of the water. " There is nothing more amusing," says our author, " than looking at the play with your hack to the stage, something in the way ladies in their drawing-rooms are accustomed to scan the proceed- ings in the street helow, hy means of a mirror attached to a shutter of their window. We find the faces of the spec- tators an excellent camera lucida ; nor is there anything connected with play-going in which we can take more de- light, than in witnessing the play of feature in a crowded house, and drawing our criticism from the varied expression of a thousand countenances. We can trace in their ex- pression the various classes of playhopse-going people ; some who come hither from motives of vanity ; others for variety, others again for mere amusement ; some to criticise, some because they have no where else to go to kill the enemy ; some for one thing, some for another. Behold that dash- ingly dressed woman, in the private box next the stage, you imagine she is here to see the performance, no such thing ; she sees neither actors nor auditors, hears neither the music nor the dialogue ; her own play, performer and spectator, in one ; her box is the stage on which she plays her frivolous part ; every turn of her head is a dramatic point with her,, every movement of her fan a situation, every change of posture a study of attitude ; with what affectation of coyness she half appears and half retires behind the dra- pery of her box ; how gracefully she flirts her book of the opera, and with what vulgar pertinacity she stares throuo-h the double-barrelled opera-glass, at a citizen's wife and daughter on t'other side of the bouse. You think that ill- bred ; but, heaven help you ! fixity and coolness of stare belong to females — ^ladies, we should have said, of fashion. BEFOBE AND BEHIND THE CUETAIN. She talks and laughs aloud, too, that the house may take notice she is one of those who do as they please. She grins perpetually, not in gaiety of heart, but that she may show her teeth. Don Whiskerandos, who sits behind, keeps his nose-tip close to her ears, whispering, I know not what, whilst ever and anon she flourishes her head as if a flea or something nastier, probably, had got into her ear, but laughs the while as though the whisperings of the Don were shockingly amusing. Look at her again, and say if any among God's creatures makes so near approach to the unreasoning brute as a foolish woman ; or tell me if that poor creatare does not, at this moment, imitate the antics of a monkey on a pole, a magpie on a rail, or a peacock on a garden wall. " Turn we now to the pit — the portentous pit, sacred to critics, with power to save or damn ! Have the goodness, will you, to point us out a critic ? Certainly : that man in the fourth row from the orchestra, with the pepper and salt hair, staring like bristles on a hog's back ; or to speak poetically, " like angels visits, few and far between ;" him, I mean, with the green spectacles, snu£Fy nose, and com- plexion which seems to have derived no advantage on the reduction of duty on soap ; he is a critic. You see with what intensity his eyes are flxed upon the stage, one hand at the back of his ear, lest a syllable should escape him, the other grasping a book of the play, now, for the first time, being performed ; and the whole expression of his critical countenance is, that of an anxiety to find fault, and a desire to convince you that he thinks he is thinking. '" The days are gone, however, when the theatrical quid- nunc was a man of note, a name of great authority. When reporters of parliamentary debates were not, and the break- 10 BEPOEE ANB BEmN^> TH? CyRTAIBT. fete taWe9 of the town were as yet uflftp.oded with delnges of senatorial i^ater-gruel, thinner ^nd morp mawkish tha,n that absolutely delivered hy the absolute potentates of S'>" H^erset House, the theatre was the talking^stock of the tpwn ; playgoers were as important as politieians ; in the eoffee-hpiisea and the chocolate-rhouses, theatrical critics, great as junior lords of the treasury, and those who could go behind the scenes as consequential as bed-chamber- women in the late ministry. In those days a new play was an event, as a new tax in ours, though attended with very different sensations ; then it was not what will Pitt do, or what will Foz say ? but what will Sheridan write, and how will Kemble play? then it was not what new biU will be brought in, but what new farce will be brought out ? then, people talked as now, of the House and the Treasury, but never troubled themselves with the houses of Westminster, or the treasury at Whitehall ! The newspapers of those days, instead of telling us for our comfort, every morning, that we were all going to the dogs, would devote the leading article to invite us all to go to the play ; in those Elysian days the Senate kept their door closed, and spouted at one another across the, table, and nobody cared to hear a sylla-- ble, knowing, as we know now, that the end of all their oratory is taxation ; whereas the theatres furnished us with something or other worth hearing over night and conversing upon in the morning, without costing us anything more than the price of our admission, and there is the end on't. Why is it not so now ? Why are we bored beyond human endurance, by iiewspaper reports of parliamentary speeches, Grferman miles in length, while the theatrical business of the nation, much more amusing, and not one-fiftieth so expen- sive, is shoved away into obscure corners of our daily prints ? BEPORB AND BEHtm) THE etmrAnr. ii "The palmy days of theatrical critics, alas ! are gone; and let the critics themselves go with them. Let us aelcend into the galleries and look about us ; curious it is among the gods, to watch the reflection in the faces of the unso- phisticated spectators of what is going on upon the stage ; the unmoved and stoical look of the smock-frocked clown, and stupid stare of wonder of his female companion ; one glance at them suffices to show that no ray of intellectual light can ever penetrate their hide-bound skulls ; they came for the pantomime, and the antics of Harlequin, Columbine, Pantaloon, and Clown, make to them the highest attraction of the drama ; upon them all the exertions of ike first per- formers are utterly thrown away. Then there is the mous- tached life-guardsman, stiff, erect, with an ' eyes-right '- expression of countenance, and military stolidity of face, yet, let a flourish of trumpets be heard, or a stage combat attract his attention, then watch how his countenance lightens, his eye flashes, and the spirit of the British sol- dier is developed. Let Keeley, with his half stupid, doubly comical stare, appear upon the scene, not half so diverting is the stare of Keeley, as the universal grin of a well-filled house, reminding us of a gleam of sunshine playing upon the surface of the waters, or to speak theatrically, like the sudden rising of the foot-lights. Or let Harley, dancing upon tip-toe across the stage. Show his face whra-eon Momus has set his seal, how hearty the gofiaws which cachinnate round the regions occupied by the divinities — with what intense gratification do not the gods contemplate this mirth-inspir- ing man." Verily, a student of human life and character will find as much food before as behind the curtain. - • Talking of behind the curtain reminds us of our first intro- 12 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CFETAIN. duction into that mysterious region — that manufactory of mimic worlds, whose conjurors in fustian jackets and paper caps, without the aid of Aladdin's lamp, change you a forest into a front parlor, a desert into a diningTroom, a stormy ocean into a flower garden, a palace into a den of thieves, on the sound of a boatswain's whistle. When a boy, who has not longed for his introduction behind the scenes, and who has not a latent longing to be behind the scenes, even when grown up to the stature of a man. Behold the icenes ! There Ls deep meaning in these three words, whether we take them metaphorically or literally. ■ At last, however, we attained the object of our ambition ; our friend Sheridan Knowles, with his usual overflowing good nature, gave, us the entree. Had the state entrance been open to us we could not have felt, more honored than when admitted to the only door where hitherto we had been denied admission. Saluting with profound respect, a group of gentlemen with sallow and rather pallid faces, in whom w;e thought we saw kings, ghosts, bandits, conspirators, and what not in undress. We entered the house ; groping our way through a series of dark labyrinthine passages, sprinkled with saw-dust, and draperied with festoons of cobwebs, gracefully disposed, we came at length upon a strange portentous vault, fitted with racks, wheels, pullies, hawsers, and divers instruments of torture ; surely, thought we, these are the Tarta.rian shades of the theatre, where ghosts, dramatic and melo-dramatic, sprites, bottle, and other imps, are condemned to inhabit. While pondering upon the uses of the intricate machinery, an etherial being, clothed in white, who, we were informed, represented an attending sprite, engaged in conversation with a gnome in a blue pasteboard head-piece, with saucer eyes, who was engaged busily in eating bread and cheese. , BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 18 with radishes, of which the attendant sprite readily partook. Going up-stairs, we were detained by a -violent altercation between Jupiter, who was gorgeously dressed, with a mag- nificent gilt paper crown, and gems of real paste, and one of the carpenters, charged with having fastened a bundle of shavings to the thunderer's rear, thereby exposing the ma- jesty of Olympus to the mockery of vulgar mortals. The culprit, to our unfeigned horror, addressed the father of the gods in a most irreverent manner, inviting him to proceed immediately to a certain place, until now we understood was tenanted, not by the gods, but gentlemen of the opposite benches'. At the top of the stair stood Mercury, his cadu- ceers in one hand and a pot of porter in the other ; we have heard of . " The herald Mercury, New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill " — but Mercury with a pot of porter was a novelty. Endeavor- ing to pass between the messenger of Jove and the wall, we happened to strike against the thunder — a thin plate of sheet-iron hanging on a nail against the wall, emitting at our touch an awful sound ; close by an imp was grinding a white substance which we were told was powdered lightning. Passing towards tho^*, by which you are to understand the scene crossing the middle of the stage, those at either side being termed wings, a carpenter tapped our shoulders, ex- pressing his pleasure at our arrival, and intimating his readi- ness to accept the customary "footing,^' as he called it, of a gallon of beer. Having satisfied this gentleman we pro- ceeded towards the green-room, encountering by the way the person who played clown in the pantomime, complain- ing bitterly to the stage manager of Columbine, who had *' spoiled" him, or in other wordsf, rubbed half the paint U BEFeilE AND BEHIND THE CTRTAIN. ftom Ms faoe-, in return for some rather exceptional fami- liarities, in which the clown had thought proper to indulge, to the exquisite indignation of Columbine aforesaid. In the green-room we found an individual of grave deportment and majestic air, talking very loud, apparently proprietor of the theatre, and all that was therein ; on enquiring, however, we discovered that the great man was the low comedian of the house, enjoying the trifling salary of forty pounds a week, and considering that the chief talent of this gentleman is in grimacing and shrugging his shoulders, we could not help thinking his remuneration by no means inadequate. A tall, tallow-faced young lady, of ahoijt five and thirty, in a shabby bonnet and shawl, was detailing her theatrical grievances in a high key, to a lackadaisical young man, who assented to everything the young lady said with a nod, and saying nothing in return, which, indeed, was impossible, the tallow-faced young lady talking in a loud tragedy rant, without the slightest intermission. In the corner of the room sat a pretty girl in a very short tunic, with flesh colored silks, and ringlets running down her back, busily engaged in reading a series of little three-cornered billets, occasionally raising her eyes and stealing a glance at an opposite mirror. We cannot say we observed much of that good fellowship and familiar intercourse among the brethren and sisters of the green-room which w:e had been led to expect j on the contrary, we thought there appeared much ceremony and coolness m their- intercourse ; the cause of our disappoint- ment in this matter- we leave to wjser heads than ours to determ-it^. The theatrical character of New York has very materi- ally changed within the last fifteen years. The erection of the National Theatre, and the brilliant success which BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 15 marked its course under the management of the Wal- lack, was an event of much interest in the annals of theatricals here. The National was the first rival wor- thy of the name, Old Drury had ever had to dispute its su- premacy in dramatic affairs. The Bowery Theatre, al- though eminently successful under the management -of Mr. Hamblin, catered for a different. class of people, and had no more influence upon the fortunes of the Park than if it had never been in existence. With excusable vanity, the bill-boards of the Park, standing side by side with those of the National, still continued to style the Park " The Theatre," sturdUy denying, or rather obstinately refusing to recognize any other establishment. It was found neces- sary, however, after a while, to give it a more distinct ap- pellation, and it was, until its final destruction, called " The Park TAeatre." Simpson was often urged to bestir himself to meet the effect of the opposition which was gradually encroaching upon his long-enjoyed dominions, but, like Nelson at Trafalgar, he put the glass to his blind eye and would not see the signals ; but unlike the hero of the Nile, his determined blinding did not result in victory. It was not so much apathy on the part of Mr. Simpson, as a mistaken confidence in the name, character, and long standing of the Park, which rendered him apparently an indifferent spectator of the successful career of his skilful opponent, for when, in the course of time, he found the for- tunes of his establishment beginning to falter, he was gal- vanised into a sort of vitality, and engaged some negro minstrels. This was jumping from Seylla to Charybdiis with a' vengeance. But to return — Flynn and Willard were now the first lessees of the National Theatre, after the failure of the Italian Opera. Their career, however, 16 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. was very short. Flynn, among others he engaged whilst in London, was William Mitchell, afterwards for so many years the ahle and accomplished manager of the Olympic Theatre. The National afterwards fell into the ahle hands of James Wallack, who managed it with consummate skill and brilliant success until its destruction by fire in the month of September, 1839. The destruc- tion of the National exercised such an influence upon theatrical affairs in New York, and was productive, as will be hereafter seen, -of such extraordinary changes in the dramatic entertainments in the city, that, for purposes which wUl be seen in the course of this work, I shall here give a well-authenticated history of the burning of the establish- ment. We were on our way to New York, with the purpose of seeing Charles Keen in the character of Richard the Third, when we received the melancholy intelligence that the Na- tional Theatre was in flames. The first appearance of fire in the theatre, says our authority, was discovered a little before 5 P. M., by a person in the street, who observed smoke issuing from the windows and doors in Leonard Street, and immediately gave the alarm, the report flying like lightning through the city. It is worthy of notice that this precise time is the only period of the day and night in which a fire could by any possibility occur in any part of the theatre without being immediately discovered, and in all probability extinguished, as at all other times there were a groat many peopleKon the premises, up to the close of the performances, when the watchmen commence duty, and their rounds through the building were so arranged, that they visited every part of it at least once in thirty minutes. BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 17 One of the first persons who entered the theatre was Mr. Mitchell, who states that, whilst looking from the window of his house in White Street, on the afternoon of the fire, he saw smoke ajrising from the house in the direction of the theatre ; he instantly ran towards Leonard Street, and, to his horror, found the theatre was on fire. He then en- deavored to enter the theatre by the stage door, but found it fastened on the inside, which was quite contrary to the usual practice ; he immediately made towards the lowest window in the theatre, which was immediately over the pit door, and by the assistance of a stranger was lifted up to it, but that also was fastened. By breaking the glass, he managed to open it, and in that way gained admission. He then opened the door leading to the stage, hoping to gain Mr. Wallack's room, and save the engagements and other private papers, but found the stage, with the curtains, wings, scenes, and borders all in flames, and he was driven back. He then, with the assistance of Mr. H. Wallack and other gentlemen, cleared the room and broke into the lobby, from which they saved the pier glasses, piano forte, and marble slabs. By this time the flames raged so furi- ously on all sides, that, at the earnest request of Mr. Wal- lack, who had reached the building, they left the theatre. Mr. Everard, the housekeeper, who lived on the pre- mises, states that he ran down the stage on the first alarm, and proceeded in the direction of the gas room, which was directly under the proscenium, and adjoining the first en- trance, which opened in Leonard Street. At this moment the flames burst forth with such violence, that it was with the greatest difficulty he escaped, being " chased," as he described it, to the foot of the stairs leading to the stage, from the stage-door in Leonard Street, the back of his 18 BEFOBE AND BEH151> THE CURTAIN. head and ears being severely burned. He proceeded at once to his dwelling-jroom, which was over the stage door, and with great diflSculty got his wife into the street. By this time, short as it was, the flames had got such as- cendency that no hope remained of saving the building. Some few dresses and properties were saved from those dressing-rooms which had windows opening into the street, but unfortunately the stock wardrobe, the most, complete and gorgeous collection of costumes in America, were to- tally destroyed. The flames now burst forth with awful violence from the roof, and such was the intensity of the heat at that time, that the roofs of the African church, in Leonard Street, the splendid French church, in Franklin Street, the Dutch church, also in Franklin Street, and four dwellings, took fire almost at the same moment. The awful grandeur of the scene at this time it is impossible to describe. We never beheld anything surpassing in splendor the appear- ance of the interior of the theatre, which was filled with a living sea of flames, dashing its frightful waves on all sides, and then rising in immense columns towards the sky, while every opening round the splendid area vomited forth fire. The African, French, and Dutch churches were speedily destroyed, and also four dwelling-houses in the neighbor- hood. From the most authentic sources, we have with much difficulty obtained the following particulars of the principal losses at the theatre, which may be relied on as correct. Stock wardroTje, $8,000 Stock properties, 4,900 Scenes, 8,000 Jom98 WaUack'8 wardrobe, 8,600 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CUETAIN. IB Henry Walla,cl:'s wardrobe, f 2,0QQ Actors priYate property, 3,760 Musical mstrumentB, 2,090 Music, 1,500 Furniture, 2,500 New decorations, • 8,500 Total, »44,750 This loss is entirely independent of the loss of the build- ing and the standing property in the theatre. Among the aotors, Mr. Henry Wallack appears to 'he the heaviest loser. Mr. Vandenhoff's wardrobe was with the greatest difiSeulty preserved, with the exception of ^me splendid Roman togas and suits of scale and chain armor. Mr. Wallack lost. his entire wardrobe-^the col- lection of a life ; — this loss was irreparable. Mrs. Rus- sell was a severe sufferer. Her dresses were of that pecu- liar character which it was impossible to replace in this country, which, being mostly genuine costumes of the past century, and most valuable to an actress in her line of busi- ness. It was reported at the time of the fire, that Everard, the housekeeper, lost five hundred dollars, but we believe there was no truth in the rumor. A strict enquiry was instituted as to the origin of the fire, and although nothing was elicited calculated to fix be- yond doubt the act of incendiarism on any one individual, most persons connected with the establishment had very little doubts upon the subject. That it was the act of an incendiary there can be no question. We shall pursue t^e account of this lamentable affair still farther, for the de- struction of the National, and the distribution of the mem- bers of the company, has influenced the dramatic cha- racter of New York to this day. Our account of the a&ir 20 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. is taken from documents loaned us by Mr. Mitchell, and the utmost confidence can be placed upon its relation. We copy the following from the papers, to which we refer. " The destruction of the National Theatre, although it has fallen most severely at this, moment upon those who are professionally engaged in the establishment, is not confined in its, ill effects to them alone. If this calamity should break up the talented company which is now gathered to- gether, and separate them, the onward progress of the drama in this country will be retarded for years. The public will be deprived, in a great measure, of the most popular, valuable, and instructive of all amusements, while the profession themselves will return to that dependence upon the humors of the managers, from which nothing but a spirited opposition and fair rivalry protects them. " In proof of this latter position, we put it to the compa- ny engaged at the Park Theatre, whether it be not iminense- ly to their advantage, that another theatre of the first class should exist ? Nay, more, — whether the success which at- tended the National Theatre, did not prove an essential advantage to them, placing them in their proper station — that is, dependent on their talent, and independent of the tyranny and caprice of their managers, who, knowing that another field was open to them, were forced toact liberally and honorably to their actors, to prevent their seekin" en- gagements elsewhere. " The loss which the public will feel, if only one theatre exists, will be evident to all. In place of the splendid per- formances we have lately witnessed at both the theatres supported by such a combination of talent, which cannot be surpassed in Europe, we shall have to return to the dull and uninteresting exhibitions of one star and an iiiefficicnt BEFOEE AND BEHIND THE CTJETAIN. 21 company, wtioh. will be offered to the public, with Hobson'a choice, ' That, or noije.' " On the other hand, let such a theatre as should adorn the first city in the country, be erected, and placed' under the direction of Mr. Wallack, who has already incontro- vertibly proved himself ftdly competent to manage such an establishment as it should be, and New York will possess, as she should do, a temple for the drama worthy of her own high rank among the cities of the Western world. " Thus much to the public, who will, we feel confident, never forsake that manager and company who have aheady done so much for the cause of the drama, and whose suc- cessful career has been so suddenly checked.'' The kind feeling which was entertained towards Mr. Wallack and his company by the press of New York is evinced in the following remarks : — " We shall not urge the claims Mr. Wallack has upon the sympathies of that public he has served so many years with satisfaction to them, and credit to himself. As an actor, they admire him ; as a manager, they know his talents ; and as a man, all who know him, honor and respect him. " Among his professional brethren he has passed his life on such terms as speak more highly for the good qualities of his heart, than any praise we could bestow might do. From the star to the super, all think well of him, and we venture to say, that no man in the profession has ' acted his part' through Efe better than James Wallack. " A few words to the members of the company, and we have done. Five days have only passed since you were in the full tide of success, gathered together in the most com- plete and comfortable theatre in America, strong in num- bers and rich in talent ; in a few short hours, your templo 9Z BEf ORB AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. was destroyed, and the greater portion of your worldly goods lost to you forever. A severe blow, it is true, but not such as should create despair in the minds of Men. The theatre and property ypu have lost were upheld by professional talent and good management. The talent is yours— your manager is still among you — that public who supported you in prosperity will not forsake you in adver- sity. . Be true to yourselves, and they will be true to you. Let no personal sacrifice, which may be necessary for a time, induce you to desert yom- ranks ; remember that union is strength, and with the strength you possess while united, you can recover your former position very speedily. Let not the advantage offered you for a few days make you forget the ultimate advantage that must arise from firm- ness at this moment. Once more, we say, be true to each other, and prosper.'' To those who do not recollect how meanly a certain rival establishment endeavored to engage members of the Nation^ al company, whilst the smoke was still ascending from the burning remains of their own temple, will not fully appre- ciate the force of the above appeal, but to those who feel, as we did, an interest in all connected with this melancholy catastrophe, and a pride in seeing the National company bravely true, to their manager in his trouble, its appropri- ateness and feeling will be understood. In a few days after the destruction of the National, Mr. Wallaok received the following letter : — Monday Evening, 10 o'clock. Sir, — The management of the Park Theatre,. feeling for the calamity that has overtaken the many persons attached to the National Theatre, by the unfortunate conflagration of that edifice, avails itself of tlie first moment to offer to them the theatre for a fi;ee benefit on such a night after Tuesday, as you or they may prefer. The entire proceeds, without deduction, will he paid to such a committee as the Buflerers may appoint, for distribution among them. An early reply is requested, that the night may be announced immediately. E. Simpson. Ji W. Wallack, Esq. Now lot be borne in mind, that Messrs. Simpson and Price have been on terms of the greatest intimacy for a period of twenty years with Mr. Wallack — that Mr. Simp- son is, by marriage, closely allied to him — that to the ex- ertion of his professional talent, they are indebted for those "thousands and tens of thousands of dollars, which they now possess, and let any man with a heart not all stone, say whether the above cold, formal, and unfeeling epistle was such as he should have received from them ; not one kind word of consolation, not even the friendly words used to address an acquaintance of a month's standing, beginning Sir, and ending with a strictly formal and official E. Simp- son. At a time like this, when the labors of a life was lost — when the golden reward for which he had striven for the past two years, was dashed to earth in a moment — such a letter, from such a man, was heartless and disgusting. Mr. Wallack himself was not even alluded to, his com- pany alone was named, and therefore he answered it briefly, and rightly too, thus :— AsTOR House, 11 o'clock, Monday night. Sih:— I acknowledge^the receipt of youi'letter this eVetiin^. 1 have just handed it to Mr. Mitchell, who will ctanmimicate 24 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. with yon, doufctless, when he has shown it to those whom it concerns. James W. Wallace. E. Simpson, Esq. He handed the letter he received from " E. Simpson" to Mr. Mitchell, in order that the company might act upon it as they thought best. Mr. Mitchell immediately called a meeting of all the gentlemen attached to the theatre ; at which meeting, he read the letter to them, and put the question whether it was such an offer as they, bearing in mind the esteem and gratitude they owed Mr. Wallack, and the respect due to their own characters, they could ac- cept. This was answered by an universal negative ; and the following reply was forwarded to Mr. Simpson : — 4 White street, 24th Sept., 1839. Sir':— Your note, addressed to the management of the late Na- tional Theatre, liaving been read to a full meeting of the • company, I am desired, on their part, respectfully to de- cline it. On the part of the company, I have the honor to be, sir, yours, W. Mitchell. E. Simpson, Esq. Mr. Henry Wallack briefly addressed the company, and called upon them to recollect how much they owed his bro- ther for J;he manner in which he had conducted the theatre, and the high station he had enabled them to occupy among the dramatic companies of America ; he called upon them to be true to each^ other, and to have that confidence in the sympathy and support of the public, wbich was never withheld when it was deserved^ BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 25 ' . Mr. Salter said that he had but lately joined them, but he for one had resolved never to forsake Mr. Wallack until that gentleman himself declined to be his manager. This address was responded to heartily by every indivi- dual in the room, and it was proposed and carried unani- mously, to forward Mr. Wallack an assurance of their steadfast and unbroken faith in him, and their determina- tion still to remain under his direction and control, depend- ing on their own exertions and his management to recover the position which, by this awful calamity, they had lost. A letter was then forwarded to Mr. Wallack, expressing the entire and unalterable confidence of every member of the company in him, and their determination to remain un- der his management until he himself declared no hope re- mained. Before noon on Tuesday^ application was made to Mr. Charles Eean to make an engagement, but that gentleman with the utmost generosity declined all offers, declaring -his fixed determination not to play at any theatre until he could do so under Mr. Wallack. Mr. Seguin", and indeed all the stars engaged at the Na- tional, have also expressed the same feelings towards their former manager. On the Thursday following, a meeting of the friends of Mr. Wallack took place at the Astor House. The dining-room in the north wing of that' house was filled by one of the most respectable assemblies we ever saw in New York. At about fifteen minutes after eight it was proposed that Major Noah Ihould take the chair, which proposition was carried •reem cow, and Mr. Epes Sergeant and Mr. Otis were appointed secretaries. , General Sandford then rose and addressed the meeting to the following offetrt : — 26 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CTOTAIN. " Mr. Chairman, it is not necessary that I should do more than simply state to this meeting the particular cause for ■which we have met here this evening ; the circumstances are too well known to render detail at all necessary. We have just witnessed one of those distressing calamities with which our city has been so frequently visited of late years which in its effects tends not only to produce much misery and suffering to individuals, but seriously to injure the cause of literature arid the drama. We have seen the most splendid temple of the drama, where we lately witnessed the most intellectual performances, reduced in a few hours to ashes ; and all the hopes of him who had brought these perform- ances to such perfection, crushed in a single moment, and brought to naught. " Under these distressing-circumstances we are called to- gether, not only to sympathise with the head of that estab- lishment, but to endeavor, as far as lies in our power, to alleviate His affliction, and remedy his loss (cheers.) " For upwards of twenty years Mr. Wallack has been known to the New Yorkers as a most talented and ad- mirable artist-^but this is not all — his sterling worth as a man had endeared him to all who knew him, and drawn around him a host of friends, very many of whom I now see in this room (cheers.) " Up to ■ the time that Mr. Wallack commenced the management of the National, it had always been an un- profitable theiatrelj and he did so against the advice of many of his friends, who feared the result. He commenced with great spirit, and struggled through the first season, at the end of which, however, ho had incurred a heavy loss ; yet hii spirit was uflbroken. He visited Europe, enlaced the bsjt muMcal talent there, returned; and produced the beet BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 27 operatic entertainments ever known in America. The second season was most prosperous ; again he increased his company — all looked bright, all promised fair — when in a moment the cup is dashed from his lips, and all is lost. " It should afford us much pleasure, Mr. Chairman, to find that this splendid company, instead of being separated and broken up, still remaining entire and united.- A temporary home is already found them, till a theatre more'fitting and worthy this great metropolis is' built for them. Weare, therefore, not met here simply to sympathise with Mr. Wallack, but further to devise the best means whereby we mayrplace him once more in that station he has shown him- self so competent to fill (loud cheers.) " I know, aye, we all know, that this city can and will support a theatre such as we ought to possess, if it be con- ducted as we all know Mr. Wallack can and will conduct it (renewed cheers.) I will, with your permission, propose a few resolutions on which, when the opinion of the meeting is taken, we shall be better able to judge the best course for us to pursue, in order to carry into effect the object we have in view. "1. Resolved, That this meeting deeply sympathise with Mr. James W. Wallack, in the heavy loss sustained by the destruction of the National Theatre by fire, and bear willing testimony to his enterprise, zeal, and liberality, in engaging the very best talent that England or this country could afford, and also to the highly respectable orderly manner in which he discharged the arduous duties of manager of that establishment, " 2. Resolved,, That this meetipg learn with pleasure that the eminent talent secured for the National Theatre, in- stead of being broken and dispersed, is still cou,c@ii1xated 26 BEF6RE AND BEHIN» THE CURTAIN. arid united, and will appear the casuiag week at tbe new theatre in Niblo's Garden. " 3. Resolved, That we will continue to support Mr. Wal- lack and bis company at that house, with the same cor- diality of feeling and good will that have been maniffested towards him while presiding over the National Theatre. " 4. Resolved, That the time has arrived when a metropo- litan theatre, corresponding with the wealth and population of this metropolis, should be erected on a suitable and convenient site, and that a committee of ten citizens be ap- pointed to take the whole subject into consideration, to re- ceive propositions for the same ; also plans and designs, and to devise the necessary ways and means to carry into immediate effect the intentions of this meeting, and when said theatre has been decided upon, and the necessary means for its completion adopted, it be placed under the management of Mr. Wallack. " 5. Resolved, That a copy of these resolutions be trans- mitted by the chairman and secretaries to Mr. Wallaek in behalf of this meeting. " The following gentlemen were elected a committee un- der the fourth resolution. Philip Hone, M. M. Noah, Samuel Ward, Jun. Epes Sergeant, S. B. Ruggles, J. Prescott Hall, Robert Emmet, D. E. Tyler,- Gerard Costar, Thomas D. Davis, C. Manran, James F. Otis, Anthony Barclay. " It was then on motion resolved, that the proeeedinga ot BES'OTIE ANB BEHIND THE CiTRTAm. 2B this meeting be published in the newspapers of the day. " The meeting then adjourned to meet at the same place this day week, to receive the report of the committee. M. M, Noah, Chairman. "James F.Otis, ? Secretaries." " Epes Sergeant, ) After the meeting had adjourned, a very large sum was immediately subscribed towards taking stock in the nhw theatre. Exactly a week after the burning of the National, Mr. Wallack's company played at Niblo's Garden ; on which occasion Mr. Charles Kean appeared as Richard the Third, and Yankee Hill made his first appearance on the same evening, after his return from Europe. That the company engaged by Mr. Wallack was beyond all comparison the most efficient and talented corps ever belonging to any theatre in America, does not admit of a doubt. Believing that a complete list of this company will possess an interest to a great number of our readers, we subjoin a carefully preserved list, complete in every de- partment. James W. Wallace, Esq., Lessee and Mwaager. 'William Mitchell, Esq^ Stage ■Manager. James Smith, Bs dieatnent he was in—undertook to combat the prejudices) against him, and instantly set about writing a piece for him called Professionals Puzzled. It was played with success j the actor made a hit^ and. the author, his generous inter- poser in the hour of need, was delighted. Let us "stop to see what reputation Mitchell had previous to his appearing in London. The Durham Chronicle thus bids him farewell : " Mr. Mitchell deserves far more notice frotn us than we intend to bestow at present. As an actor', he is making rapid strides to excellence and perfection ; he has so much original hiimor at command, such flexibility of counte- nance, perfect; knowledge of his author and the stage, that he is always-a picture, in any situation or position he may choose. It would be impossible to particularise every good thing this gentleman has done since our last, but the high road' to preferment is completely open to him. We we're among the first of his admirers as an actor, and have fear- lessly asserted his possession of genuine talent, and to what- ever part of the globe fate may waft him, we shall always hail with unmixed satisfaction an account of his prosperity." He had been but a short time iii Lolidon, ere he gained the good opinion of all the critics of the day. The Tatler, edited by Leigh Hunt ; The Athenaeum ; The Satirist, who said, on his gping to Covent Garden, he would prove a dangerous rival to Keeley; The Times; The Morning Herald; Th« Weekly Dispatch, &c., &c. Orie of them thus speaks of his Jem Bags, in the Wandering Minstrel : ■'He is inimitable. His acting is one of the raciest things we ever saw upon the stage, and he does not lose sight, one moment, of the rich part he is embodying. The piece was intended for Ro6V#; Imt we defy him to have made of ttb fiO .BEFOBB AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. part one-tenth of what MitcheU has rendered it." AnotI»er, The Age, " it was a rich bit of farce, the very acme of perfection.'' From the Strand Theatre he was soon transported by Laporte to Govent Garden, to do Power's business, the Irishman. The engagement was for three years. He re- mained there part of the first season. The managerfeiled, and the company went on shares to the Olympic, where they played out the season. He went from there to the Queen's Theatre, under the management of Edwa,rd May- hew, a young lawyer, and subsequently of G. S Becket. It was here that originated that school of burlesque, which Mitchell so well carried out at the Olympic in New York. The next engagement was at the Victoria, (1834^) here- tofore the Cobourg, then under Abbot's management, jErom whom it soon fell into that of Glossop, to whom Mitchell became stage manager. Glossop became lessee of the Strand, combined the two companies, and sent Mitchell to revive the burlesque entertainments for which that place was celebrated. Here was produced the Roof- Scrambler, Man-Fred, The Man with the Carpet Bag, &c., &c.; and.it was at this time information was lodged against him for playing at an unlicensed theatre, and he was con- victed in a penalty of i650, for performing in one farce. This broke up the company at the Strand Theatre, and Mitchell returned to the Victoria, where he remained to the close of Glossop's management, and then went back to the Queen's, where he found one of the best companies ever collected within the walls of a theatre — John Reeve, Old Williams, W^?nch, Green, Moses Barnet, Mrs. Nesbit, Mrs. Honey, Miss Murray, Miss Orger, and an excellent corps de ballot. He repeated his performance of Jem BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 61 Bags, of which the Examiner, the best of the London weelily papers, says, " We have never seen anything so perfect — .dress, voice, walk, manner— the quintesoence of squalid blackguardism — the picture of him on the walls gives no adequate idea of the personation. He looks as if an extra pound of soap and a small-tooth comb would be necessary for all who came near him." We could fill a volujne with such complimentary notices of Mr. Mitchell ; but since the time these were written, he has shown among us how much he deserved the encomiums of the press on'the other side the water. The Adelphi Theatrp next saw Mitchell as manager ; from whence he was shortly removed to St. James', as direc- tor and principal comedian, under Braham. He remained' here one season, and again went to the Strand, then under the management of Hammond, who died in New York, ia the cholera season pf 1849. His next step, which he made in June, 1836, was a long and hazardous one. He left London for New York, ac- companied by his wife and daughter, Bengough, the ar- tist, who afterwards married Miss Mitchell, and Plumer. We'have recorded elsewhere the fact of ijitchell's engage- ment with Flynn & Willard at the National, and traced him down to the time when the burning of the National left him free to wander where he would. The Olympic Theatre, situated midway in the block be- tween Howard and Grand Streets, after Mr. Blake had resigned its management, fell into the hands of speculators of all kinds and degrees, and was used for almost every imaginable kind of exhibition. In short, the reputation oi the place about this time was as bad o^ it ?onl4 well be. It was not, therefore, without a great deal of " serious conside- 62 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CUBTAIN. ration" that Mr. Mitchell made up his mind to assume its future management. Perhaps if Mr. Mitfihell bad been differently situated in a pecuniary point of view, he would not have entertained the thought for a moment, so forlorn was the hope of success ; but empty pockets are mighty sharp arguments, and very apt to overcome the suggestions of delicacy and propriety. Manager Mitchell's situation at this time was one of great embarrassment. He was left by the burning of the National entirely without means ; but nevertheless, he had both courage and energy, and he resolved to make a bold push. He at last resolved to take the Olympic. His company was small, consisting of the following artists : — Gentlemen. Ladies. Mr. MiTCHELi., Mrs. Bailey, " Browne, " Pltjmeh, " HORNCASTLK, " JoWES, " Aderson, " Johnson, " Powell, Miss Singleton, " EVERARD, " EANDOLPH. " WiLMOT, * " Russell, " Baker, " Pearson. The Olympic was opened under the new management on Tuesday the 9th of December, 1839. The bill of the evening consisted of the popular drama of HIS FIRST CHAMPAGNE; Followed by the Burlesque of NO; Concluding with the Farce of HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS. We sha'' long remember the opening night -?«"»"»• Miss Belawnet, ^'''- •'"''"«<'ra. Miss Ledbrook, •''^«»* Singleton. Miss Bkavassia -^^s* Randolph. Call-boy, prompter, scene-painters, scene-shifters, gas-men, &c. Such was the original caste of a piece which was played more nights, and retained its popularity for a longer time, than any piece ever produced in America. Although the Savage and the Maiden alone was a sufficient attraction for the evening, the management did not rest content. New pieces were continually being produced. A volume of the bills of that season, 1839 and '40, is now before^me, and there wre can begin to see the first gliminering of that spirit of entertainment which, in its pursuit, filled the treasury of the Olympic to overflowing for years. Mr. Horncastle was the dramatic author of the estab- lishment at this time. His operatic burlesques will be long remembered by the theatrical world of New York. Mr. Allen, the author of 1849, Saratoga Springs, &c., made his debut here as a dramatic author, in a piece called As- modeus in New York. He was an occasional contributor to the Olympic library for many years. Among the first burlesques Mr. Mitchell introduced to the Olympic audience, was Man-Fred, written by G. S Becket, one of the leading contributors to the London Punch. It was slightly altered, to suit this meridian. This burlesque is exceedingly well worked up. There is a ludi- crous solemnity preserved throughout, which adds greatly to the effect of the caricature ; nor does the author's humor degenerate into vulgarity or his grotesqueness of fancy load to any wanton outrage on probability. Manfred, the philo- BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 57 Eopher, the Faust of Byron, is here represented as a sweep, whose trade has been ruined' by one of the sweeping mea- sures of Parliament, and the darkened soul and sadly . colored vest of the metaphysical enquirer into mysteries, are parodied by the sooty visage and dirty clothes of the ruined sweep. Byron's drama opens with Manfred in his study, and an invocation of his ministering spirits. Man- Fred thus commences : Scene — The Cellar of Man-Fred. Man-Fred, solus, over an empty pot. Man-Fred. — ^This pot must be replenished— but I think It ne'er would hold as much ae I could drink. My slumbers— 'if I slumber — are not sleep. But interrupted by a, cry of sweep ; And yet I hear it not, although I bear The name of sweep — the business is not there. I mourn and curse the fatal act, because It's made the trade by no means what it was. The chimney-sweeping art I've toiled to learn. And of each flue am up to every turn ; But this avails not ; labour I've endured. Some of the smokiest chimneys I have cured ; But this avails not — I have been opposed. And all who set up against me closed^ But this avails not — industry or skill, A large connexion and a fine good will. Have been to me as nothing since the law Was passed, which tells the sweep to hold his jaw ; I have no hope, my love of work is gone, I see a chimney blaze and may blaze on. The invocation and rising of the climbing-boys was irre- sistibly funny. His love, Ann Starkie, (Byron's Astarte,) makes use of some singular similes. 68 Before and behind the curtain. A thousand feelings agitate my breast, By which my Iotb for Mdn-Ft-ed is oonfessed; Yes, like a steam-engine, my bosom' jumps Against my chest, giving enormous thumps — ■What can it be ? Alas ! it does but prove That with the sweep I madly am in love. I'm mad — I don't care two-pence where I goes. But wander oilwardS, following my nose. No matter — on my o'ershadowed fate Hope's light beams faintly, like a kitchen eight ; But of hope's candles time expands the wicks. The kitchen eight becomes a parlor six ; ' And then expanding, gradually more. The parlor sis — behold a drawing-room four. Oh ! such philosophy my spirit cheers. And from my cheek dries up the gushing tears : As fresh silk button on an old surtout. Making it, not too sfeedy, look like new ; So does philosophy revive the breast. That with its misery is sore opprest. Manfred's soliloquy on the Fancy Fair is well known. Ma«-Fred's rumination over the disjointed pavement is equally worthy of admiration. My climbing boys to look for work are gone. And here I am — alone, alone, alone ; I've wandered out, for what I do not know : How came I perched up here ? I look below And see the gas-lights branching from the main. And then I see them joining it again ; The gas that lights the city up, they hold Mankind's sagacity, in that is told ; But all the gas that all the Wallsend coal Could make, will never light my darkened soul. You, too; ye stones, upon whose piled-up ] I stand, and see beneath an awful leap ; BfiltJ'RE KSt) BEHtWb The CtTRTAlN. 60 I look below^-zoTinds ! wliat a long way ioym, 1 -wouldn't jump it— net for half a crown. Somethmg I'm certain moved — ah ! what was that ? Am I mistaken ? — ao, it, was a rat. t^ Watchman's voice is heard, crying-, "past twelve.") Ah, hark ! t hea* th« wdl-remembeS'ed note. The musi* of the passing Watchman's throat ; For this is ia the city, where still rise 7he passing watchman's time-prodaiming cries. {Enter Watchman, viUh stqff and iantern.) Man-Fred — (not seeing him) — Ye omnihusses, that come rattling down. Full gallopping, through every street in town ; Ye cabs, that itill your five or six a-day, Ye hackney-coaches, why thus keep away, Why come ye not and crush me .' No, you kill Those victims only, who'd be being still. ( 27ic Watchman attempts to remove him, when. Man-Fbed e«- 'claims'^ I, surely, in a country that is free> * Gim kill myself, if so it ptease me. Watghmaw. ^ot in this parish ; we don't like the bother. But, yoU can do it, sir, in any ^ther. " Not in this parish " is a rich bit of parish selfishness^ In that expression, we see in imagination, the vestry par- liament, the itnportant churehwarden, the truculent over- seer, the pompous beadle, the parish surgeon, and all the paraphernalia of a coroner's inquest. Mr. Mitchell's act- ing in this burlesque was replete with comic humor. The anniversary of the opening of the Olympic was, for many year?, cheerfully celebrated by the attaches of the theatre. TJie only one of these occasions we were at, was celebrated at Stryker's Bay, then kept by Mr. Corbyn, tho the Treiasurer. Not a sonlt from tiie'l^adins' ffiemhers 60 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CUKTATN. of tho company, down to the gas-man, was omitted in tho invitation to the dinner, and we think we can safely say, not a soul omitted to be there. We started, some seventy- two, in number, all directly or indirectly connected with the theatre, no outsiders being admitted, in omnibusSes hired especially for the occasion. We arrived at Stryker's Bay about twelve o'clock, and a happier set of people were never assembled in that house, before or since. No man knew better than Mr. Corbyn how to provide for such ec- centricities as it was his duty to entertain that day — not, we mean, simply in the eatables and drinkables, but in the exhibition of those nameless qualities which distinguish the hospitable host from the cold formal Dombey giver of a dinner. It was some time to dinner yet, and some enter- tainment must be adopted to fill the weary hour. Target shooting was the sport proposed, and a leather medal was to be awarded to the worst shot. It was easily won by Mr. Walcot, whose sight being none of the best, had to hold his eye-glass to his eye, with one hand, and the gun in the other, and so take aim under these great disadvan- tages. The moment he assumed his attitude, the worst shots present became disheartened, as it was evident Mr. Walcot must take the prize. The leather medal was placed ■ round his neck by Mr. Mitchell, with no little ceremony, but a very little speecE. There were several near-sighted gentlemen present who showed evident signs of chagrin at the success of their companion; but the clouds soon passed away, and whatever the mortification they felt, it disap- peared, when they saw how meekly the victor wore his crown. We shall say little about the dinner, farther 'than that it was a very good one, and received ample justice from the BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CUMAIN. 61 " goodlie company." Toasts and speeches were strictly forbidden, and right glad were we of it; for if there; bo a bore on earth, it is after-dinner speeches from men unac- customed to speak in public. The dinner concluded, wo all descended to the drawing-room, below, in which wo found a splendid piano, invitingly open to the use of the accomplished of our party. We do not refer to the occasion of this dinner because we Eave any eccentric inci- dent to paint, or any particular point of wit to develope ; although there was plenty of the latter, as there always is where players congregate, but simply to say to those, and there are many of them, who hold an association with tho player as something discreditable, that we believe no num- ber of men holding the same relative position to each other, could be culled from any public institution in New York, apart from the theatres, displaying the same amount of intelligence and wit, profitable reading, refinement of manner, and elegant accomplishment, as those who as- sembled oh this occasion. Some there were among them, it is true, not fully perfect in a knowledge of the con- ventional forms which distinguish those bred in polite soci- ety, but the element of true refinement was among them. They were willing to make' little sacrifices of self for the comfort of others, and this is, after . all, the true base of politeness and refinement. The manner of tendering a courtesy may not have been very graceful, but it was very hearty, and, of the two, we prefer the latter. The better educated of the party, it is needless to say, differed in no respect from gentlemen in other positions in life. They had, beside the talent necessary for the successful pursuit of their profession, an extensive acquaintance tlirough books with the master minds who have for ages adorned Jhe stage. feS BfiitRi! ANi) Behind the cmi'Sts. When we hear, as we frequently do, some soft-brafeed dandy or upstart dry-goods clerk speak slightingly of the actor or his profession, we pray that Jupiter or some venge- ful god would strike them with an idea and annihilate them at a blow. The successful artist must bear a badge of the only aristocracy wortb recognising — mind; whilst the dealer in tapes and ribands needs, nothing more than arcadyrect- oner and a flannel petticoat to render him complete in hb trade. For our own part, we would rather take the stage- carpenter of a, theatre for our companion, than the mere snob of gentility, whose only talent is in the tie of a cravat, and whose .only use is to be a lay figure for a tailor. Of the company present, there were few who did not possess some agreeable and pleasing accomplishment, and none whose keen observation, in the course of their career, had not treasured up abundance of pleasant anecdote and sage reflec- tion. Most of them were musicians, instrumental or vocal, and the extempore concert which we then heard is replete with more pleasing recollections than any we derived from some more pretentious aflfairs we have since attended. The seene-shifters and carpenters even had imbibed a taste for music, and several of them acquired a proficiency on some instrument or other. Such are the materials for social pleasures, which society refuses to use at their own fireside; materials which, if properly respected and appreciated^ would confer an amount of pleasure and happines^ unknown to those circles whose^ jpligion is solemnity, and whose mor;als draw their only strength frpm the absence, of temp^a- tion^ Time alone, perhaps, will confer upon the artist 'hia true position in the social scale. We are glad, even occa- sipnally, io^see .^ strong recognition of the actor's okim to high consiaeration, anS live yet in the Hope that "tHs're. cftgnitioii will be unitefSiil, will penetrate to the 'firesides of our best citizens, and that the profession of an aetor will have justice awarded to it at last. The Olympic Was under the able inanageinent of Mr. Mitchell for twelve years, and with the exception of the two last seasons, always successful. Of the causes which led to this 'decline we shall have to speak preseptly. In the course of so many years numberless changes were made, not *nly in the performances, but in the character of the enter- tainments. It bnt too commonly occurs that when one or more of the actors of a theatre become favorites with the audiences there attending, they imagine they are the only attraction, and often ailnoy the manager with airs of assuinp'- tion, if they do not instantly demand an increase of salary. We have known a great many instances of this kind at the Olympic, and as frequently seen the merited rebuke which has folfowed such baseless presumption. The man who may appear to great advantage at the Olympic, with an audience •well disposed to like every one of the coiy' party assem- bled, "would cut a very sorry figure on a larger Stage, and before a less indulgent audience. We could mention many notable instances of this, if this were a fitting place to record such weaknesses. Mr. Mitchell had one faculty, which always armed him against any trouble arising from the se- cession of his actors, be they whom they might, and that was a wonderiiil ready invention, which seemed never at fault. If certain actors left him, who were important ill a certain cast of pieces, he did not. sit down to weep at their loss, but immediately produced another style of entertainment suited to the materials lie had at his command. The hold which an actor has upon the public mind is too fragile to admit of the digbtest etraia, . Posplfrgo *o-'the'thieati*,'Tit)t'Ou1fof Any 64 BEFORE AND BESINI) THE CURTAIN. regard to the actor, but to be amused with the personation of character, and it matters not to them whether the cha- racter is played by Mr. Smith or Mr. Jones, providing the dish is as highly flavored by one as by the other. The au- dience soon learn to forget an actor, and he is a weak and misjudging man who relies upon public favor to sustain him whenever he chooses to be tricky or important ; with his manager. It has certainly sometimes occurred 'that the public have departed from their usual indifference, and come forward boldly to the rescue of an actor from the un- just and tyrannical conduct of a manager ; but the cases are rare, and never where it has simply arisen from a matter purely managerial, The public may like to see Mr. Snubs, and applaud him to the echo, but when the curtain has gone down Mr. Snubs may go to the devil by railroad for aught the public cares. This indifference to the fate and con- dition of the actor, whether he be rich or poor, in sickness or in health, arises in part from a false estimate in the public mind of the value and dignity of the profession of an actor in itself, and partly from the reckless disregard the profes- ■feion themselves too often exhibit for the proprieties of life. We know, and believe can fully appreciate the excuses often offered for the excesses of the actor, but much as they may palliate, they cannot entirely excuse the disregard to public opinion so often exhibited by men at the very head of the profession. If the fountain is turbid, the public have a right to conclude that the stream which flows from it will not be very clear. But to return. In the year 1840 Fanny Elssler appeared at the Park. The sensation she created must be fresh in the minds of every playgoer in New York. Her appearance furnished Mr. Mitchell with much food for fun; He appewed in costumo BEFOKE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 66 and danced" Im Crack-a-vien." We shall long remember the comic humor with which he burlesqued the charming and graceful Fanny. The manner of his exit from the stage, at the conclusion of the dance, was irresistibly comic. The serious care with which he guided himself to the side- scenes, to be secure of a free passage for his tremendous bustle, was very funny. The " Tarantula" was richly bur- lesqued. It was thus announced : — To-morrow eTening will be produced, for- the first time in this or any other country, Jl new Comic Burlesque Ballet, entitled . LA MUSQUITO, in which MONSIEUR MITCHELL Will make his first appearance as UNE PREMIER DANSETJSE, And show his agility in a variety of Terpsicorean efforts of all sorts, in the genuine Bolerocachucacracovonienne style. Full particulars in to-morrow's bill. The biUs ran thus in the programme : — PROGRAMME. The ballet is founded on the well-known properties of the Mns- r[uito, whose bite renders the patient exceedingly impatient, and throws him into a fit of slapping, and scratching, and swearing delirium, commonly termed the " Cacoethes Scratchendi ;" causing the unfortunate being to cut capers for a considerable number of logs of mutton. The scene lies in HOBOKEN. Low Dickey love? Low Eetta — an awful accident happens — ab- duction of Signora Low Rinde by shad fishers — Low Dickey assem- bles his friends — invitation to cow-hides — they rush to the rescue — success of their virtuous and valorous efforts— gratitude of Low Rinde — she retires to take a nap. A traveller who hoa come all the way from the other side, the flft BEFORE AND BEHIND TflE CtrMAOT. North River now appears— the bombastia and wealthy DootdtLev Bella, whose wife fell overboard on the passage. He professes ar- dent affection for Low Retta— she considers him an old fool, and retires, declaring her love for Low Dickey. An unexpected occurrence unexpected occurs — Low Retta rushes on frightened and shaking like several 'shakers— Low Dickey has been bitten by a musquito, and she desbribes his delirium— his slapping, panting, and scratching agany-r^the old Doctor refuses to cure Low Dickey unless Low Retta will consent to marry him-* ' Low Retta to save Low Dickey consents, and is led off in an awful stevr. * Scene 2nd. — The plot thickens into the consistence of a London fog — Low Retta does all sorts of things, so do all the other people, until a circumstance occurs which settles the Doctor's love-making, and. Low Ketta is united to Low Dickey, and the piece ends with a SALTATORIAL EXHIBITION of extraordinary and overwhelming beauty. There were few subjeets of a public interest wiict' Mr. Mitobell, through, his dramatists, did not tsuke hold of to squeeze out some amusement for his patrons. A tragedy at any of the larger houses "Was sure to be burlesqued at the Olympic, and no popular folly but received from the same source a good-natured lash. The satirical ohaj-acter of the pieces, the very superior and finished way in which they were always put upon the stage, drew to the Olympic the literary and professional men of the city, Whose severer duties re- quired just such a relief as the wit and satire of this popular place afforded. Fitzgreene Halleok, J. Prescott Hall, iiisq., Gerard, Esq., James T. Brady, Esq., Dr. James Quinn, and other well-l£nownj)rofessional and literary men,, were almost nightly visitors, some of whom had the entree behind the scenes, and who seemed greatly to enjoy the snrt of intellectual transportation &ey underwent from the ■inatter«-of-fact soenfes of every-flay life to the land'of -fietion. ttf6M AND BEHIND THE CtffitAfN'. H ■1"(;W lions of any account visited the city who were not in- troduced behind the scenes of the Olympic. The Prince, do Joinville when he was in New York was a frequent' visitor, and when he left was indebted to the establishment for the use of two private boxes. It speaks highly in favor of Mr. Mitchell's gentlemanly and forbearing spirjt, that he never sent the account to Louis Philippe', when it would, doubtless, have been settled ; nor did he, after the fashion of Mr. , son-in-law of John Jacob Astor, publish an account of the transaction inapamphlet form. Prince Napoleon, the Presi- dent of France, was also there on two or three occasions. He struck us as being a quiet, gentlemanly young man, and nothing more. Charles Dickens, when he could snatch a few hasty moments from the crowds of people who continu- ally pressed upon his time, would pay a visit behind tho scenes of the Olympic, and delight all who came near him by the evident interest he felt in the various professional duties each might be then occupied in pursuing. He was thero on one occasion when the piece called Boz in America was played. Mr. Horncastle, who played the character of Boz, inade up, as it is technically called, very like the great ori- ginal. Dickens was behind the scenes before the piece commenced, and was introduced to his representative. Ho was much struck himself with his other self, and put on a very bothered expression of face, as though he was not ex- actly sure whether he was himself or not. He entered into the spirit of the thing with such a relish, that he insisted on dispatching a messenger to the Carlton House for the hat and the overcoat he wore when he landed. These were soon obtained, and Mr. Horncastle played Boz with the veritable hat and coat of the immortal Boz himself. I only mention this circumstance, to show how heartily Dickens 68 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CUKTAIN. entered into the spirit of the ooeasion— not for the purpose oif making out anything remarkable in the simple act of lend- ing a hat°and coat. One thing, however, I may mention as remarkable, both hat and coat were returned ; the former, however, Mr. Dickens presented to the theatre, and if we are not mistaken Mr. Mitchell has it to this day ; but there is nothing in it. It will be recollected that Dickens, in his notes, makes honorable mention of the Olympic and its manager, Mr. Mitchell. Not only gentlemen but ladies often visited behind the scenes with their husbands, to gratify their curiosity, and " see how the animals looked on a close in- spection." Mrs. W., a highly intellectual and beautiful woman, was a frequent visitor, and would ask an endless variety of questions with regard to the uses of the various articles she saw behind. If ever circumstances should drive her from the position she now holds among the favored children of fortune, it would not surprise us very much if she should adopt the stage as a profession : but of this anon. Mr. Mitchell's success remained unabated. As he acquired different kind of talent he brought out pieces best calculated to dovfelope its strength. Mrs. Timm, Mary Taylor, Mrs. Watts, Mrs. Hardwipk, Miss Singleton, Miss Clarke, Miss Roberts, Miss Phillips, Miss Anna Cruise, Mrs. H. Ishor- wood, Mrs. W. Isherwood, in the acting drama, have, been from the very first the principal female actors upon whiot Mr. Mitchell relied ; of course there were many others of less note to make up the different companies. The dancers have been but few. Miss Partington occupying the stage in that department for five years in succession. Miss Celeste, then quite a child, was the original phenomenon in the Savage and the Maiden. She was succeeded by Miss Turn- bull, and then followed Miss Partington. The latter young BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 60 lady stamped herself a favorite on the first night of her ap- pearance, and her popularity never diminished so long as she appeared on the boards. There was a modesty and grace in her style that won all hearts. In private life she is as irre- proachable as she was exoell.ent in her profession. Tho gentlemen who have figured most largely under the flag of the Olympic from its opening, are Messrs. Brow.ne, Horn- castle, Edwin, Graham,Walcot, Fenno, Nickenson, Holland, Conover, Bleeker, Levere, De Bar, Dennison and Everard, Dunn, Roseuthall, and a man named Baker, who was promp- ter, call-boy, or anything else. Mr. George Loder was for years the able and accomplished musical director. He was followed by Mr. Wolf, who, however skUful as a musician, fell immeasurably short of that genius enjoyed by his pre- decessor. We do not wish it to be understood that all the ladies and gentlemen above enumerated were engaged at the same time, — we have merely given this list to save the trouble of any detail. It may appear surprising that in the course of eleven years no larger a list of principal actors could be made out, and it would be so had it occurred in alnjost any other theatre ; but Mr. Mitchell's people remained with him for years. He never made changes himself if he could avoid it, and the people themselves had too comfortable a place of it to wish it. The spirit which prevailed behind the scenes was unlike anything I have ever seen in other places. There was none of that spirit of ill-natured jivalry which so often mars the comforts of the green-room ; but all was kindness and good fellowship. There was more of the feeling of a family party, about to amuse a collection of invited guests in front, than that which might be expected among a number of paid performers about to labour through a hard and laborious vocation. , 70 CEPORfi AND BEHIND THE CtTftTAlN. We shall mtroduce here slight sketches of Mary Taylor, Holland, and Marks, the leader, all well-known Olympic delebritics. Of all the ladies Mitchell ever had attached to his company, Mary Taylor remained with him the long- est, and was the most popular. She was singing at Peale's Museum'when Mr. Mitchell sought her to offer her an engagement. When she first appeared at the Olympic, she very soon found her way into the affections of the audiences, and despite the stout rivalship of Mrs. Timm, and other well-established favorites, she carried off the palm of pub- lic favor. Not that Mrs. Timm did not maintain an envia- ble position in the estimation of the Olympic patrons, for she was a capital burlesque actress — a style altogether in vogue at this theatre in those days — but it was simply'as an actress that she maintained her stand. Miss Taylor, besides singing well, and possessing a bold, dashing style of acting, was young and unmarried, and by consummate management off the stage, had invested herself with & sort of romantic interest for the young gentlemen who formed so large a portion of the Olympic audiences. Such a furor did she create at one time, that a number of young and green gentlemen banded themselves together under the name of the "Taylor Guard." The windmills against which these gentlemen were always armed to do combat, were a large number of imaginary insults, of the grossest kind, which their lady might possibly receive on some night or other, when she was leaving the theatre, by a certain set of unmitigated bandits, who were supposed to be in the interest of the Timm faction. One or all of the Tayloi Guard visited the Olympic every night, and occupied oni or more private boxes, as the case might be, much to the delight of the manager and to the benefit of the treasury BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CUETAIN. 7J' Th.e Taylor Guard wore a badge, which always appeared to us quite unnecessary, as nature had forestalled any purpose of that kind by placing a pair of pretty long ears on each side of their heads. Miss Taylor was one of the finest ma- nagers of these kinds of worshippers in the world. She knew exactly how far to encourage their attentions, and when to stop. She gave no particular encouragement to one ; but if there were one among thfem who had taken some stray glance to himself, and presumed upon it the least bit in the world, he was sure to suffer a delicate ne- glect for a few nights, which generally brought him to his senses. Miss Taylor, through her merit and her Guards, was sure of a glorious reception every night, and it was a study to see with what a grace she received this tribute. She looked agitated, pleased, and surprised, as though the token of regard was almost as undeserved as unexpected, when she knew all the while what her faithful friends would surely accomplish for her. When the star of Miss Clarke began to rise, and the great merits of this then charming little actress became to be recognised, the Taylor Guards were more than ever active in their efforts to exalt their lady-love, and would frequently show this feeling so plainly, that the friends of Miss Clarke were determined also to show theirs upon the subject. The matter did not re- main long in the hands of the box frequenters ; the pit- ites formed sides, and took the parts of their respective deities as warmly as the gentry in the boxes. There were a number of young gentlemen of the oipellm school of refine- ment, who generally occupied the three or four front benches of the pit, near the orchestra, and this they did for several seasons in succession. So constant was their attendance at the .thejtti^) tiiat at last tliey l&U tfa^ had an exclnsive 72 BEFOKE AND BEHIND THE CUETAIN. right to the occupancy of these seats, and no matter how crowded the house might be, it would have been an un- pleasant experiment for any stranger to have attempted to hold possession of a place upon them, if cither of the im- aginary proprietors had been in want of a seat. These gentlemen were attached in some way or other to certain fire companies of the city, and were proud to be designated by the number of the engine they respectively patronised. During the performance on the stage, they generally be- haved with decorum, never doing anything very oidn, un- less it was occasionally prompting some unfortunate actor in his part, and this we have known them frequently to do, but always with good nature, and a sort of pride they took that everything should go off well on account of the strangers that might be present. Sometimes, too, they would join the performers in some popular chorus, a bit of volunteer aid which, so far from giving offence to actors or audience, was always highly relished by both parties. These boys were always very knowing about anything which was going on in front and behind the curtain, and any one of them who chanced to be acquainted, in ever so remote a,,degree, with any one of the performers, male or female, was considerably envied for his good fortune, Mitchell, Mary Taylor, Mrs. Timm, Miss Clarke, and Mr. Walcot, were the only great people in the world of which they knew, either by tradition or experience. The Olym- pic was the Covent Garden of their world, and the pit, so far from being the bottomless one in their estimation, was the paradise of their religious creed. There was one youth among this " foremost" lot, whose natural inclinations were of a rude and unruly kind, but which his companions managed to keep in tolerable subjection, although occasion BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 73 ally the officer of the theatre was bound to remove him. This boyj rough, low, and uneducated as he was, had a touch of sentiment and poetry in his composition, and his heart was not insensible to those softer feelings which be- long to better trained natures. Miss Taylor filled the only place in his heart unoccupied with the fire engine with which he ran. When she was on the stage he never spoke, but kept his eyes fixed upon her. He scarcely seemed to breathe, so lost was he in admiration. At her exit he woke up, and although he was the only one in the house willing at that moment to disturb the scene by applause, he would always give the most marked signs of his indi- vidual delight. But it was nofin this he showed the deli- cacy of his feelings towards the lady of his admiration. After the play was over, he would leave his companioiis, and at some little distance from the stage door, await the departure of Miss Taylor from the theatre. When she would ascend the steps which led up from the stage en- trance into Broadway, accompanied by her mother, as sho always was, B would not move, but wait till the party had proceeded about twenty yards, then he would follow. He never attempted to address her, for he was not so igno- rant as not to know that the least expressioii of his feelings would make him the object of contempt, if not a more se- vere castigation ; but, after all, he might have been build- ing, as we all do, castles in the air ; it i». possible that in his inmost and secret thoughts he harbored a feeling of ambition of at some time or other possessing that which now he so respectfully admired at a distance ; and a dread of having all these fine castles and ambitious hopes crushed and broken at one fell blow, might have made him feel it was better to be deceived, and bear the ills he had, than to 74 BEFOBB AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. have fled to otters yet iu embryo. Be this as it may, he never but on a single occasion spoke to her, and that was once when the party were embarrassed with an unusually large basket of costumes, and then he proffered his services to carry them home. They were accepted, and this me- nial office afforded him the most exquisite gratification. On every other occasion he followed at a respectful dis- tance, watched them to their dwelling, and then took his station on the steps.of the street door, where he would sit till every light in the house was darkened, and there was no possible chance of his again beholding for that evening the object of his adoration. This did not happen once, now and then, but night after night, for months in succes- sion. But to return to Miss Taylor and her Guards. The house now became divided — the Taylorites, and Clarkeites, and Timmites — and it was curious to watch the new devices these powerful factions would adopt to shed glory upon their respective queens. The Taylor guard immortalized themselves for a while through the means of expensive bo- quets, with which they liberally strewed the stage on Miss Taylor's appearance. The first night this occurred, the Clarkeites and Timmites were dismayed, but made up in loud shouts and hi hi's what they lacked in flowers of an- other kind. The next night, however, the Clarkeites and Timmites were .prepared, and such a shower of flowers that fell upon the Olympic stage on that occasion was never equalled. Night after night the same game was played, until it became an interruption to the business of the even- ing, and Mr. Mitchell had to issue a command that no boquets should be admitted into the front of the house. In takiag this «tep Mr. Mitchell was blamed by many parties, BEFOKB AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 75 wbo said that he had no right to prevent persons from taking in boquets to be used for such purposes. With all duo re- spect to the opinions of these parties, we think now, and did then, that he had a perfect right to adopt what rules and regulations he chose in the management of his own house and business. If the public has rights, so has a manager. He is not to be so much the slave of public ca- price as to submit to its dictation in the conduct of his own interests, when his management does not contravene good morals, or interfere with the legitimate enjoyments of his audience in witnessing that which they paid to see. If a manager does all he promises in the bills of the day, and does it faithfully, he gives the quid pro quo, and the public have nothing to do with the subordinate arrangements of the house. There were a great many persons who went to the Olympic of course to enjoy the pieces, and see them played through without unnecessary interruption. Had these people no rights which were to be consulted ? would it have been proper, because a few youths chose to make fools of themselves, that the rest of the house should suffer, who cared nothing either for Mrs. Timm, or Miss Taylor, further than the part they were playing for their amuse- ment ? We think Mr. Mitchfell was perfectly right, and we should like to see other managers acting as promptly to put down public freaks of this kind. The Taylor Guards, and the Timm and Clarke protective force, had to adopt other modes of distinguishing their favorites, for although a stray boquct would now and then find its way upon the stage, the practice became stale and flat, for it began also to, bo whispered abroad that the same boquets did duty on several occasions, and nothing was fresh about the offerings but tho enthusiasm mth which they were iuad@> 76 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. Independent of the Taylor Guards, Miss Taylor had some outside adorers, who were quite as profitable, if not as en- thusiastic as the gentlemen who composed that immortal corps. There was one, , who was, or thought he was, really and truly attached to her, and whose suit was not entirely unpalatable to the lady herself. But the course of true love never did run smooth, and those having a right to direct and control the a-ctions of the young lady were not inclined to favor the lover. The gentleman re- ferred to was perhaps a man of more pride than sentiment, and his dignity was a great deal more wounded than Ms heart, for with all the fierceness of his passion, he CBter- tained certain misgivings, the effort to discover the truth of which at last settled his business with the lady herself, and the battle of love ended in this case, much to the ad- vantage of both parties. It may be thought that in alluding to this affair we are infringing upon the piivate aSaiis of Miss Taylor in a way no public writer is justified in doing, but it luust be re- membered that the parties themselves made no private matter of it, nor ever showed any shi inking delicacy in relation to it. Not a man, woman, or child, directly or indirectly connected with this theatre, and scarcely a pit boy who attended there, but knew all about it, and as wc are gossiping upon the subject for a good purpose, which will presently be seen, we feel no compunctious visiting for alluding to it. Much has been talked of in relation to the private character of Miss Mary Taylor, and a great deal of injustice been done her by persons who never considered her peculiar position, or understood the noble, generous nature of the woman. There is not, we believe, one wo- man in ten thousand, repeiving the adulation Miss Taylor BEFORE AND BEHIKD THE CTTETAIN. 77 hasj placed in a position of such peculiar temptation, edu- cated in a -world as different from the world of ordinary life, as behind the scenes differs from the front of a theatre, would have passed the ordeal as purely and well as she has. From the time she was in the ballet at the Park theatre, twelve or fourteen years ago, up to the present moment,-all things with her have been subordinate to the holy purpose of supporting a fond and worthy mother, and educating two brothers and a sister. In her intercourse with her professional brethren she is kind and generous, and every manager with whom she has ever been engaged, will do her the justice to say, that a more tractable, obliging, and ready artist never was behind the scenes of a theatre. So much does she feel the interests of her manager, and the establishment with which she may be connected, that she never denies, if occasion requires, to leave her own line of business, and appear in any other, however subordinate, if it would subserve the purposes of the management. She would play anything, if kindly approached, from Hamlet down to a waiting-maid, if she thought by so doing she could oblige somebody. There is, among actors of both sexes, a certain freedom of manner towards each other, which you do not perhaps see in private life. We have had^ an opportunity of seeing a great deal of Miss Taylor while in the discharge of her professional duties, and we can very sincerely say she never rendered herself obnoxi- ous to severe remark, to our knowledge, by a violation of the proprieties of life. Persons not familiar with the free manners of actors and actresses to each other may have judged otherwise ; and unfortunately actors and actresses arc too frequently tried, judged, and condemned, by people strangers to the idiosyncracies of an actor's life. This is 7B BEFORE AND BEHIHTD THE CTJETAIN. one of the evils of permitting strangers behind the scenes, who have no sympathy or congeniality of feeling with the objects of their curiosity, and no appreeiation of the pe- culiar relation which a company of porformers bear to each other. The goverament of a theatre, whilst it must be stri&t, must at-the same time be conciliating. To hear the stage manager at the rehearsal of a piece say to this lady, " Now, my dear," and to another, " My love, do so and so," a stranger might infer he was on terms of the closest endear- ment with the whole bevy of actresses, from the leading lady, down to the humblest ballet girl. But this style of ad- dress is only a conventional mode of softening down a eoTn- mand ; for be it known, often among those'who stand low in rank in the theatre, are ladies aad geBtlemea of good birth and education, whom misfortune has driven to this purpose, who would sot bear to be commanded like a serf. The manager's commaads are always respectfully pat in the form of polite requests ; and in this way, and in this way alone, can he hope to obtain obedience. The men who have risen to the highest step on the theatrical ladder, played subordinate parts, at least they used to before it be- came fashionable to come into possession of a lump of theatrical talent, like it sometimes happens with a lump of property ; and no manager can tell but in his hnmblest rank some embryo Kean or Gairrick may be hid. The " big people" of a theatre, as the higher actors of a eoin- pany are caRed, are not independent of the aid aad caprice of the " little people." They have to play with them ; and a, little inattention or ill will on the part of the latter, niiiy mar very materially the acting of the other ; so tha^t whe- ther it be sincerely felt or not, there is aiways the assurap- BEFOKE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 70 tion of a sort of courteous fiimiliarity, which tiiese different positions' would, upoA a casual view, scarcely seem to require or justify. Another cause of this freedom of manner lies in the variety of characters they see each other assume. This may not be as palpable as other causes ; but still we think it has more or less influence, judging by our own feeling. We know that our own judgment of actors behind the scenes is for the time being influenced by the character which they nre assuming. We always feel in- clined to address a King or a Lord Duke more respectfully Uian we do the Court Fool, although the gentleman who plays the fool is infinitely, both by position and talent, more entitled to our respect. We get so much in the habit of judging by externals, that we feel rather confounded when we find a king talk like a common-place fellow behind the scenes, and find a man in the garb of a clown expressing himself in classical diction. When a man plays a king, and is decked off in robes of state, with a erown — albeit a paste- board one — upon his head, he will just as surely, as a man with a new fashionable coat on, walk more proudly up than the rts made to retrieve its fortunes only seemed more firmly to seal its doom . Eventually it passed from the hands of Mr. Simpson into those of Mr. Hamblin. This gentleman, with his usual energy, set about re-constnictiiig the old estabUshiaent, and succeeded in rendering the Park one of the most el^ant and beautifal iheatres in the United States. It was fondly hoped that the affection for Old Dmry weald induce its old frequenters to return to their first love ; but thiese hopes were destined to he disappointed, and notwithstanding the greatest exertions on the part cf the management, it dad not eoomumdthe success reasonaUiv 104 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. perhaps, anticipated. We must confess we did not expect the undertaking would prosper to any great extent ; the situation was too far down town for the convenience of that class of the public who were the old patrons of the Park, and we must say that Mr. Hamblin, whether justly or not, did not possess the confidence of that portion of the public, had other things been out of the way. They were a little afraid, perhaps, that a Bowery management might not ex- actly be a government they would like ; be this as it may, the Park was not patronized, and fortunately for the for- times of Mr. Hamblin, the theatre took fire and was entirely destroyed. This accident occurred in the year 1849. By its occurrence Mr. Hamblin was relieved of a certain loss, for we believe by the retirement of Mr. Simpson, the doom of the Park was sealed. When Mr. Burton arrived in New York, to assume the management of the Theatre in Chambers Street, it wag thought by many that the" enterprise would certainly fail. No efibrts which had been made by previous managers had won the public in favor of the place, and, besides, for a long time before Mr. Burton took it, it had been used for the filthy, brutal, and disgusting model artist exhibitions. Palmo's Opera House became "at length associated in the minds of the respectable portion of the community with everything which was low and vulgar, and no decent persou^ would have been seen tq enter its doors. The Park Theatre at this time, too, had passed from the hands of Mr. Simp- son into those of Mr. Hamblin ; painters, builders, decora- BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 105 lors, and all kinds of artists were set to work not only to put a new face on the exterior of the old building, but ife- construct and decorate the interior, with a view to bring back to Old Drury its ancient success and position. The experiment had not yet been tried, but it. was not unreason- able to suppose that with all these preliminary efforts, backed by a vigorous management, and the engagement of a su- perior company, that" success would follow. Here it was supposed Mr. Burton would have a gigantic power to con- tend with, to which his place and means did not seem ade- quate. The Broadway Theatre, although at that time it had achieved little or nothing, might be a formidable rival, if properly managed, for the public were well disposed to sus- tain it, providing a proper effort was made to deserve its favors, and it was hoped such would be the case. Mitch- ell's Olympic stood at this period undiminished in popu- larity, and it was thought no house, given to the same class of entertainments, could dim its bright prospects. Such was the situation of affairs when Mr. Burton took the Chambers St. Theatre, and such were some of the powers he had to con- tend with, and which made many of his friends tremble for his success. Mr. Burton was, however, no stranger in New York. In his profession as an actor he enjoyed an enviable reputation, and the vigor and business-like cha- racter of his managements in other cities was neither un- known or unappreciated. Mr. Burton,- so far from quail- ing before the difficulties which beset his career, braced himself more firmly up to make a vigorous effort. He was determined to succeed, and succeeded he has, beyond his most sanguine expectations. He opened the Chambers Street Theatre in 1848, in the month of July, one of the 106 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. most unpropitious months in the whole year for such an un- dertaking. The attendance at the theatre for the few fifst months was not large, but of a highly respeetahle charac- ter, which, so far, was very satisfactory to the manager, as it was an evidence that under his management the previous bad reputation of the house would not materially operate against him. When Mr. Burton himself could play, the house was generally crowded, but unfortunately for thp im- mediate prospects of the theatre,, he had the care and anxiety consequent upon the management of the Arch Street Theatre, in Philadelphia, and the Front Street Theatre, in Baltimore, both of which requireS not only his personal attention to the business of the theatres, but his occasional appearance on the stages. The amount of busi- ness transacted by Mr. Burton at this time would have crushed almost' any other man. When Pedrigo Potts asks Vincent, the travelling companion of John of Paris, what John of Paris does, and is told that " He eats, drinks, sleeps, talks, rides, and walks," Pedrigo exclaims :— " Why, bless me, he can't have a moment to himself!" When our readers are told that Mr. Burton managed three theatres, held telegraphic communicatioDS daily with two of them, gave his personal attention to the third, superintended rehearsals, made out bills, studied new parts, wrote for magazines, with all the other minutiae of a theatre, which requires the careful eyes of the manager, they will exclaim with Pedrigo Potts, " Why, bless me, the man cannot" have a moment to himself!" Mr. Burton is a man of indomitable perseverance, and capable of undergoing more mental and bodily fatigue than any other man we ever knew. The following short memoir of Mr. Burton we find ready written to our hands in thei Prompter's Whistle, which we beg leave to transcribe. JJBElDICE/AOT>3(EHIN®;THE'CtmTAHil» |07 Mr. Burton ^was bom inthe city of .London. His father Tras aprititer of celeibrity, a capital sckolar, and author of the celebrated " Biblical Researches," in which work much erudition is displayed. William received a classical edu- isatioB, commeBcing at the St. Paul's School, where the comedia-ns EUiston and Mathews .also graduated. The early death of young Burton's father altered the destina- tion of'the son's life ; he was induced to give up his studies and assume the "direction of the printing office. But his -partiality for literature and literary pursuits was too pre- dominant to be kept under by the engrossing calls^of busi- ness. At the age of eighteen he edited a weekly news- paper, and started a monthly magazine, of which he was at once the editor, chief writer, printer, and publisher. An intimacy with several of the leading actors brough* with it a desire. to try his powers upon l^e stage. He played as an aamteur for several of their benefits, and his success induced him to resign his printing office, and enrol himself as a legular member of the Thespian corps. In a few months his assiduity and display of genuine talent recommended him to the notice of Mr. F. Samlier, the manager of several theatres on the coast of Kent ; he engaged Mr, Burton as his stage director — a responsible situation for a young and inesperienced actor ; but atten- tion and tact overcame the attending difficulties. On abandoning this situation, as his talents began to claim a wider sphere for their exercise, he went to Windsor, where George IV. was holding his court — and here the young comedian first acquired that decided popularity which has since invariably attended his professional ca- reer. He was the first. person wrho. played Paul Pry, outpf Xioadoiiyaiidtliishasfiiiee^cQntinuied.to be one ofJtjs.jxiAgt 108. BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. attractive performances. On leaving i Windsor, he joined the Norwich circuit, filling the situation occupied for many years by the father of Mr. Chippendale, a veteran actor of excellent abilities. Mr. Burton remained in this city seven years, playing as extensive a range of character as was ever filled by one performer, although eccentric comedy was perhaps his strongest line. His popularity was excessive. He was recognised as the principal provincial actor of Eng- land, and many ofifers were made to him by Charles Kem- ble, Morris, Bunn, Laforte, and other managers, to in- duce him to try the London boards. On the retirement of Listen from the Haymarket, in 1832, Mr. Burton accepted an engagement with Morris. His success was all that could be desiredr His extraordi- nary comic powers 'srere universally admitted, and the best critics of the day wrote warmly in his favor. But the un- expected return of Listen to the boards, deprivedhim, most unfairly, at once of this principal range of characters, and after " starring" it at several of the other theatres in Lon- don, he turned his attention to the United States. He connected himself- with the Philadelphia stage, and settled down as a citizen of the great republic. While exerting himself prosperously as an actor in Eng- land, Mr. Burton had not suffered his literary talents to remain inactive. He wrote several dramatic pieces, one of which, "Ellen Warnham," was played at five different theatres in London on the same evening. Another piece ran for ninety nights at one of the minor theatres. He was at one time the editor of the Cambridge Quarterly Review. He was also a member of the celebrated Shaks- peare Club, of which Macready, Sheridan Knowles, Douglass Jerrold, Laman Blanchard, Henry Meadows, the ]}£]rgui<; AINU JiJUUiiNu xaa uuaj.'AIN. 109 Landseers, and other eminent men were fellow-members. In the United States Mr. JBurton's career has been a series of successes. He has been a stock actor, a star, and manager ; and in all these professional departments he has won the favor and good will of his large' and intelligent audiences to an extent rarely experienced. A public din- ner was given him in New York some few years since, by the friends of literature and the drama, and similar hqnors have been awarded him in many other cities. But whilst thus ever fortunate in winiiing golden opinions from the masses, his ceaseless enterprise has made him enemies among the less fortunate portion of mankind. We have mentioned at length the destruction of the first National Theatre, under the management of Mr. Wallack. A few years after this a splendid Opera House was erected on the site of the old establishment. When complete, it was one of the most beautiful theatrical establishments in the United States. Mr. Wilson was the lessee and manager, and Mr.' Latham stage manager. The lamented lats Charles Horn, Esq., was the musical director. The National, No. 2, opened with a new opera by Mr. Horn, the principal parts of which were sustained by Wilson, the tenor, and Mr. and Mrs. Seguin. It was a failure. The first night of its re- pr-esentaition it was nearly two o'clock in the morning before the audience were dismissed — a tedious length, that would have been fatal to any piece, however meritorious. Mr. Wilson's whole management was a series of blunders, from the beginning to the end ; and after having sustained very heavy losses he gave up the undertaking. But a short time before the erection of this opera house in New York, Mr. Burton erected at his own cost the National Theatre in Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, one of the most comploto 110 BiltoEE AND BEflIND THE Ctf^'Kl^'. and capacious houses in the Unioii. He monopolised here all the theatrical business of the city ; but the failure of the United States Bank, together with some difficulties among the owners of the land on which the theatre slood, com- pelled him to give up possession, by which he suffered a ruinous and irreparable loss. It is but fair to add, that he has since paid all his liabilities, and is once more on the tide of successful management. On giving up his National in Philadelphia he became the lessee of the National Opera House in New York, after its abandonment by Mr. Wilson. He opened there with the Naiad Queen, which was got up in a style of gorgeousness never surpassed or equalled in any theatre in this country. Everything looked prosperous, and Mr. Burton had hopes — well-grounded hopes — that he should soon be able to redeem himself from the unfortunate position his losses in Philadel- phia had placed him ; but the cursed hand of the incendiary placed the torch to the magnificent pile, and Mr. Burton once more found himself a ruined man. On this occasion a magnificent and extensive wardrobe, the property of Mr. Burton, was consumed, together with his private wardrobe, manuscripts, books, and other articles of considerable value. He was not insured to the amount of a single dollar. The citizens of New York expressed their sympathy with the manager, and a complim'entaty benefit at the Park placed a ■ handsome sum at his disposal. Whilst he, has accomplished so much theatrically in this country, Mr. Burto^ hajS shown a remarkable degree of ver- satility, industry, and talent, by his literary enterprises and achievements. He is well known as a contributor to many of our principal periodicals, and as the editor for' several years of Carey and Hart's " Literary Souvenir," of which BEFORE AND BEHIND THE OTB^AIN. ^"l all the prose contents were from Ws pen. In 1836 be start- ed the " Gentleman's Magazine," which soon 'became this popular " monthly" of the day, and attracted general atten- tion by the vigor and independent tone of it's criticisms. This work was afterwards transferred to Mr. Graham, and is now published under the title of " Graham's Magazine." Mr. Burton was lessee at the same titne of the Arch Street Theatre, Philadelphia, and of the Front Street Theatre, Baltimore, for several. years, and was celebrated for the excellent taste of his productions, and for the finished manner in which they were put upon the stage. In July, 1848, he became the proprietor of the Chambers Street Theatre, well known as Palmb's Opera House ; and, from the day he entered it, he has shown himself to be as capable as a manager as he is excellent as an actor. During his first season be produced " Ifembey & Son" and " Lncy- did-Sham-amour ;" the latter was played nearly a hundred nights, whilst the former was played three times that number, and yet continues to draw crowded houses whenever it is an- nounced. Mr. Bm-ton'? " Captain Cuttle" is perhapis the greatest and most faultless personation ever presented on any . stage. You can hardly believe but the " dientrial Edard Cuttle, mariner," stands before jou, so true to na- ture is the representation. In 1850, Mr. Burton sold out his unexpired leases in the Philadelphia and Baltimore Theatres, and is now devoting all his attention to the Chambers Street Theatre. Mr. Bur- ton, during his career as manager in New York, has proved himself to be a judicious manager, and may justly claim to be the first manager in the United States. As an actor, he' is well known to the public ; and in a wide range of comic and essential parts is admitted to be 112, BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN without a peer. His conceptions are original, and his per- sonations remarkably free from mannerism. His humor is rich and racy. Indeed, if the success bf an actor's comic exertions may be measured by the amount of merriment, the uncontrollable laughter he produces, then will it be difficult to speak of Mr. Burton in terms of praise too ex- travagant. His physique is admirably adapted to the cha- racter of his versatile personations. Mathews hiiiiself did not possess greater flexibility of features ; and those who have seen Mr. Burton's Ollapod, Dogberry, John Jones, Sir Peter Teazle, will, admit few actors can convey so mucli meaning by the shifting expressions of their faces.' Much of the effect of his performances arises from the exercise of this faculty. We have seen him keep an audience in roars of . unextinguishable laughter for minutes in succession, while an expression of ludicrous. bewilderment, of blank confusion, or pompous inflation, settled upon his counte- nance. His voice is strong, clear, and musical, and capable of a great variety of iuto&ations. Although his success has been marked in all his literary and managerial enter- prises, it is as a comedian his talents especially qualify him to excel — ^it is on the stage his most lasting laurels must be won. BEEORE AMD BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 118 NIBLO'S GARDEN. This garden has been a favorite place of public resort. During the past fifteen years it has been gradually ascend- ing in the scale of importance. The situation in the upper part of Broadway always commended it to the patronage of the fashionables of New York. Some few years ago its garden and its ice-creams, were all the claims it had upon the publio_^patronage, for the concerts and other entertain- ments were of a very inferior character, and were looked upon as something thrown in with the punch and cream. Mr.— or we should say Mrs. — Ni^lo got ambitious, and a very beautiful dramatic saloon was erected on that side of the garden fronting Broadway ; th|P old temple being conse- crated to bad music and excellent cream. Operas, Vau- devilles, and the everlasting Ravel Family, occupied the the- atrical saloon, and succeeded in attracting very large audi- ences. As a summer resort nothing could be more attrac- tive than Niblo's Garden before its destruction by fire. The splendid theatre now erected on the old grounds, the entire occupancy of the pretty garden by buildings, &c., has de- stroyed the most attractive features of the place. Niblo's is no longer Niblo's Garden, but Niblo's Theatre. His claims upon the patronage of New York present nothing peculiar, since he has destroyed his garden, and he can only hope to succeed in his rivalship with other theatres in pre- senting more and better talent than ' can be found at the Astor-Place, Burton's, or at the Broadway. The Ravels are the scent that hang round the old place, and when theee Hit' BWOIiiB AN*D BEfflNJ) im CCHTSIB. are wasted, as they must be, at some period or other, we feai Mr. Niblo will fall back upon a broken stick, if he depends upon his own ability to manage a theatrical establishment. There is no better man in the world to superintend an ice- cream saloon. He possesses to an unlimited extent the ge- nius of the ready waiter, and can calculate within a quart or two the amount of ice-cream which will be consumed Ijya given number of people. Mrs. Niblo has had the tact anS good sense to keep her little fussy husband in the back- ground ; and if she only maintain this position in future, she possbly may select a good manager for her theatre, and stand a fair chance with her rivals for success. William Niblo, or as he is generally called, " Billy Niblo," is an Irishman by birth, and came to America some years ago. Like many others of our principal hotel keep- ers, he commenced life in this country as a waiter in some public house, and, after a while, marrying the widow of his master, then recently deceased, he became manager of her property. Mrs. Niblo was a shrewd business woman, and while occupying the spot now known as Niblo's Theatre- then Niblo's Garden — she always attended to the details of the establishment in person, examining and auditing all the bills of the concern, and keeping a sharp eye to receipts and expenditures. Mr. John Niblo, now of the Alhambra, in Broadway, was a bar-keeper at the Garden. The Niblos, one or both, have been long known, in this and other cities, as respectable publicans, they having, at one time or Other, officiated, either individually or collectively, as land- lords at the aty Hotel in Philadelphia, having a Mr. Heis- kell for a partner— the Exchange Hotel at Petersburg, Virginia, and the Bank Coffee House in New York. After tile destruction of Niblo's Garden, by fire, some ^E#OEE k!sM BEHIND TflE CTOTAIN. llS years since, John fitted up the Alhambra, where he still remains,— previously, with a seeming affection for the old spot, erecting a small shanty on the ruins, at the corner of Prince street and Broadway, where, for a short time, he sold braiidy and segars. William retired to his Country seat for a while — returned to town, and placed the legiti- mate draina on the boards of ihe Astor-Place Opera House — commenced the reconstruction of his present magnificent establishment — took Mr. Hackett as partner at the Astor — lost money — underwent the Ma<)rieady riots, and is now prospering remarkably, as the proprietor of Niblo's Thea- tre, occupying the block formed by Broadway, Prince, and Crosby streets. Mrs. Niblo takes matters more easily than she was wont in days lang syne, halving retired from the more active duties of the establishment, while " Bill^ Niblo" grows apparently younger with his yfears, and now lool^ more smiling than ever. Niblo's Garden used to be patronised by a large class bi people who had a holy horror of profane theatres ; but by what ethical legerdemain they can reconcile it to their ten- der consciences to go there now, puzzles us exceedingly. To call the extensive ioe- creamery up town Niblo's Thea- tre, we suspect, would be fatal to Niblo's interest ; and he, very wisely, although there is scarcely a handful of dirt lefi for a flower-pot, still continues the old name of Niblo's Garden. Mitchell and the whole Olympic company were engaged by Mr. Niblo for the summer season of 1834. Mr. Mitchell opened on the evening of June 3d, in that year. Mr. Mitchell had a large and talented ooflipany, but with the best of 'people, and the very best of pieces given in rapid variety, the season was not altogether a propitious 116 BEJFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. one — that is, in a pecuniary point of view, neither Mr. Mitchell or Mr. ISiblo made much, although they lost nothing. The Revolt of the Harem was got up in splendid style. Mesdames Dejardin and Vallee, and'Miss Parting- ton, together with Korpony, Monsieur Marten, and Mr. Wells, sustaining the principal parts in the hallet. It was during this season that the famous Swiss Campanalo^an Bell Ringers made their first appearance in this country. They were eminently successful, drawing crowded houses every night of their engagement. It is generally known now that these pretended Swiss Bell Ringers were English Lancashire boys. We were present at their first rehearsal at Niblo's. It was thought advisable that they should be thought to be Swiss, and they wera^ directed by the gentle- men who controlled their actions, not to speak to any one, lest the secret of their nativity should be discovered. They promised obedience. The night came, and they were. aU dressed in costume. It will probably be remembered by those who ever witnessed theii* performances, that only eight appeared on the stage at a time, and that after play- ing a few airs one left, and another, a knocked-kneed in- dividual, came on to the stage and took his place. The first night they appeared it was excessively hot, and we have no doubt but that the nervousness of a first appear- ance added to the hot suffering of the performers — be this as it may, when the exchange took place, and the two passed each other, the one as he went off and the other as he came on, the one making his exit exclaimed loud enough for every body to Bear within twenty yards, in broad Lancashire dialect, "Eh, lad, it's bloody hot !" This oeemed to knock the Swiss to the devil, aad saved the trou- ble of any farther disguise. BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 117 The Olympic Company never felt at home in their new quarters, for it not only lacked the. comfort and snugness of their own home, but they missed the warmth and feeling displayed by their own audiences. Gladly did they antici- pate the close of the season at Niblo's. The evening at length came, and we never saw a merrier set of people than were collected behind the scenes on thr.t occasion. Carpenters, scene-shifters, gas-men, dressers and super- numeraries, all partook of the general joy. After a recess of three or four weeks, they all appeared on their own boards. On the opening night at the Olympic, Miss Clarke, as a Yankee girl, delivered the following address, which was enthusiastically received by the audience, who were just as pleased as the actors to see them home again. In order that this address might be unclerstood, we should remark that the whole company stood in tableau behind the cur- tain, and each one, as he was alluded to, spoke for himself. We should be doing injustice to -a very talented girl, not to say that Miss Clarke delivered this address in a faultless manner. ADDRESS Now, Baker, for mercy's sake, don't hold me back, I want to see my friends — ^tilj then, I'm on the rack. Enters, Well, folks, how do you do ; with joy I'm almost dumb. To see you look so well, and find myself to hum. I've been roaming, but goodness gracious knows. There is no place like hum where'er one goes. We've had right slick times at Niblo's Garden, But this compared with that's a guinea to a farden ; I wish you could have seen us tliere about a week ago, The way we packed our duds, now, wasn't slow. And when we l^ft the sta§e which stops wp towQi 118 Sefore and behind the ctrBtAiiir. To take another stage a little lowe* doirii, "Richard's himself again !" cried Crummies out. And all the fellows answered with a shout, {applause,) About as loud as that, and perhaps a little louder, For I'll tell you what, they didn't spare the powder ; Between ourselves, they're all behind the screen, A doing up their duds and fixin's, ready to be seen j And such a lot I never saw behind before — I swow, I hardly think that I can call them o'er. There's Crummies first, our managerial star. (Crummi.Es. — Come to your father, love ; now go to your ma.) Why, here's an echo of true Hibernian caste. Which answers questions now befdre they're dsked J Next upon the list of our right merry throng. Is Mary Taylor, our joyful queen of song. (Miss T. (sings.) — Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear.) Well, I TOW, I didn't think she was so near ; All listeners' ears should have a thorough docking. (Walcot. — Shocking, my lady — positively shocking.) That's Walcot, doing Lord AUeash to himself in fun. (NiCKEjWsoN. — Oh, now be aisy.) And that's friend Nickenson. i sure just now may name an old familiar card. And one you've often seen — his name is Everard, He comes from our town down east (Everard. — Dew tell.) (Dennibon, (sings.) — The Sea was bright, and the bark rode well.) That's Dennison, by his White Squall swell. Then there's Clark, (applause), a slight mistake, I guess, It's Mr. Clark, I mean, and he is not a Miss. Though last, not least, of old familiar friends, (For though there's some loft out, my list here ends,) Is Holland, whose fun.the sourest soul would charm : I think I hear him when they cry out Thomas. (Holland. — Ma'am.) But I must not forget to introduce to you, Some friends, and staunch ones, too, though new. I mean they are new to us, but not to fame, For Fenno and De Bar have both a name. Mrs. De Bar, I bear, will lead the corps de ballet, And then we have a mountain in a Yallee. Then as to music, the very best you might expect^ With Marks to lead and Lodor to direct ; For Loder is a steamboat in the music line, He goes right through, and always true to tim^. Music, heavenly maid, his jsweetheart sure, I've seen him sending notes right out tew her. Now about myself, I reckon I'll keep dark, And dew my duty like a faithful Clarke. ( Turns and sees Marks in the orchestra.") Why, Mr. Marks, when on airth did you come in i I blush to think you heard me praise your violin. But I'm glad to see you ; here, give my hand a pull ; I swow I'd just as lief hear you as Ole Bull. Just pass my greeting round to all your troop, I'd do it, but it is so awkward- like to stoop. Since you are here, vre'll ^lay a trick, if you've a mind. On all those listening folks who stand behind. I'll pull the curtain up, and smack expose to view, Old Momus in his temple, with all his jocund crew. 120 BBrOEE AND BEHIND THE CUETAIlT. BROADWAY THEATRE. The lots upon which this theatre is built were originally purchased by Mr. Hamblin, of the Bowery, for the purpose of erecting a theatre, after the third destruction of his own by fire. But from some cause or other it fell through, and Col. Mann and others purchased the lots, and erected ttio present nragnificent edifice. It has failed, so farj, to ac- complish the purpose for which it was designed — ^viz., to be the Metropolitan Theatre of New York.- If Mr. Burton and the Charnbers Street Theatre were twenty miles on the other side of the Potomac, it might- have a chance of ac- quiring a more popular position in the community.' But as it is, it must be content to play second fiddle to Mr, Burton's Chambers Street Theatre. We are not conver- sant with the various steps which led to Col. Mann's ejec- tion from the theatre, in which he spent his all, nor is it necessary for our present purposes that we should be. It is enough for us to know that Col. Mann has no longer anj part in the management of the concern, and no interest it it, further than a person may be disposed to feel towards 8 spot where his dead treasures lie. The most remarkablf success which has attended any of the eflForts of the man' ag.oment, was in the production of the dramatic spectaclf of Monte-Cristo, founded on the novel of that name. Thii piece ran with almost undiminished attraction for nearl; three months. This was doing very well for Ihe Metropo litan Theatre. It is now under the managemcBt of Ml Harshall. BEFORE AND BEfllSD THE CUEf AUT. 121 The friends of Col. Mann lately gave him a complimen- tary benefit at Niblo's Garden, which we are glad to be able to state realised for that unfortunate gentleman a very handsome sum. Mr. Burton, with a ready generosity for which he is well known, undertook the direction of the dramatic part of the arrangements for this benefit, not only that, but played himself, at a considerable sacrifice, and al- lowed any of his brilliant company who chose to volunteer, to play also upon that occasion. Mr. Blake, Mr. Johnston, Mr. Skerrit, Mr. Jordan, Mr. Fredericks, and Miss Walters, were among these. Other -theatres — we beg pardon, one theatre and a museum^-gladly lent their aid ; Mr. Purdy consenting that Mrs. H. P. Grattan should appear, and Mr. Clarke, the popular manager of the museum, consented to his own absence for a single evening, and also to that of Miss Chapman, who had kindly volunteered to speak the address written for the occasion. Niblo's was crowded from pit to dome with a larger and more brilliant audience than was ever oollocted before within the walls of that magnifleent ice-creamery. The following is a copy of the address delivered by Miss Chapman upon that ocbasion : — ADDRESS Pope wisely said, deny'it they -who can. The proper study of mankind is man ; This truth admitted, guess at our delight To find so many students here to-night. All busy in a noble, generous plan, To show mankind will be man-kind to Mann, When Mann may sadly need, and who may not, The kindly aid of every friend he's got. Secure 'gainst trouble none con he at all, And Adem-liJie, our Mum hae had ft&U, 122 JJEFORE ANp BEHIND THE CU]8.3:AIN. . Which, though inTolvin^ not his race in woe Has been to him a most disastrous blow. The Eden lost, his ample fortune made. His future hopes he saw with sorrow fade. The floyrers he planted, by a stranger hand. Adorn the lovely garden that he planned ; The temple built by him with so much skill. Despite his ruin, proudly stands there still ; Whilst he is left to wander, sad and lone. And when he asks for bread, receives a stone. But is the world grown cold .' is kindness dead ? Shall he who gave, be now denied his bread i Forbid it, Charity ; and you are she, Or why of worth this brilliant galaxy Which noTf assembles here at duty's call. To prove to us though Mann has had a fall, He fitill has friends, like true and worthy men. Will cheer his heart and raise him up again. But not his ruin would I alone portray. To bring your kindly feelings into play ; That you have carcd^or by yorjr presence here, Ton well filled boxes show a pitying tier The gods, we often read in ancient story, Bestowed full many a wreath of well-earn'd glory Upon iim who manfully 'gainst wordly juggles. Maintains his honor in misfortune's struggles. Has he so done .' — then tell him by your nod, " An honegt man's the noblest work of God." Certes, I speak his feelings when I say. He feels your debtor more than he can pay ! For sums of untold gold would never do To pay his debt of gratitude to you. Accept his thanks, 'tis all he has to give. And thanks he'll feel so long as he shall live. Troubles may rise where once good fortune sat — But Mann'^ a man oi hoaor, aye for a' that. BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 123 THE ASTOR-PLACE OPERA HOUSE. This opera house, intended for the exclusives of New York, who had a holy horror of mixing with the oi polloi, even in their amusements, had been built but a few months before May, 1849, when it was the scene of one of the sad- dest and most remarkable riots which ever disgraced our city, memorably insignificant in its cause, and fatal in its conse- quences. That two men occup;7ing the relative positions of Mr. Macready and Mr. Forrest should be able to stir up such a flood of mutiny in a city like New York, will re- main one of the wonders of the age. However talented or exalted both might" be in the profession to which they are devoted, their rival and private jealousy was scarcely worth a newspaper article, much less a human life. A book gossipping about theatres would be strangely defi- cient were it to omit mention of the Astor-Place riots, or preserve as carefully a faithful record of it as circumstances will allow. We condense the following account of the Astor-Place riot from a long and carefully-written account by Mr. Bangs, the editor of the Sunday Courier. The original merits of the quai-rel between Mr. Forrest and Mr. Macready we will not attempt to discuss. It originated in feelings of professional jealousy, which may seem almost unaccountable to -those who are not aware of the peculiar excitements which surround the successful actor. Living as he does by the breath of popular applause, and accustomed to read in the motions of audiences the in- 124 BErORE AND BEHINB THE CURTAIN. dieatioDS not only of present populaiity, but of future fame and success, a round of applause is not to liim tlio tiivial and uiomeDlary affair which it secnia to those in the sfaider walks of life. It is full of promises of sueeessfttl engage- ments in future ; it is to him what available capital is to the merchant — it is the I O U of the world — promising to pay him the means of his support, aad to provide a competency for his declining years. For these reasons we must not judge too harshly the sensitiveness with which he regards the encroachments of a rival, especially if he thinks, with or without reason, that they are procured by unfair means. This cause of jealousy was aggravated in the present in- stanee by the fact that the rival actors were of different nations, and felt all the ancient animosities of John Bull and Brother Jonathan warming in their veins. These national feelings, so fast dying away in the commercial world, still exist upon the stage in gi-eater vigor than any- where else. The British sailor there still whips single- handed his half-dozen of " bloody Frenchmen," and Gene- ral Putnam not only " fights his battles o'er again," but rides night after night over flights of at least half-a- dozen steps in implacable hostility to the foreign tyrants, whose countrymen are perhaps sitting cheek by jowl with their rebel brethren in the boacs or the pit. It is not Jo be wondered at, then, that in the green-room, as well as upon the stage, the actor is more sensitive than other men to sup.h distinctions. National lines are still to him clearly- marked divisions — the scenes of border foray. To the merchant they are only the very disagreeable sites of cus- tom-hoases, which he would fain see done away with as soon as possible. Of universal brotherhood the actor has no no- tion ; he still believes, like Tieck'g king, that tLe territory BEFORE AND BEmND THE CURTAIN. 123 of different nations are of different colors, as they are paint- ed on the map. Mr. Forrest in England, auji Mr. Macready in America,! both felt that they were on foreign soil, and were on the watch for symptoms of discourtesy from their posts. If they were too quick to resent, let us at least make due allowance for the circumstances to which we have alluded. It is said that this national jealousy was still further ag- gravated by Mr. Forrest's domestic relations. As an Eng- lishwoman, his wife was still mindful of her having been born on the same soil with Mr. Macready ; and it is a pro- verbial fact that no nation upon earth cling so obstinately to their native prejudices as the English. If we may be- lieve rumor, Mrs. Forrest on many occasions allowed them to interfere with the more serious duty of a wife to sympa- thise with and uphold her husband. She may have been a good wife, but she was a better patriot ; and her sympathies with an English actor like Mr. Macready, led her to take Ills side in the unhappy differences which arose between him and her American husband. Whether this really was so or not, we will not pause to enquire. The domestic griefs of the " Lord of Fonthill" are a painful subject, of which too much has already been unhappily exposed to an idle world, and we have no desire to embroil ourselves in the delicate x!ontroversy. In thus endeavoring to explain some of the causes which inflamed an actor's quarrel to such deplorable results, we do not seek to screen from blame either of the parties. That both acted very wrong, throughout, we are fully, con- vinced. That thoy allowed these causes we have enume- rated to have far too great an influence upon them, and to make them fofgetful of their characters as gentlemcu, is 126 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. no less certain. But, after all, we cannot lay upon their shoulders the whole burden of the guilt. Had their audi- ences on both sides of the water been more mindful of propriety, we never should have been called upon to chron- icle this inelancholy affair. For them no such excuse can be made as may be urged in behalf of the actors. It was by sheer folly on the part of the public, that an actor's. quarrel was made the cause of riot and bloodshed. What was Mr. Forrest or Mr. Macready to the thousands wlio. contributed to that sad result .'' How had either of thom merited such warm partizanship, that their private griefs should be revenged by premeditated insult and outrage, oa the part of those who would not have been honored by either with a bow from the Astor-House steps. We do not know that either of these gentlemen has ever publicly ex- pressed a regret for the terrible scenes of which they were jointly the cause : but, we are sure, that if they have the least spark of human feeling, it must be to both a source of most poignant regret that their personal quarrel should have been made the cause of such disaster. Neither has, certainly, any reason to pride himself upon the issue. One was driven from the country, and the other has associated with his name a fatal reminiscence which will never leave it. The limits of this work will not allow us to trace out, at length, the antecedent causes of the affair, or the compli- cated social machinery which was undoubtedly at work through the whole progress of it. Much of this, indeed, will remain forever inexplicable. So many of the most promi- nent leaders among the " upper ten " of New York society were involved in the preliminary arrangements of Mr. Ma- cready's various appearances upon the Opera-House stage, that the most determined efforts have been made to shroud BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 127 the ■whole in mystery. They shrank back with horror from the consequences of their ill-judged interference, and hasten- ed to destroy all signs of their connection with the matter. In this way, a large proportion of the true facts of the case have been lost, and the complete history of the Astor- Place riots will probably never be written. But we will hasten on to sketch such part of the sceneB that transpired there as have ever been fairly ascertained. Mr. Macready arrived in New York on Friday, April 27th, 1849, and almost immediately made an engagement with the lessees of the Astor-Plaoe Opera House, (Messrs. Wm. Niblo and James H. Hackett,) for four weeks, com- mencing Monday, May 7th. This was announced some days previous, in the following card, in the city papers : — " Astor-Place Opera House — ^Monday, May 7th, 1849. — First night of Mr. Macready's farewell engagement will be presented Shakspeare's Tragedy of Macbeth. Macbeth, - Mr. Macready. " Box office open on Saturday morning." About the same time it was announced that Mr. Forrest would commence an engagement, at the same time, at the Broadway theatre, and the natural result was, a great deal of excitement among the friends of these two rival trage- dians, who were thus to be brought into direct opposition, as if to terminate their long feud by a sort of theatrical duello. Discussion and dispute ran high between them ; and, from low murmurs, the strife gradually took articulate voice ; and, at last, engrossed the attention of the public prints. Not only the journals which usually devote a large portion of their columns to the drama, like the Sunday press, but even the commercial papers, took up the theme, apd, for the most part, we are sorry to say, fanned, the 128 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. flame of discord. The Herald, according to its wont, waa foremost in this work' and by alternately praising and be- spattering each party, and throwing out hints to their friends, contributed not a little to increase the excitement. It is not probable, however, that either editors, actors, or the public, had the slightest thought then of the possibility of matters coming to such a pass as they afterwards did. We cannot believe that the most reckless among them would Yoluntarily have incurred such a responsibility as must forever rest upon all those who had a hand in bring- ing on the events of the last fearful night. To the editors it seemed probably but a matter of passing amusement, which furnished excellent matter for a few spicy paragraphs. The managers undoubtedly looked for crowded houses and immense receipts as-the only result of the excitement, and the many-headed, many-tongued public looked upon it as the last theme of gossip, a pleasant relief from platitudes about the weather, and a gentle stimulus to languid curio- sity as to the comparative success of the rival actors. But a most singular fact, and one- that has never been satisfactorily explained, was the great and absorbing inte- rest taken in the question by that class of the community commonly known as " the boys." The "boy" of New York, or, to addreas him in his own phrase, " the b'hoy," is a character too well understood by all who are acquainted with our city to need sketching here. To those abroad, it may be necessary to state, that the term does not by any means imply extreme youth. On the contrary, the class to which it is applied, consists, for the most part, of those who have already attained the years of manhood. It em- braces, however, a very wide variety both of age and of character, from the complete rowdy, whose only vocation BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. J29 is to " pick a muss" and " rrniYiid. der maehJBe" — lie rarely works with it — to the intelligent young mechanic, who only seeks in an occasional " lark '' a relief from the monotony of his daily labor. But, when these discordant materials are brought to harmonize and act upon any occasion, in a mass, they form a most effective force, whose power in a riot nothing short of military discipline can withstand. By what means so strong a feeling against Mr. Maeready was propagated through this body, is one of those secrets which, as we have said before, has never been satisfactorily explained, and probably never will be. Something must be attributed to national prejudice, and something to par- tiality for an actor whose early career upon the boards of the Chatham and Bowery was still green in the memory of their audiences. But, after all, thei'e remains a balance fi)r which we can only account by the supposition that some unseen influences were powerfully at work, and that they were directed by hands which never have emerged from behind the scenes. What the ulterior purpose was, is as hard to tell. Perhaps there was none beyond the defeat of Mr. Maeready ; perhaps the excitement got up upon this subject was intended for after use in some other direc- tion. It has been hinted — and the thing is not impossible — that polities, that ubiquitous demon of all American plans, had some designs at work. The notorious Empire Club has been accused of participating in the riot. Its leader, Capt. Rynders, was certainly prominent there, though ;the want of legal evidence and the talent of John Van Buren saved him upon his trial. But the evidence adduced at that time gives us no good reason for believing that either his club or any other large organized body took part as such. If there was any concert at all on the spot, it was only between a few of the prime movers. ISO BEF.OEE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. As the night of performance drew near, the signs of strong foaling among the class we have described, increased. The avidity with which Opera House tickets were purchased, hy those who had never before seen its luxurious interior, was surprising. " The boys were bound to be tbar ;" this was evident. They probably dreamed as little as any one of the extent to .which the disturbance would go. They looked upon it as a piece of mischievous fan, with a serious moral hidden under it ; and that moral was the absolute necessity for Mr. Macready's sudden and ignominious re- treat across the ocean. They rather enjoyed the prospect of a " muss " among the velvet sofas of the Opera House, and doubtless counted on their ability to frighten its white- kidded occupants into flight by a single yell. Had this been realized, Mr. Maoready would probably have been driven off, and there the matter would have ended. It was the spirit of determined resistance with which they were met, that afterwards roused them to fury, and turned their rough play into savage earnest. On Monday morning, the campaigp was opened by the following placards, in elosiS proximity, upon all the fences: AsTOR Place Opeka House. Directors, Messrs. Wm. Niblo & Jas. H. Haokett. This evening -will be performed MACBETH. Macbeth, ... - Mr. Macready. Lady Macbeth Mrs. Pope. BnoADWAY Theatbe. Proprietor, B. A. Marshall. This evening will be performed nTv,. MACBETH. f<^^^^^'- Mr. Forres^. Lady Macbeth Miss Wallack. BEPOUE AND BEHIND THE CtJETAlN. 181 The excitement still continued ; and, before evening, it was found that more tickets had been sold than the whole Opera House could accommodate. This completed the alarm of Mr. Niblo, who immediately sought the Chief of PolicOj and requested the presence of at strong detachment of his men for the evening. These were granted ; but came, for the most part, too late, to be of much service in the scenes which followed. To a person upon the stage of the Opera House, just previous to the rising of the curtain, the scene was exceed- ingly curious and exciting. The entire area of boxes, par- quette, and amphitheatre, was a dense mass of humanity; and, singularly enough, more than usually orderly and silent. The boxes were filled with- the beauty and fashion of "the city; the number of . well-dressed females present being, if anything, larger than ordinary. This portion of the audience looked anxious; and, occasionally, a slight indication of nervousness was apparent ; but, generally, they behaved with remarkable propriety and firmness, although, from the complexion of other parts of the house, a breeze was evidently in contemplation — a tempest was coming, the end of which no one could conjecture Occasionally a rough-looking, carelessly-dressed indivi- dual planted himself very confidentally among these gentle dames and damsels, evidently much to their annoyance, but no extraordinary notice was taken of the circumstance at the time. The parquette and amphitheatre, however, were an entire cram of bone and muscle ! — every available nook and standing-place was crowded, and a very significant fea- ture of this portion of the audience might be noticed in the fact, that instead of the well-recognized countenances of the usual frequenters of these parts of the theatre, most <(/ tie 182 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CUBTAIN. fa,ce,% were new and strange ! They were still, however, and although continually accessions were pouring in, seat or standing-room was yielded with the most perfect good hu- mor. Any person who had attempted a critical scrutiny of the majority of these new patrons of the legitimate drama, both alow and aloft, would have at once detected under the small cloth cap of many, visages of rather determined aspect, rough enough, and ready enough, to all appearance, for any kind of a lark which might chance along. The dress, too, as a general thing, did not belie the promise of the physiog- nomy, and not unfrequently a pair of coatless arms and shoulders betrayed the unmistakeable presence of the habi- tual check grubbers and free list sponges from the pits and third tiers of the Olynipic, the National, and the Bowery. Occasionally a message of some description or other ( was mysteriously telegraphed from the vicinity of the stage to the wings of the amphitheatre, and vice versi, by which it was apparent that a perfect understanding existed between these two remote points, and that whatever was about to transpire, their proceedings would be in unison. Once in a while a shrill voice came down from above piercingly into the parquette, with, " I say, Jim ! come hup 'ere ! — 'ere's some o' McReady's hangels ! — haint they sweet 'uns .'" &o., &c., the Cockneyisms being put on provokingly rich and musical for this one special occasion. But, generally, the " boys" behaved very well during the brief interval between the opening of the doors and the " hysting of the rag," re- plying to the point blank eye shots of Several impertinent lorgnettes from the boxes only with sundry cabalistic gyra- tions around the extremity of their nasal protuberance, with the thumb and four fingers of their right or left manipulator, or an occasional compound of both, as circumstaocess might require. 3EF0IIE i^S BEHmP TB£ 00317,^^. #3 At length, as the ominous;hour of half-ppfit sev^n p.m. ^rcw near, the regular " tramp" warning peculiar to *he Chatham and Bowery, commenced. At first jfiunt, ap,pa- rently timid and scarcely recognizable it came. " Tap ! Tap! rap-rap-tap!" — " Tap! Tap! rap-rap-tap!" but, as no notice seemed to be taken of it, the summons ;grcw gradually louder. Mr. Kiblo, who was behind the scenes in consultation with Mr. Hackett — as the first slight echo of the unusual stage reveille sounded in his ear — stepped lightly to the wing, and pulling the edge of the drop curtain slightly towards him, took a brief but earnest survey of the scene before him. Officer Bowyer, of the Chief's Bureau, who had just at that moment arrived, having been directed to report .himself to Mr. Niblo in person, was standing Jbeside the veteran manager as he was thus surveying the scene of action, and turning to the offieer^- " This looks rather dubious, Mr. Bowyer !" remarked Mr. Niblo, slightly Pushed in countenance, and ifrith a tono of anxiety. " Yes, the ' Boys' are here, certainly ! — What induced you to sell so many pickets } — People are making a tremen- dous rush at the doors yet, and the house is full — over fiill already !" was the rather impatient response. At that instant the orchestra commenced an overture, and the " tramp" call ceased for the moment. " What do you think, Mr. Hackett ?" queried Mr. Niblo of his partner, " Is there going to be any disturbance ?" Mr. Hackett did not know, but passed the question to Bowyer. Offiqer Bowyer took Mr. Niblo's place at the wing for a few moments, and then shifting to the other side he managed .from these points of reponnoissance to obtain a critical survey of the entire audience. 184 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CtTBTAIN. " There is mischief in the parquette and amphitheatre," remarked the policeman, " but prohahly no actual violence will- be attempted — ' the boys' will make a noise, and en- deavor to prevent the play from proceeding, but possibly they will do nothing farther. They seem to be patient and good-natured, but Mr. Macready may expect a rough re- ception." Mr. Macready, who had, meanwhile, been busy in his dressing-room, now joined the trio. His appearance was calm and collected, — ^firm, without any approach to bravado. He also indulged in an intent and searching glance, from the covert peep-hole, at the gay parterre of silks, opera- hats, ribbons and laces, in the middle ground of the picture, and thence dropping his gaze towards the footlights, his eye measured — with a slight unquiet twinkle, however — the closely stowed mass of American patriotism which was there congregated. A single raising of the eyelids, and rapid mental estimate of the character and probable co- intent of the red and glowing faces with which the upper galleries seemed to swarm, appeared to satisfy the dramatic investigator that something dubious was abroad, and turning . upon his heel, he commenced an abstracted and moody march, to and fro, in one of the dark recesses of the wings. The band of the orchestra ceased, and almost instantane- ously the ominous " tramp" call was re-commenced, but louder and more determined. " Tramp ! Tramp ! Rap, rap. Tramp .'" " Tramp ! Tramp ! Rap, rap. Tramp .'" Mrs. Pope, dressed as Lady Macbeth, at this moment made her appearance, pale with real excitement and agita- tion. " My God ! Mr. Hackett !» exclaimed the lady, in a BEFOKE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 185 hurried.half whisper, energetically breathed into the very car of the nervous manager—" my God ! what is the mat- ter ? Are we to be murdered !— murdered, here to-night ?" " Keep calm, my dear madam !" was the forced reply — " there is no cause for alarm— everything will go on smoothly !" But still that infernal " Tramp ! Tramp ! Rap, rap. Tramp .'" continued, increasing in vigor each moment, until the entire house fairly trembled with the measured vibration. " Mr. Bowyer, is the Chief here .'" asked Mr. Niblo, in evident doubt as to his course. " 1 cannot say. I do not see him anywhere. He does not generally leave the office down-town until half-past seven." " Tramp ! Tramp ! Rap, rap ! Thump .'" was another response. " How many policemen are there in the house .'" " I cannot tell. The order came very late, and we " " But the Chief should have known ! I told him myself two hours ago !" " What do you want the police to do .' — Mr. Niblo .'" was the quiet query of officer Bowyer. The perturbed manager mused for a seconder two, as the stage behind the curtain was filling with the alarmed attaches of the theatre, who came crowding on, hardly knowing why, yet anxious a;nd fidgety. He glanced a mo- ment around the motley groups — exchanged two or three words in a low tone with his associate — spoke an instant with Mr. Macready and Mrs. Pope, who were at the time standing together, far up the boards, and, with the tremen- dous J,38 BEFORE AND BEHIXD TJtE CUEfAlN. " Thump ! — thump \^-'tramja .'—iramp .'—thump !"6^. in" even the heavy central chandelier, until the pendants tinkled — gave the necessary preliminary directions, and ordered to ring up the curtain ! The customary warning bell had not ceased, its vibrations, when the signal sounded, and slowly the immense scene lifted, arresting the terrific — " Thump ! — Thump ! tramp-iro/— — " midway in it? exe- cution, and disclosing a very chaos of heads, each intpfltly turned towards the stage, but suddenly stilled and motion- less ; the house was for a short time unusually quiet. The First Witch scene was fairly given, and apparently list^ed to with copsiderable interest, many of the " boys" being semewhat bewildered with the rich but unearthly scenery before them, the stage appointments being on \a scale of grandeur and magnificence entirely at variance with the humbler affairs of the Bowery and National. In the Second Scene, where Duncan enters, addressing Malcomb, " What bloody man is that," &o., many of the Republican Reformers took the wrong one, p.nd supposing Duncan to be Macbeth, commenced a pretty energetic hiss, of .short continuance, however, as the mis- take was quickly explained, and acted upon promptly. The Third Scene, also, so long as the Witches had the stage to themselves, progressed quietly enough, but when Macbeth came on with Banquo, exclaiming : — " So foul and fair a day I have not seen !" the business of the night commenced in earnest. Mr. Macr«ady had heard the ominous note of reception awarded the representative of Duncan, and taking the hint, on the instant, in regard -to the true aspect of affairs, he BEFOlRE 4,JTD BEHIND THE OTJUAUf. JSH nerved himself for the emergency. His manner, while be- hind the scenes, awaiting the impending storm, which ho saw was about to break upon his head with remorseless fury, was firm and collected; and, at the moment indicated, he strode on with an assumed confidence and assurance he by no means felt. The result of his appearance was singular, but decisive as it regarded the aspect of coming events. At his first entrance, he was greeted with a succession of plaudits ; apparently rather unanimous^ for which he re- peatedly bowed to the audience ; but as the thumping of canes and clapping of hands began to die away, there arose, seemingly from all parts of the house, but especially from the parquette and amphitheatre, a determined and over- powering Aiss, which, in a few moments, waxed nearly deafen- ing, and with the mingling of groans, cat calls, shrill whistles, and other outre noises, completely drowned every efibrt of ■ his friends to sustain him by their hands or voices ! Mac- beth, folded his arms across his breast, afid confronting the audience, awaited the termination of the windy tempest, but Macbeth had not calculated' the wind of the " boys" cor- rectly. A minute elapsed, and the infernal Hisi-s-s-i ! still continued, the demoniacal symphony being varied by an in- termixture of most villanous groans and other uncouth sounds, with a fair sprinkling of oaths and sundry unmistake- able hints to abdicate the premises, ere yet the Thane of Glamis became likewise Thane of Cawdor ! Mr. Macready here committed an imprudence, which, probably, had much to do with the origin of the subsequent sad and fatal disaster. Finding that the hisses were be- coming niore energetic, and the groans fast rising into yells, he suddenly stepped forward to the footlights, and, with A las BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CtJKTAlN. glance of defiance at the amphitheatre, gradually dropped his gaze, until his eyes rested fall upon the midway occu- pants of the parquette seats — then, with his arms still folded, and his brow contracted into a scowl of mingled derision and scorn,he slowly paced the breadth of the stage, eyeing, as far as possible, each individual who so pertinaciously opposed his proceeding with the play ! This was in bad taste — it was a mistake which -did not mend the fortunes of the actor, although perhaps it evinced his power of nerve as a man. The consequence was, that instead of stilling or checking the tumult, the uproar was redoubled, and finally ascertaining that no cessation of the torrent of abuse would ensue, ho ftirnodaud attempted to proceed with tiiat por- tion of the Act. But as well might any common squirt have been heard amid the roar of Niagara, and the business proceeded in what was, to all intents and purposes, dumb show, until the drop. Indeed, the feelings of the excited crowd now began to manifest themselves in indignities to- wards the other actors, whom they seemed suddenly to re- gard as partioeps criminis, and accordingly the racket re- commenced as soon as the curtain lifted for the Fourth Scene, before Mr. Macready came on. His presence, shortly after, added fresh impulse to the tornado, and the " boys," seeing that he was determined to go through in pantomime that which they would not allow him to speak, began to show more earnest demonstrations. Many of them arose in their seats, shaking their fists at the obnoxious actor; and as Mrs. Pope came down towards the orchestra, in the character of Lady Macbeth, they greeted her mute appeal with such an outburst of ribaldry and vulgarity as to drive her up the stage again, mortified and blushing even through her paint. BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CUETAIN. 139 Mr. Macready, however, although Messrs. Hackett and Niblo were at their wits' ends, and fearful for the safety of the theatre, still persisted in going through. He had seen some other rows in the course of his professional career, and was not to be frightened from his propriety by a rabble. In this matter the first act was got through with without a word being audible. The doors were closed except for egress, and guarded against the throng who were pressing for admittance. As no act of personal violence had yet been attempted, the Chief of Police, who was now on the spot, did not feel authorized to make any arrests. The managers, and Mr. Macready himself, attempted in vain to get a hear- ing: but the actor was still determined to go on, and it be- came evident that noise alone would be utterly unable to stop him. " Accordingly, in the Castle Court Scene, at the com- mencement of the Second Act, Macbeth 's entree with the servant was greeted with a potatoe or two from the higher gallery, followed immediately by a number of. eggs of an unsavory odor, which struck the stage in the immediate vicinity of the great tragedian, the eggs, as they broke, be- spattering the half-regal garments of the ambitious Thane. Macready hesitated but an instant, and then went on, while the " Hi ! Hi's !" groans, hisses, and yells, grew more deafen- ing and tremendous. There seemed an almost simultane- ous rising of nearly the entire audience, apparently under the apprehension that some more serioUs outrage was about to be committed — nor were they long in suspense ! At the instant that Macbeth, after the exit of the servant •and Banquo, strikes that superlatively tragic attitude where he exclaims : — " Is this a dagger which I see before tue, Its handle towards my hand !" 140 BEFORE ANB BEHIND THE CURTAIN. a ehair of respectable dimensions was suddenly hurled from the north wing of the amphitheatre, where it nearly over- hangs the stage, accompanied with the stentorian answer which sounded-elear and distinct even above the fearful up- roar which(-filled the house at the time — " No, yiki miserable John Bull 1 Tif's a chair, and be d d to you .'" The missile fell at Macready's feet, crijished into shape- less lumber, while the startled actor, for the first time, evinced signs of wavering ! " Go off the stage !" " Clear out, G— d d— n your Eng- lish soul !"'" Hoo !" " Hiss-s-s-s !" " Three cheers for Ned Forrest!'' and crash! came another chair from the same location ! — another was following it, and was already mid- way in its descent from the upper, regions, when Mr. Ma- oready, doubtless considering that he had stood this sort of appsal full as long as prudence warranted, vanished behind the wings, and the curtain fell amid hootings, screams, and imprecations, such as could only be imagined as prevalent in Pandemonium broke loose ! Mr. Macready left the theatre at once by the private door. In order to announce this fact to the audience, it was necessary to chalk the intelligence upon a large hoard which was held up in front of the stage. Finally, Mr. Clarke, the present stage manager at Barnum's, succecde,d in obtaining a hearing ; a favor which may have been owing to his former popularity among the " boys" when upon the Bownry stage. He announced that the farce would go on, and the house was insome measure quieted'; pa]'tlyin con- sequence of the reinforcements of police which had arrived, but-pi'incipally because the great object had been attained, in driving Mr. M. from the stage. BEFORE AND BEHIND THE OUETAJJf. 141 Thus passed the first memorable night of the Astor-'place riots. Had the matter ended here it would have been well.- We might regret, indeed, that a stranger, and an actor of really great merit, should have met with. such unoourteous treatment ; but wo should have been spared the remem- brance of one of the darkest stains upon the character of our city. Mr. Macrcady would have left the country in disgust ; indeed, he immediately engaged passage in the next steamer from Boston ; but the whole affair would have been of comparatively trifling moment, and soon forgotten. This, however, was prevented, and the strife was con- tinued to a far more disastrous close by an attempt which originated, we do not doubt, in the best of motives, but whioh we cannot but deem ill-jadged. A number of gentle- men, occupying prominent positions in literature and society, felt naturally grieved at the rude treatment which Mr. M. had received, and were desirous of vindicating, in hi^ eyes, the character of the city for hospitality and refinement. The sequel proved that they did not estimate sufficiently the stren;7th of his opponents, nor the depth of feeling which had been excited against him. Some of them erred also in the means by wliich they attempted to secure him a favor- able reception on the second night. On a trial of strength they were no match for the " boys." On Tuesday night the following card was addressed to Mr. Macready : To W. C. Macready, Esq Dear Sir : — The Undersigned, having heard tha); the outrage at the Astor Place Opera House, on Monday evening, is likely to have the effect of preventing you from continuing your performances, and from concluding your intended farewell engagement, on the American stage, take this public method of requesting you to re- consider your decisiois, wd of assuring you, tkat the good sense 142 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. ana respect for order, prcTailing in this community, -will sustain you on the subsequent nights of your performances. Ambrose L. Jordan Edward Sandford Willis Hall James Foster, Jr. Duncan C. Pell Ogdcn Hoffman Howard Henderson Samuel B. Ruggl^s James Collis Edward S. Gold Wm. Kent John W. Francis Wessel S. Smith W. M. Pritchard David Austen M. M. Noah E. R. Tillou Henry J. Raymond Pierre M. Irving Denning Duer Moses H. Grinnell Simeon Draper Henry A. Stone • Washington Irving Francis B. Cutting Jos. L. White Matthew Morgan David C. Coldcn Ogden P. Edwards John R. Bartlett Richard G. White Evert A. Duyclfinck J. trescott Hall Robt. J. Dillon Ralph Lookwood Wm. C. Barrett David Graham Edward Curtis James Brooks J. E. DeKay Jacob Little H. W. Field Chas. A. Davis Herman Melville George Bruce Cornelius Mathews." On Tuesday evening, for which Mr. M. had been an- nounced in Richelieu, the Opera House was closed ; on Wednesday Mr. Hackett himself played in the " Merrj Wives of Windsor." Mr. Macready having consented tc play again after the reception of the above card, ThursdSj night was fixed for his reappearance in Macbeth. Botl parties prepared for the struggle. The lessees, with soni( of the signers of the card, called upon Mayor WoodhuU and concerted measures for defending the Opera House ii case of a riot. They also secured large quantities of tickets BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 148 and distributed them freely for the purpose of securing a favorable audience. Their opponents were equally busy. Placards were posted about the walls, some pretending to favor Mr. M., and couched in language adapted to excite prejudice against him ; some more openly hostile, of which the following is a specimen : WORKINGMEN! SHALI. AMERICANS or ^ ENGLISH RULE _ in this city ! Tlie Crew of the British Steamer have Threatened all Ameri- cans who shall dare to express their opinions this night at the English Aristocratic Opera House ! ! We advocate no violence, but a free expression of opinion to all public men ! WORKINGMEN !— FREEMEN ! ! STAND BY YOUR LAWFUL RIGHTS!! American Committee. It appeared in evidence upon the trial of Judson, that some of the,vory tickets distributed by the friends of Ma- croady, were obtained by his opponents,, and supplied to the friends of Ned Forrest. This was' termed " spoiling the Egyptians !" On Thursday morning appeared a voluminous correspon- dence relating to the difficulties between Messrs. Forrest and Macready in England ; and again the rival placards, were posted side by side. Abtor Place Opera House. Bireetors, Messrs. Wm. Niblo & Jab. H. Hackett. 144 BEFORE AND BEfflND THE CURTAIN. This evening will be performed MACBETH. Macbeth, -Mr. Mncready. Lady Macbeth, Mrs. Pope. Broadway Theatre. Proprietor, ... - - E. A. Marshal!. This evening will be performed THE GLADIATOR. Spartacus, - - - ... Mr. Forrest. Julia, - . - Miss Walkck. It was peculiarly unfortunate that just at tliis time the now Mayor, tut a day or two installed, was scarcely vei'scd enough in the duties of his position to act with all the de- cision that was required. Still, dispositions were made on Thursday to meet any emergency, by detailing a body of three hundred men to the Opera House, and ordering two regiments of citizen soldiery to bo under arms, and at tbeir quarters on that evening. The Opera House was carefully occupiod. the men posted, and the windows barricaded ; and thus they awaited for the conflict to commence. As soon as the doors were opened a rush commenoed, which, in a very short time, nearly filled the house. Most of the doors were soon closed again, and the complaint was made that none were admitted but those who bore tickets with the private mark of the Macready party. An attempt was made by a party outside to batter down one of tlio doors, but was prevented by the police. The glass lamps ■were broken, and stones were thrown through a single win- dow that had been left unbarricaded, falling inside among the audience. The play commenced, amid a storm of cLecrs and hisses. But, on the whole, the scene within the house was of a less BEFORE AND BEHIND TfiE CURTAIN. 146 exoiting character than on the pre-vious night. The au- dience had been carefully picked; and " the hoys" wore in the miuoiity. Still they maintained a determined noise. The play proceeded almost in dumb sllow till after the commencement of the second act. Then, just as 'the rioters were about to jump,in a body from the parquctte to the stage, the Chief of Poliffe gave the preconcerted signal, by raising his hat. In an instant, the police sprang to their work. The house was quickly cleared of all but a few of the most violent', the doors wore closed again, and the lat- ter found themselves very cleverly caught, and most effec- tually prevented from helping their fri'Cnds outside. The whole was admirably done ; and thus ended the play within. But without, the drama was rapidly approaching its ter-* rible finale. The crowd that surrounded the building had grown still more numerous and desperate. The Seventh Regiment marched up Broadway, led by a body of horse. Their arrival upon»the scene of action only made the mob more furious, atd they were attacked with' stones and mis- siles of all desci iption. The horse were soon forced to with- draw, but the infantry stood their ground like veterans. The civil authorities delayed the order to fire ; and mean- while the troops were exposed to the most incessant annoy- ance, without the power of defending themselves. At last it became evident that they must cither fire or withdraw. It was even doubtful. whether they could with- draw — whether on the first symptoms of i-etreat the mob would not overwhelm them, and wrest the musketsfrom their hands. As a last effort. Recorder Tallmadgft boldly went forward and harangued the rioters. But it was in vain ! In, vain, although with a voice, stentorian and trumpet-toned^ he informed the emaered a-nd U6 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. frenzied masses, that in the eye of the law they were all rioters ! — ^that if blood were shed — if life were taken, thoj alone would be responsible for the consequences ! — that. the military were present to protect the theatre — to protect Mr. Macready — to preserve the peace of the city, and their , duty would he ferformed at all hazards ! — -that the muskets of the National Guards were loaded with lall cartridges, and that in OTie minute, unless they ceased that disgraceful tumult, the painful but necessary order would he given. to FIRE ! and that the troops would obey that order ! For the sake of the dignity and honor of New York city, whose people they were, he asked them to disperse and retire from the location. In vain ! As members of the great family of Americans, worshipping at freedom.'s common altar, ho ab- jured them no longer thus to desecrate her sacred temple— the soil of free America ! In vain ! In behalf orhuraanity itself, there disgraced, bleeding, and trampled upon, he im- plored them to cease that cowardly and unholy warfare ! In vain ! As fathers, as brothers,- as sons — as children ofj one common family — as members of the great brotherhoodi of man — for the sake of the homes which they hold dear— of the loved ones whom they prized — he urged, entreated, and implored. It was in vain ! As well might a mere mov- tal ask the undying volcano to cease its fires, or the stormy S3a to calm its surges and be still ! — Finally, in the name of the great and omnipotent law, whose majesty they bid contemned— whose power they had derided — whose statutes and enactments, fabricated and consented to by themselves, they themselves had thus shamefully disregarded, he di- manded an instant and entire cessation of the riot — in the name of the peace, of the sovereign State of New York, then suffering ignominious violence at their hands, he, fhe BEFORE AND BEHIND TEE CURTAIN. W Recorder of New York city and county, commanded their immediate dispersal ! " Retii-e," said the self-sacrificing, energetic magistrate : " retire instantly ta your homes ! — depart each one of you ! I warn you upon your peril, remain in this vicinity not one moment longer ! Depart, I adjure yon, and let this street be cleared', or the soldiers here be- side me — your own brothers — the armed citizens of New York — will fire upon y BEHnro THE CTRTAIN. 166 minutes some oysters were obtained from the refectory, near ; and Flynn, with unoommon liberality, tapped a couple of bottles of champagne, of which we partook with a purer relish, for we had our joke, and it was evident Flynn was enjoying the one he thought he had played upon us. We got through our oysters and wine, making a glorious sup- per, and were upon the point of departing, when Mr. Smith coolly pulled out the note with which he had been entrusted, and handed it to Mr. Flynn, with a regret that he had not had a fair opportunity of delivering it to Mr. Hamblin, and a polite request, that when Mr. Flynn intended another practical joke, he would find some more promising subject. Poor Flynn was taken all aback for a few minutes, but quickly recovering his wonted good humor, he laughed at the turn we had given to the affair, and invited us to par- take of another bottle. Thb we declined, and took our leave. Mr. Mitchell, during the recess of his own theatre, one night went to the Chatham, with some friends, and occu- pied one of the private boxes. He tried as much as possible to conceal himself from the audience, behind the curtains of the box ; but not so effectually, but some of his old Olym- pic boys got a s^ht. The news was soon spread through the theatre that the renowned and popular Crummies was in the house. Three cheers were instantly proposed, and heartily given for Crummies. Mr. Mitchell, of course, could not do otherwise than acknowledge the compliment, which he did by bowing to the audience from his box. This done, the pit was satisfied, and all was quiet. The silence seemed the more profound, from the extraordinary noise made by the cheering, just over. At this moment, when all was still, a little snub-nosed, ragged urchin, jumped noon his seat in the pit, and, with a peculiar leer up at 166 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. Mitchell's box, and, with a nasal twang of the most posi- tive character, cried out at the top of his voice, " I say, • Crummies, when are you going to open — come now." The effect of this was not only to convulse Mr. Mitchell, but the whole audience. The effect was irresistibly comic. Of the kind of audiences which made up the motley assem- blage which often fills the pit of the Chatham theatre, may be imagined from the following incident. A gentleman was one evening passing the American Museum, when he was addressed by a little boy, in tones of pitiable distress, to give him something, for his father was dead, and his mother was lying sick, and they had nothing to eat in the house. The little fellow was perfect in the part of the " Young Scamp," and 'so melted the he;art of the unsophisticated gentleman, that he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a quarter, which he gave to the suffering youth, and went on his way, lighter in heart and pocket' for his bene- volence. He had not proceeded many steps, when he was surprised to hear the little hypocrite, say to a companion who was waiting the result of the other's appeal, " Come, Jim, by , here's tor the -Chatham, come along." This incident has made that unsophisticated gentleman wary, how, where, and to whom he distributed his charities. Mr. Chanfrau's name was used as manager of the Chatham, and under his rule the place was rechristened, iind called the National, under which name it rejoices at the present mo- ment. Mr. Chanfrau drew an immense deal of money to the Chatham ; for, after, his engagement with Mr. Mitchell, at the Olympic, which, by-the-by, terminated with the run of a " Glance at New York," at the latter place, adopted the Mosey drama as his main prop and pillar ; and pieces, in which Mose travelled from New York to CaUfomia, and BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CUETAIN. 167 Irom California to China, had the entire possession of the stage for a long time, much to the advantage of the trea- sury ; and to the delight of immense crowds vrho flocked to witness the doings of this red-shirted hero. 168 BEFORE AND BEHINB THE CtrKTAlH, THE MUSEUM. This establishment^ at the corner of Broadway and Ann Street, enjoys a wide-spread fame^ not so much from tho curiosities which are collected within its walls, as from the character which its proprietor, Mr. Barnnm, has acquired of being one of the greatest humbuggers of the age. It is related of a gentleman, evidently from the country, that he went to the ticket office, and bought a ticket of admission to the wonders within. He inquired at the office if Mr. Barnum was in the building, upon which a gentleman ap- proached him, and said, " I am Mr. Barnum." " Are you Mr. Barnum ?" " Yes, sir, that is my name ; I am the man." " Well, sir, there's your ticket back again ; I don't mind the quarter ; I only wanted to see yon, and I am satisfied." With that he went down stairs, nerer once attempting to enter the Museum. Barnum himself is one of the curiosities, and we scarcely know which people would go farther to see, — Barnum, the sea serpent, or a real mermaid. The known manufacturer of the two latter may be supposed to be more curious than his creations. When Mr. Barnum first took the Mu.seum he was not overloaded with this world's riches, but he was a shrewd, speculating genius, ever on the look-out for the ways and means of making money. The first and most ex- traordinary imposition (and he must excuse us for calling things by the right name) was his conversion of an old negro woman, Joyce Heth, into a centenarian, and the nurse of the immortal Washington. There was a boldness BEEOp AISD BEHIND ME OURf ABf. 159 in assoeiating the name of that Qod-like man with a palpable imposition, lik^ that of Joyce Heth, that speaks volumes of the man's faring and audacity ; and displays the reckless character of the man. In order to make Joyce Heth up to the pretensions, it became necessary to manufacture certi- ficates, and to make them in such a manner that the most curious could not detect the deception. This was done, and done so well, that much as we m,ay deprecate the act, the cleverness of the thing stamps it with such an air of genius, that we feel almost inclined to pardon the trick. For a long time this old negress was exhibited round the country, and she 4rew crowds of people, anxious to. see one, who, in years gone by, had enjoyed the distinguished honor of cra- dling in her arms the. infant father of his country. Not the least clever thing about this extraordinary imposture was the admirable manner in which the old woman had been exhorted to..perform her part of the task. She told her anecdotes of little Georgey's infantile tricks with such an air of truth, and with all the pride such a person would naturally feel at having been the nurse of the nation's god, that doubt of the honesty of the whole thing scarcely ever entered, the head of one of the many visitors who went to see her. But death came at last, and took one of the firm of Barnum & Co., and the whole secret was revealed. She proved to be a woman of about sixty years of age, but one so formed, that she bore marks of a hundred years, when ^e had not, by half a score, reached the time allotted to ijoan. Mr. Barnum, it is said, cleared about fifty thousand dollars by the exhibition of Joyce Heth. It is reported, with how much truth we know not, that Mr. Barnam was at Bpme distance from Joyce Heth when she died, and that he \7as very angry with those in whose care she was left for letting her die at all. 160 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CtJRTAtN. " How could I help it," innocently enough said the man. "Help it!" exclaimed Barnutn, easily enough: "You could not, it is true, help that one dying, hut was there no other Joyce Heth to be found in the United States to hare supplied her place. Nonsense ; I would not have let he/ die these twelve months upon any account." Barnum was now under the necessity of creating another excitement. No man knows better than he does, for a man in his position, the necessity of keeping his name up before the public ; if it be dropped for a few weeks, it takes a great deal to arouse the public attention again, and often- times it is impossible to get up another sensation. Like Poor .Pillicoddy, the public needs something to rouse and be continnally rousing it. Barnum in the interregnum be- tween his great strokes of policy, kept up excitement with smaller things, such as Feegee mermaids, alligators, boa constrictors, &c. After Joyce Heth, the greatest wonder was General Thomas Thumb. Great oaks from little acorns grow, and from this diminutive specimen of humanity, Barnum made a gigantic fortune. Tom Thumb was not an imposition ; he is a curious and remarkable little person, and would have been a wonder without the addition of a Museum age, which made him out fourteen years, when seven only had passed over his head. Barnum need not have resorted to any showman's tricks with regard to the General. He was exhibited throughout this country with eminent success, and was really worth seeing, not only for the remarkable minuteness and perfection of his physical composition, but for the precocity and brightness of his mental attributes. It ought to be mentioned that the father of Tom Thumb had been exhibiting his child about with little or no success, when Mr. Barnum took hold of it. It BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CUKTAIN. 161 must not be supposed that even to humbug, and do it suq- cessfuUy, no genius or talent is required ; on the contrary, much of both is necessary. A thousand men might have taken hold of Tom Thumb and failed, but Bamum is a consummate manager in all such things, and with his repu- tation, could now make a handsome living out of the exhi- bition of a wooden horse, for he would be sure to prove to the satisfaction of the million, that it was the identical wooden horse which was used at the«6iege of Troy. The public is lazy and will not take the trouble to seek after the curious ; it must be brought right under its nose, and then, too, must be presented in a comely and graceful shape One man, satisfied that Tom Thumb was really a curiosity, and well worth seeing, would have been content with telling the pub- lic where he could be seen ; while Mr. Barnura, with more tact, would not only tell the public where he could be seen, but would wheedle them into coming to see him whether they would or no. When Mr. Barumn took Tom Thumb to London, he made several unsuccessful attempts to get up an excitement about the General, until failing in the ordi- nary method, he took a splendid house in the West End of London, invited a large party of editors, gourmands, and great men to dinner, to give a private rehearsal of Tom Thumb's performances. The dinner was well attended, and the General attracted a great deal of attention from .the guests. . Bamum expressed an anxious desire that the General should be presented to the Queen, through the kind interference of one of the party at the dinner ; this was accomplished, and Tom Thumb soon enjoyed the dis- tingmshed honor of kissing the royal lips of Queen Victoria. This at once opened the way to popular favor in England, and all the noble ladies of the land were anxioua to follow 188 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. the example of their illustrious Queen. Tom became the wonder of the time, and his little cheeks were bcBlimed with the moist expression of old dowagers' delight, and press- ed by the oval lips of many of Albion's fairest daughters, Presents came rolling in from all quarters Crowds upon crowds rushed to the rooms in which he was exhibited, and every attention bestowed upon him. He next visited France, and was received at Court there with even more enthusiasm than he had been fei England. We believe ha visited the Royal families of almost every Court in Europe, receiving from them the most marked regard. Small men are so common at Courts, that it is somewhat singular he should have been considered a wonder at all in consequence of his littleness. Mr. Barnum and Thumb at length returned to the Uni- ted States, loaded with wealth, Mr. B., as he well deserved, having taken the lion's share. The General remained un- der Mr. Barnum's direction for some time after his return, but we believe now is under his father's management, if this arrangement is not another phase of Mr. B.'s peculiar ma- agement. We have got into the habit, in spite of ourselves, of never placing implicit confidence in what may appear upon the face of this gentleman's arrangements ; for we re- member how severely the American Museum bills used to burlesque what was done at Peale's Museum, and how severely Barnum was accustomed to speak of the opposition shop, when all the time he was the solo proprietor of both establishments. We should doubt if the wax figures he ex- hibits were not real men and women — because he advertises them wax^if they were not so unalterably unlike anything human. We never had the smallest confidence in Santa Anna's wooden leg ; and always thought it was about the BEFOKE AND BEHIND THE CHRTAIN. 468 lamest affair he ever undertook to palm off upon the puhluj. His fat boys, we thought, reached the climax of everythii^ that was disgusting in the way of human monstrosities ; but he has lately added a spotted negro, whom it'is said, in the bills of the day,J)as discovered a weed by which he can in process of time change his skin from tawnyiue to lilly- white. These spotted negroes are common in the South ; and white spots arc attributable either to absorption of or original deficiency of the middle skin or rete mucosum. In the very centre of Africa, where a white man has scarcely ever left his foot-print upon the soil, white negroes, or Albinoes, are met with. There are cases where the rete mucosum is entirely absent all over the body ; and as the hair and the eye are colored by a similar pigment in Albinoes, the hair is always white and the iris of the eye of a bright red. It is said that the ignorance of the audience is the actor's salvation. The ignorance of the public, who rush • to see the spotted nigger, is the reason why he has not had his head broken for his impudent assumption. The music in Scudder's Balcony is one of the richest treats imaginable. Barnum's outside orchestra is very attractive ; for in the afternoons and evenings crowds of people will collect near St. Paul's Church, opposite the Museum, and sit there by the hours, listening to its dulcet strains. Fortunately for the listeners, this gratuitous concert is subdued and mel- lowed down to a tolerably bearable degree by the noise of omnibusses and carts ; were it not for these blessed conve- niences it would not be safe to pass the museum whilst they were playing. The following hit we extract from a paper published some time ago in New York : " Having lately seen in a critical notice that Hertz play- ing in the musical utterance of drawing-room elegance, 164 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. we have buun at the pains to translate the utterance of these wild instruments that chastise the year of night with their unsophisticated utterance, in the front of Barnum's Mu- eeum. First Instrument. " Rang a tang a tang a ree, Here's a pretty sight to see, When in such horrid (tang rang) weather We must bellow altogether; This dreadful nightly hydropathy Makes me feel most (tang rang) wrathy. Second Instrument. " Too, too, a roo, lal, loo, lool. Yonder stands a (rooral) fool, Gaping (too, rool) near a lamp-post, Like (a tootle) foggy damp ghost ; Oh ! isn't he a (tooral) muff. To stop and hear such Ctobtle) stuff. Third Instrument. " Boo, boo, boo, boo, hoo, I'm (boo-hoo'd) if this will do ; I'm drenched tlp:ough my (boo, boo) clothes, And yonder from St. Paul's (boo) nose, A stream of (boo, boo) water flows, As pouring forth his (boo, boo) woes." Fourth Instrument. " Bum, a bum, bum, bum, bum, I'm a (bummed) unhappy drum, Why the (bum, bum) don't they come And see the active shakers, (bum.) I say, (bum, bum,) don't you think That it's (bum, bum) time to drink." BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CUETAIN. 165 But let us leave the Museum to the care of Mr. Green- wood, whilst we take a trip to Connecticut and make a passing call on Mr. Barnum .at Iranistan, his country seat. This magnificent placer is huilt in the eastern stylo — we don't mean the down-uastorn style, but the oriental. Mr. Barnum has spared no expense in making this place to suit his taste. It is one of those queer, large, dazzling, splendid, mean, conveniently-inconvenient, incongruous piles that will not admit of desoription-^you fancy you can trace in its composite construction a little of Joyce Heth, a sprinkling qf Tom Thumb, a large clot of the two fat boys, the tail of the anaconda, a dash of the spotted nigger, and a monstrous slice of the two last giants. Large prints of this fanciful mansion have been sown broadcast through the land ; and we think — nay, wo are almost sure — we have seen one in the American Museum. Wc may be mistaken ; for it is rather unlike Mr. Barnum to make so much public display of a private affair. Perhaps Mr. Greenwood placed it there. During the past year a very large addition has been made to the Museum, and instead of the old cramped up lecture-room, a reaUy beautiful theatre, (Mr. Barnum will excuse us for again calling things by their right names,J has been erected. A very good company, under the managerial direction of Mr. W. C. Clarke, is engaged ; among which, besides Mr. Clarke, we may mention Miss Chapman, and Mr. Hadaway. Wc wish all success to Mr. Barnum and his company of actors, although we do most heartily despise the kind of trickery Mr. Barnum has, we think, unnecessarily stooped to with the public, in relation to his establishment. Is there anything which belongs to the drama, of which Mr. Barnum, who has passed his whola led BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. life ia the exhibition of shows, ought to feel ashamed ? He unblushingly exhibits the slieleton of a -whale manufactured in wood, to order, and yet feels no blush mantle his check in disavowing the ownership of a stage for the acting of plays. If the stage be distasteful, in his judgment, to the habits and morals of the audiences who visit his establish- ment, why not eschew them altogether, riot wheedle the public into his trap, and thus oblige them to patch up their damaged consciences with the palti'y excuse that it was tlie museum and not the play they went to see. The miserable trick is adopted of calling each play and farce represented, a moral affair, as though every well written piece did not teach a moral lesson. Hogarth's gin-palace, albeit there is not a character in it but of the vilest of the vile, teaches a moral lesson — not a theatre in New York, not excepting the Chatham, which docs not teach as pure morality as the Museum ; nay, we think purer, because their lessons arc untainted with the sin of hypocrisy. We don't object that Mr. Barnum should be a temperate man, and belong to aa many temperance societies as he pleases ; but we do object that he should be continually thrusting this solitary viitue of sobriety under our noses, and insist upon us, who never were intoxitsatod, submitting to the same bondage of secu- rity as himself, who either has drank injuriously or has a confounded awkward tendency to do so now. Theatres and museums were never intended to be schools of ethics. It is a mistaken notion of the purposes of the stage. The stage, to be respected, must be careful not to offend good manners or violate the moral principles which govern every well regulated community; but they have no more to do with the promulgation of ethical doctrines than they have with the teaching of astronomy. A theatre is simply a place BEFORE AND BEHIND THE GUBTAIN. le/ of intelkotual amusement. The stage professes to hold the mirror up to nature, " to show the very age and body of the times, its form and pressure." To show, in a speaking pic- ture, upon the stage, an epitome of life. The morality of a play is to be inferred by the spectators, not intruded upon their attention by the author. Playwrights sometimes step aside from truth to encourage virtue ; for they generally msike virtue triumphant, when, in real life, misfortune is its only reward, in nine.cases out of ten. But, with regard to Mr. Barnum. He has a perfect right to manage his business in his own way ; but, when ho pretends, as the proprietor of a public place of amusement, to possess more morality than his brethren, and claims an extra patronage on the score of morality, we violate no law of courtesy or propriety, in stepping aside to examine his pretensions. We come now to a portion of Mr. Barnum's career, in which he deserves the unmixed gratitude of his fellow-citi- zens. In a spirit of enterprise, that fe\^ men possess, backed by an abundance of means quite as rare, he was enabled to effect an engagement with that angel of a woman, Jenny Lind. In the incipient management even of this distinguish- ed woman, Barnum however displayed a little of the show- man. The preparations' he made for her landing — the arch of flowers, and the carpeted dock, were all mistakes. It suited' not the occasion, the purpose, or the genius of his - countrymen. Such marks of adulation have hitherto been the base tribute paid by slaves to sovereigns. The uncul- tivated, much less uncarpeted soil of America, bears the imprint of no Ifcss a foot thatn that of George Washington; These mistakes were soon made palpable to Mr. Barnum ; and his recent niaiiageiftent — notwithstanding the fiissof the 168 BEFOEE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. opening scenes-^has been admirable in every respect. He has conducted the affairs of tliis lady with as much respect and dignity as any man breathing could have done. In- deed, we doubt if the man lives who could have done it better, or so well. We never had so much admiration of Mr. Barnnm's managerial skill as we have had since the master-stroke of policy he displayed on the evening of Miss Lind's first con- cert at Castle Garden. It had been arranged with Miss Lind in Europe that she should sing for certain charitable institutions in New York, viz.. The Fireman's Fund — The Musical and Dramatic Fund Societies, &c. It of course at once occurred to Mr. Barnum, when he saw to what a fury of excitement the people were worked up, in regard to the Lind concerts, that it would Jbe some thousands out of his pocket if she was compelled to devote a concert to each or any of the above-named charities. Without pro- bably stating to Jenny Lind the motives, he suggested the division of her share of the first concert, she having pre- viously intimated her intention of giving the whole away in. the manner he afterwards announced. She oared nothing for the details, so long as her bounty was distributed where it would be useful and acceptable. Mr. Barnum, after the first concert, therefore, announced to the various charities of New York, and all in it, we believe, were comprehended, who would be honored with a donation from the pure, the good, (the charitable Jenny. By this management, Mr. Barnum contrived to secure a great deal of eclat for Miss Lind, and to shut the mouths of the directors of every one of the charitable institutions of this city from asking any farther aid. Thus, by one bold push, he got rid of a consideration which would no doubt have embarrassed him very much. BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 160' Mr. Barnum is no idler, even though he is now so wealthy. It is almost enough labor for one man to attend to the busi- ness connected with Miss Lind's engagement. But in ad- dition to this, although he has an efficient and active aid in Mr. Greenwood, the manager, he has the interest of the American Museum in New York to care for, and another large establishment of the same kind in Philadelphk. All this is not enough jbr his active brain and advertising propensi- ties. He delivers lectures on temperance here and there ; and having very lately left off smoking, has commenced a crusade against the use of tobacco. This will end in smoke. Lecturing on temperance is not a bad speculation for Mr. Barnum, even in a business point of view ; for while the great moral drama of " The Drunkard" has maintained possession of ihe Museum stage for the past five months, and bids fair to possess it for five months longer, Mr. Bar- num can say at the end of each temperance lecture, " Walk up and see the show." 170 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. EUTERPEAN THEATRE. After the burning of the National Theatre, and the open- ing of the Olympic, we omitted to mention the fact that Mr. Mitchell was for a short time manager of the Franklin Thea- tre in Chatham Square ; and that he also played an en- gagement of two weeks at the Apollo Rooms, which had been converted into a theatre, and called the Euterpean Theatre. The manager's name was Jackson. The trea- surer was a man named Draper, well known in New York as a reporter, and a very dirty, slovenly one at that. The business done at the Euterpean was very shy, and the pros- pect of any of the company— among whom, by-the-hyj was Blakely, an old Park actor, as well as a National-— was very doubtful. There was some cash in the tieasxaj, and Mitchell and Blakely thought that so much of it as would cover their own respective salaries would feel as well in their own pockets as in the strong box of the treasurer, and they determined to have it,-if it could be obtained by fair means. They knew well that the manager was trying to raise money to carry on the theatre, but with no very bright prospect of success. Draper, the treasurer, believed that both Mitchell and Blakely had saved money at the National. The two dropped into conversation with Mr. Draper, and in a swaggering kind of way asked him how much money ho thought would be wanted to carry out the operations. A certain sum was named. " Well," said Blakely, " I don't see any difficulty, Mitchell, in raising that amount — do you .-'" BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 171 *• Why, no," replied Mitchell ; " unless the matter has got blown round how matters stand.. In that case, there might be some difficulty. It would be a good plan, Dra- per, for you to pay some few of ithe salaries, 'and let those who are paid go round and speak of it a little." " So it would," said Draper, innocently falling into the trap. "Suppose I pay you two ; you feel -more interested than anybody else, and then you can speak of it ?'' " Oh, we will be sure to mention it,'' said Blakely. " Certainly," said Mitchell, " by all means ; I'll mention it wherever I go that we have got our salarieSj'' and so the two departed. We believe these were the last salaries paid at the Eu- terpean Theatre, which closed the night of the day on ^hich this occurred, never to open again. 172 BEFORE AND BEHIND' THE GUETAIBr. THE GREEN-ROOM. Notwithstanding tlie iiame given to this retiring room of the theatre, there is less of verdanej about it than, most other pkees with which we are acquainted. The green- room is nothing more than a sort of drawing-room, to whiob the performers retire when not engaged upon the stage, or busy in their respective dressing-rooms. It is generally a tolerably sized, well carpeted room, with sofas or lounges round, and a large mirror well lighted for the actors to see if their dresses are rightly arranged, &c. Those, and there are many, who suppose that the green-room is a place of rollicking fun, and urtseemly freedom, would be very much surprised to find, as in every wcH-regriiated theatre is the ease,, that it is a place w&ere courtesy prevails, and every per- son is on his best breeding. It in no way difers from the' drawing-room e( private life, save in the variety of costumes worn by the characters who figure in it, If we have ever sees anything opposed to the ebaraeter we hero give the green-room, it has only been in those where strangers have ■ had the entree ; but where the performers themselves, or those intimately interested in the theatre in some other shape, have had the green-room to themselves, all has gone delightfully and eonrteonsly on. A stranger to such scenea would feel highly amused by passing an evening among the actors in the green-room. If the play is an old English comedy, he is surrounded by characters dressed in costumes BEFORl AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 173 of times a hundred years or jnore gone by, and he will feel with his attire of the present soho"ol of fashion, as though he was a century or more ahead of his time. He is liable to be caught, as we have been many times, flying across the room, to answer a lady who was looking him directly in the face, when he would awkwardly discover that the lady was going through a private rehearsal of her part before she went on with the next scene. We recollect very well our first vbit behind the scenes of the Park. We went to see a lady ; but from two or three people we met from the outward passage to the 'green-room; we could get no satis- factory answer as to where , the lady was, much less as to where we could speak to her. We stood awkwardly enough near the green-room, a little curious in watching the per- formers as they went in and out ; but more anxious still to fittd the object of our seatch. Presently out came a very fine gentleman, whom we took for a duke, at least. As he came near to wherS we stood, he said, " Your lady wantsi . you in the anteroom.',' " I'm very much obliged," said I, " but where is the anteroom j and which is the way to if.?" He rather uilmannerly, I thought, burst into an uncontrol- lable fit of laughter, which was by no means checked when he saw the expression of deep anger which marked our face. As" soon as he couldj he explained to us that he was only repeating a line in his part. We enjoyed the fun then just as much as he did, and to repay us for the pass- ing mortification we had endured, undertook to find the per- son we wished to see, and suoceeded.d The transitions from an assumed character to self, are sometimes as startling and ludicrous in the effects, as thoy are suddea. It is usually but a step from the stage to the green-room. Stand at the 174 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIlf. side-scenes and listen to the provincial tone, afld see the' provincial manner of Mr. Burton, for instance, in Farmer Ashfield, in Speed the Plough, follow him instantly when he comes off into the green-room, and you will probably hear this same common, uneducated Farmer Ashfield, bus- taining a sound and logical argument on some learned topic, exhibit lore and deep research ; — the milk-and-water dan* dy upon the stage the straightforward, honest, manlygentle- man in the green-room ;^— a shrewish old lady a mighty soft spoken and amiable one ; and the white-headed octogenarian as gay a youth as you would wish to meet with on a sum- mer's day. The rests from business, on ordinary oeeasions, are generally made interesting with lively coDversation, sparkling wit, or telling anecdotes. But, oh ! what a change comes over the spirit of the green-room on the first night of a new and heavy piece. A stranger would think, if he should pop in on such an occasion, that he had gt>t among the most sulky, ill-tempered people in the world. None of them will speak to you, or if they do, they are as short as pie-crust. They walk up and down, restless and anxious, their mouths continually moving as though in the act of speaking ; but not a sound escapes. The scene-shifter seems also affected with the sulks ; the property-man li^ks as if he had swallowed his own thunder ; and the. prompter looks as if the cares of two or three worlds rested upon his shoulders. Keep out of the way, that's all you have to do, until the new play is over ; wait then a few minutes till they have breathed a little, and the manager has had his blow at what little things might have gone wrong — then with BS march into the green-room again. It is altogether a different place. A fresh, gay ^irit seems to reigi), and all is life and cheerfulness. One geatlenan, after beisg told BEfORE AKD BEfflKD THE CURTAIN. 1?6 he wont through his part very well, modestly confesses to having been a little shaky, and all the ladies declare they were awfully nervous ; but thank heaven it's all over, and- hasten away to change for the tarce. 176 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. PITS. In the more fashionable theatres in the city, the good old pits appear under another name, and are called par- quettes. In this ai-ticle we have nothing to do with such innovations. We mean to speak of pits. The pits of the diflFerent theatres in New York, each had a character of its own. The old Park pit, like the pits of Covent Garden and Drury Lane, in London, was the favorite resort of the critic, and to all those venerable playgoers, to whom a good play, well acted, was the very acme of earthly delight. We recollect one Vrhite-headed octogenarian who used to occupy a seat in the Park pit at least four nights in tho week, and his delight seemed to be as fresh and pungent OS that of any of the young men by whom he was sur- rounded. Once in a great while, we should occasionally see a woman or two in the pit. Much as we have been ac- customed to see ladies occupying a seat in the pit of an English theatre, a strange sort of feeling came over us when we saw one in the Park pit. We always felt, of course, that such as did occasionally come there were English, and we felt for them at being placed in a situation for remark ; though we never feared , in that assemblage they would ever experience any thing like -rudeness. We think it is a great pity that ladies are excluded from the pits of our theatres, for whilst it is denying them the best seats in the house, it leaves the pit without the softening and refining influence of woman's presence: There would seldom, if ever, be any disturbance in tho pit of a theatre if ladies BEFORE AND BEfflND THE CURTAIN. 17T ■were present. But however, it is not the custom or fashion, and even jt requires some little persuasion to induce ladies to occupy seats in the parquette. - The Olympic pit was sui generis. We never saw one like it, and- never expect to again. We have before referred to Mr. Mitchell's pe- culiar way of controlling the unrialy spirits which some- times collected there. But occasionally, they would do things beyond his power to control. Some of the constant frequenters of that - pit, and whom we have before stated, occupied the front seats, obtained such an ascendancy ia the house, and had such an influen-ce behind the curtain, that the performers were actually more afraid of these self- elected judges aad critics than they were of all who occu- pied the house beside. Cunningham, a clever actor in his way, undertook to frown indignantly upon the two rows of Olympic gods, for some remark one of their number had made. This was noted, and the next day Mr. Cunning- ham received a letter from the junto, informing him. that he must not attempt to frown them down — they were not to be treated in that way — and that in future he must behave more respectfully. Mr. C. felt disposed to treat this mat- ter rather cavalierly, until he was persuaded by those who had some experience of this power before the curtain, that he had better not be rash, but in an amiable mood explain away his frown if he could. He adopted this plan ; wrote a letter to the offended parties, which proved satisfactory, and ensured him a forgivingly warm reception. The pit boys of the Olympic took great pride in their theatre, as also did those of the Chatham ; and neither party would be seen in the adverse theatres, unless under very extraordinary circumstances. If an Olympic boy could induce a Chatham boy to come there, and draw from him ITS ■ BEFORE AND BEfflND THE CUKTAIN. any evidence of delight, this was eonsidered no small tri- wuph, and vice versa. . We recollect on one occasion^ one of the front seat boys tad persuaded a Chatham boy to visit the Olympic, and in order that the heathen should have every chance for con- Tersion, he V7as honored with a seat beside his friend in the front row. The Chatham boy did not look round, and put on a sort of dogged, deterinined, not-to-be-amused air, that was very comical. His friend turned round to look at him every moment, during the performance of the first piece, but not a smile lighted up his face, not an observation escaped his lips. He cracked his pea-nuts and chewed ^his apple with Indian-like indifference. - The second piece was the Wandering Minstrel, in which Mr. Mitchell played his famous character of Jem Bags. Mr. Mitchell's entrfie on the stage was utterly ineffective to the hardened gentleman in the pit, although the rest of the house were in shouts of laughter, at his outre appearance. At length, Mitchell did something at which the Chatham boy could not refuse to bestow a hearty laugh. He had bottled up his mirth all this while, and the explosion was propor- tionally terrific. The Olympic gentleman turned to him in an eztacy of delight, and said, with the peculiar elegance of diction of that ilk, " There now, didn't I tell you he was a son of a ." The actions of these youths had been watched from behind the curtain, and by some of us in front, with a great deal of interest ; but, when the struggle between the two reached the climax above noted, we all joined, even to Mitchell on the stage, in the triumph achieved by the Olympic gent. It may not be uninterest- ing to give here a sketch from Le Siecle of the Pit of a French theatre, by way of contrast : — " The pit of a thea- »15F0RJ! Aim BBHIim THB ClTRTAnJ. ITS tre is a singular thing ; to those who observe and listen, it yields abundant objects to study. Various indeed are the characters hidden and huinbly seated in the crowd. How many people of sense and wit, how many original fools. But chance, which has stationed you beside some one with whom, in the course of the evening, you have exchanged a few words, will never bring you together again. You will meet no more with that person, with whom you have conversed for hours, and whose remarks and piquant reflec- tions have made you forget the length of the ti^re actes. You will regret not to know that gentleman's name— you would be delighted to meet him again — you hope' that chance will again station you by him. But no ; you will go almost every night to the theatre, the gentleman will go as often as you, and yet you will not meet again. But, on the other hand, you will not enter the pit without some fidgetty, fussy person, whose babbling is unbearable, and whose neighbor you have had the ill luck to be, coming and sitting again by you. Chance will have it so ; and it is not always favorable to one. You fancy, perhaps, the same motive has brought all the men you see assembled in the pit, and they are come be- cause the bills announced a pleasing evening's entertain- ment You are mistaken. How many there arc even among those whom the play has really attracted who are there for a very different reason. There's yonder gentleman you see in the corner had a rendezvous with a friend, to converse about an investment of money. To him it is an important a&ir ; but his friend has not come to the rendezvous. After waiting long, that gpntleman has dined in the neighborhood, because it was too late to go home ; then, finding himself alone, to the 180 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. theatre he has entered, without knowing what the play is. But, instead of listening to it, he still thinks of his affairs, and tlie investment of his money ; and after the play he would probably be at a loss to know what the play has been. The other man has dined at a traitmr''s with a friend ; they have both got money, taken a little too much wine, and said, afterwards, " Let us go to the theatre." Whilst the play is proceeding, they laugh, chat, and cough continu- ally, feel too hot, are not a moment without moving, and not in a state to understand the piece, from time to time exclaiming, " Mon dieu ! que cert mauvais." If you ask them afterwards what they have seen, and . what has been played, they will be at as great a loss as the investment gentleman. Yonder is a young man with his nose turned upwards, looking about the house instead of looking towards the stage ; he is searching fgr a lady who has given him reason to hope she will meet him at the pl;iy ; he looks for her in all directions ; his eyes have explored every box, searched the gallery — but he sees her not, and he is in despair. It is to see the lady he, has come to the theatre — what cares he for the. play, the author's wit, and actors' talents ! — While the play proceeds, he asks himself, " What can have kept the lady away V and heavy sighs escape him in the gayest part of the piece. Further on, that other young man is also in love ; hut it is with an actress of the theatre, who plays in the piece, and is just now enscene that inspires his affections. See what fire shines in his eyes, and in what agitation he is ; he looks as if about to rush to the, stage — he laughs — speaks alone — and then looks about him as if in quest of faces who BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 181 participate in his enthusiasm ; he turns to everybody, and exclaims, " How well that is played. She is enrapturing. She is the best actress in Paris." But, as he meets with few of his opinion, he strives to concentrate his admiration, and so long as the actress is on the stage, he does not lose sight of her. But the moment she has retired, he addresses his neighbors again ! " Her engagement," says he, " has been renewed for three years ; otherwise Bordeaux would have taken possession of her." The neighbor shrugs his shoulders, and is content to mutter, " What's that to me } Bordeaux may take her when it pleases. What's the matter with the youth }" But behold that other personage who is making his way into the pit. He is a man of about fifty, who seems older than his age, thanks to a sheepish face, ornamented mth. two round eyes, which have a most decided expression of stupidity ; and to his frizzled hair, which advances very near to his eyebrows ; add to this a snail-shaped nose, a cravat which seems to strangle him, and a shirt-collar which ascends to the middle of his ears, and you have an idea of the gentleman. He is now striding from one bench to another, and seems at great pains to find a seat, although there is plenty of room everywhere. At length he is seated ; but there is before him a very big man, who is in his way. He rises again and goes to another place. He then sees that the counter- bass's hand is towards him, and again removes. At length he thinks himself snug. He smiles, takes off his hat, pulls out his pocket-handkerchief, pats on his hat again, blows his nose, takes out his snuff-box, and says, with a timid air, " Do you take snuff.'" — then adds," Pray, sir, is the piece which is to be played commenced .''' 'm BBBOBB AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. The youth repHea, with a jocose look, " If it be not played \ fancy it is not commenced." " It is because we have heard it much talked of— my ■wife and I— ^and as my .wife is a woman of great wit, she cannot bear bad pieces ; she, therefore, sends me first to see them, in order that I may form an opinion. She said to me, ' Go and see that piece ; you wUl form an opinion of it, and bring it to me.' " " What— the piece .?" " No ; my opinion. Are you acquainted with it ?" " What — ^with your opinion .?'' " No ; with the piece.'' The strokes are given — the orchestra plays the overture — and the curtain rises. The piece begins. The gentleman 'Veho has a shirt-collar above his ears listens with the utmost attention, rolling his huge eyes as though he were endea- voring to understand what was playing upon the stage. In the middle of the act he turns and says to a fat gentleman, on his right, " Do you think that good — my wife has sent me here to form an opinion of that piece, and when the actors wear Turkish costumes, I think it is more difiScuIt to understand. What say' you .'" After the fiirst act he wants to address the youth on his loft hand, but the latter turns his back upon him, and laughs the moment he speaks. He then addresses a little thin and yoUow-looking gentleman before him, who wears blue spectacles. He tenders him his snuff-box, and bis offer is, at the time accepted. The man with the spectacles plunges his fingers in, and stuffs his nose ; sneezes, sneezes and coughs, and hums between his teeth something which re- sembles, " De ianti palpiti." In the mean time our gentle- man in quest of an opinion has timo enough to put the BEFOKE AND BBfflNB THE OUBTAHf. 188 question, " Do you like the act just played ? I am anxious to form an opinion, because my wife will ash me for one when I get home." The gentleman with spectacles assumes an air of im- portance, and replies, " Faith I come very seldom to these theatres ; it is a great chance to find me here. Tell me of the Italian Opera— ^a la bonne heure— for nearly twenty years past I have not missed its performances — that's a theatre— that's music and singing. Have you heard la Pasta?" " Excuse me, sir, I was asking your opinion of the act just played, in order to give it to my ' " " Ah ! la Pasta — Oh ! sir, la Pasta. What a Toioe^ what tones." " You wont then tell me your opinion of the first act of the piece which " " And la Malibran— Oh ! Sir, la Malibran — ^it is in admiring her I've lost my sight. 0, casta-diva !" Our good man looks round him to see if he can find some one to whom he can present a pinch of snnfi^; but- the second act commences ; he is quiet again, and listens for a time. At length, after remarking the good-natured face of an old gentleman behind him, turns, and gently says, " Are you pleased ? It is because my wife will . have me fojm an opinion of this piece ; and when there are Turks on the stage it perplexes me." The old gentleman smiles, and stammers a reply. " We m-u-st wai-at for the fol-lol fol-lol fol-lol-low-ing a-a-a-act ; just-just wait-wait." Our poor husband draws a heavy sigh, as he says to him- self, " that old gentleman will never have done giving me an opinion. I am unlucky ; he is the only one who seems ^posed to chat with me." 184 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE tiXIRTAlN. At length the play ends. Our good man listens atten- tively, heoause they all express their opinions aloud. " It — it— is charming," says the old stammering gentle- man. " 'Tis wretched," says the gentleman with spectacles. " 'Tia most clever," exclaims the fat gentleman pn the right. " 'Tis stupidity itself," says the youth on the left. And our poor anxious acquaintance, who has listened to their various opinions, goes home, saying to himself, " What am I to say to my wife when she asks my opinion? Ma foi! she wanted one only, and I shall take her four— she may choose." BEFORS AND BfiEmS THE CUBIAHT. 183 GENERAL GEORGE P. MORRIS. We need offer no apology to otir readers for introducing the name of this distinguished poet and noble-hearted gen- tleman in these pages. Besides being a highly successful dra- matic author, he has in some way or other been connected with the theatrical affairs of New York for so many years, that we could not justly, if we were disposed, omit to give him honorable mention among the warmest and sincerest friends of the drama and its votaries. General Morris has a heart overflowing with generous feelings ; and we do not believe he ever was appealed to on any occasion of a philanthropic character, which did not receive his heart's approval and persevering aid. Among dramatic artists his name is always spoken with cordial admiration ; for he is known to possess a congenial taste, and to be ever ready to aid them 'with his powerM pen and his personal influence. They say a man is no prophet in his own country ; but General Morris has the good fortune to be as highly esti- mated at home as he is abroad. His own countrymen willingly bear testimony to his worth and talents, and award him a prominent niche in the Temple of Fame. In Europe he is no less deservedly esteemed than in America. A writer in Hewitt's and the People's Journal, published in England, furnishes the following sketch of General Morris and his songs, by way of supplying the deficiencies in an article in Frazer's Magazine, on the Poets and Poetry of America : " Before us," says this author, " lies a heap j)f songs and ballads, the production of the rich fancy and warm heart of 188 BBS^RB 4ND BEHDNfc THE CUBTAM George P. Morris. Not many weeks since, at a public meet- ing in London, a gentleman claimed to be heard speak, on the ground of his connection with the public press from the time when he was seven years of age. We will not undertake to say that General Morris ran his juvenile fingers over the chords of the lyre at so very early a period; but it is certain he tried his hand at writing for the newspapers when he was yet a mere child. While in his teens, he was a constant contributor to various periodicals. Many of his articles attracted notice. He began to acquire a literary reputa- tion ; and, at length, in 1822, being then in his twentieth year, he became editor of the New York Mirror. This re- sponsible post he continued to hold until the termination of that paper's existence in 1834. " Morris accomplished an infinity of good daring the twen- ty years in which he wielded the editorial pen. Perhaps no other man in the United States was so well qualified for tho noble task he set himself at the outset of his career as edi- tor. American literature was in its infancy, and subject to all the weaknesses of that period. Morris resolved to do his utmost toward forming a character for it^ and looked abroad anxiously for such as could aid him in his efforts. The Mirror will ever be fondly remembered by the American literary man ; /or it has been the cradle of American genius. In it, Willis, Fay, and many others, whose names will not soon be forgotten, first tried their 'prentice hands.' In its pages clever artists of every kind were sure of a kind reception. Morris, indeed, appears almost to have been an universal genius. He saw the wants of his country-"it had no literature — no drama — no school of painting. Morris vigorously girded up his loins, resolved to do his utmost to teraedj all this. None had a sharper eye than he to BEFOEE AND BEHIND THE CUBTAIBT. J^ discover latent talent, and none were more ready, by sound counsel, and otherwise, to aid its possessor. A writer in Graham's Magazine (American) speaks warmly of Morr ris's perseverance and address in disciplining a corps of youthful writers ; of the keen eye which could discern in some nameless manuscripts the promise of future power ; of the firm and opeu temper which his example inspired into the relations of literary men with one another through- out the land; of the inestimable value to America of the singular variety and discursiveness of the intellectual sym- pathies of General Morris. " To him this writer attributes the present flourishing condition and bright prospects of transatlantic literature. He evidently possesses a personal knowledge of the re- nowned literary General, and discourses right eloquently in his praise. Nor do we think that he overrates bis merits in the least. From other sources we have ourselves learned much of the genial nature of George P. Morris, and his gigantic labors as a literary pionegr. Considering its juvenility as a nation, republican America, indeed, has been amazingly prolific of good writers. The large share Morris has had in awakening the latent talent of his countrymen, must ever be to him a high source of congratulation. And then, as an original writer, he has won for himself a high place amongst literary Americans ; he is, in fact, known throughout the States as the song-writer of America ; and we have the authority of Willis for stating, that ninety-nine people out of a hundred — take them as they come in the census— would find more to admire in Morris' songs than in the writings of any other American poet. Willis also telte us, as a proof of the General's popularity with those shrewd dollar-loving men, the' publishers j that he can at any timo 188 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. obtain fifty dollars for a song, unread, when the whole re^ mainder of the American Parnassus could not sell one t( the same buyer for one shilling. He is the best knowi poet of the country by acclamation, not by criticism. " Morris seems to have had juster notions of what was re- quired in a song than many who have achieved celebrity at song-writers in this country. The just notion and office of the modern song has been defined to be^ the embodimeni and expression in beauty of some thought or sentimentj gay,,pensive, moral, or sentimental — ^which is as natural and appropriate in certain circumstances as the odor to the flower. Its graceful purpose is to exhibit an idoidonf' in the substance of an emotion, to communicate wisdom in the form of sentiment. A song should be the embodiment of some general feeling, and have reference to some season oV occurrence. " It is not a very difficult thing to make words rhyme j some of the most unimaginative intellects we ever knew could do so with surprising facility. It is rare to find a sentimental miss or lackadaisical master who cannot ac- complish this intellectual feat, with the help of Walker's Rhyming Dictionary. As for love, why, every one writes about it now-a-days. There is such an abhorrence of the simple Saxon — such an outrageous rtmning after outlandisli phraseology, that we wonder folks are satisfied with this plain term. " We wonder they do not seek for an equivalent in High Dutch or in Low Dutch, in Hungarian or Hindostanee. We wish they would, with all our heart and soul. We have no objection, providing the heart be touched, that the head should produce a little of the stuff called ' nonsense verses,'| that this article should be committed to scented note- BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CUBTAIN. 180 paper, and carefully sealed up with skewered hearts of amazing corpulence. God forbid that we should be thought capable of a sneer at real affection— far from it--such ever commands our reverence. But we do not find it in the noisy tribe of goslins green who would fain be thought of the nightingale species. Did the reader ever contemplate a child engaged in the interesting operation of sucking a loUypop — we assure him that that act was dictated by quite as much of true ssntiraent as puts in action the fingers and wits of the generality of our young amatory poetasters. " We know'of none who have written more charmingly of love than Gi^neral George P. Morris. Would to Apollo, that our rhymesters would condescend to read carefully his poetical effusions. But they contain no straining after effect I — no extravagant Metaphors — ho drivelling conceits — and 60 there is little fear of their being taken ah models by those gentlemen. Let the reader remark the surpassing excel- lence of the love songs ; their perfect naturalness ; the quiet beauty of the similes ; the fine blending of graceful thought and tender feeling which: characterise them. Morris is, indeed, the poet of home joys. None have described more eloquently the beauty and dignity of true affection — of passion based upon esteem ; and his fame is certain to en- dure while the Anglo-Saxon woman has a hearth-stone over which to repeat her most cherished household words. " Here is Morris's ' Seasons of Love.' Seldom have the benign effects of the passion been more felicitously painted. The spring-time of love . Is both happy and gay, Por joy sprinkles blossoms And balm in our way ; The sky, earth and ocean MO BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIM. In beauty repose. And all the bright future Is couleur de rose. The summer of. love Is the bloom of the heart. When hill, grove and valley Their music impart ; And the pure glow of heaven Is seen in fond eyes, As lalses show the rainbow That's hung in the skies. The autumn of love Is the season of cheer, Life's mild Indian summer. The smile of the year ; Which comes when the golden Ripe harvest is stored. And yields its own blessings. Repose and reward. The winter of love Is the beam that we win, While the storm scowls without. From the sunshine within ; Love's reign is eternal. The heart is his throne. And he has all seasons Of life for its own. " What simple tenderness is contained in the ballad of We were boys together.' Every word in that beautiful melody comes home to the heart of him whose early days have heeii happy. God help those in whom this poem awakens no fond remembrances — those whose memories it does not gel wandering up the stream of life towards its source, behold- ing at every step the sun smiling more brightly, the hea- BEFORE AND BEHIND THE GCBTAIN. 101 Tens assuming a deeper hue, the grass a fresher green, and the flowers a sweeter perfume. How wondrous are not its effects upon ourselves. The wrinkles have disappeared from our brow, and the years from our shoulders, and the marks of the branding-iron of .experience from our heart ; and again, we are a careless child, gathering primroses and chasing butterflies, and drinking spring-water from out the hollow of our hands. Around us are the hedges * with golden gorse blossoming, as none bloom now-a-day.' Wo haveheardof death, but we know not what it is ; and the word change has no meaning for us ; and summer, and winter, and seed-time, and harvest, has each its unutterable joys. Alag ! we never can remain long in this happy dream-land. Nevertheless, we have profited greatly by the journey. The violets and cowslips gathered by us in childhood shall' be potent in the hour of temptation ; and the cap of rushes woven for us by kind hands in days gone by, shall be a surer defence than a helmet of steel, in the hour of battle. No, no ; we will, never disgrace our antecedents. WE WERE BOYS TOGETHER. Wc were boys together, And never can forget The school-houae near the heather. In childhood where we met ; The humble home to memory dear. Its sorrows and its joys, Where woke the transient smile Or teai? When you and I were boyS. We were youths together, And castles built in air ; Tour heart was like a feather, And nuae weighed dowa with care; 192 BEFOKi: AND BEHIND THE CURTAIIT. To you came -wealth with manhood's prime. To mc it brought alloys, Foreshadowed in the primroBC time. When you and I were boys. We're old men togfjthcr ! The friends we loved of yore, , With leaves of autumn weather, Are gone forever more ! How blest to age the impulse given. The hope time ne'er destroys. Which led our thoughts from earth to heaven. When you and I were boys. " We regret we have not space to enter more largely into the merits of Morris ; but there is one quality in his son"3 to which we must direct attention — and this is their almost feminine purity. The propensities have had their laure- ates, and genius, alas ! has often defiled its angel wings by contact with the sensual and the impure; but Morris has never attempted to robe vice in beauty ; and, as has been well remarked, his lays can bring to the cheek of purity no blush save that of pleasure." Such is the true estimate put upon General Morris, as a poet and a man, in England, and the whole universal Yan- kee nation believe it most"profoundly to be a righteous judg- ment. We have alluded to the General's strong sympathy . for art and artists, and his readiness at all times to aid them with his pen, when occasion required — a pen, be it re- membered, that has dropped golden letters for their ad- vancement. There have been few benefits within the lasl twenty years given to artists, poets, or actors, in which hs has not taken the leading part ; and upon him the greatei share of the labor in getting them up has fallen. We givf BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 108 below three of the manj addresses General Morris has written and presented on benefit occasions — occasions, we may add, memorable in the histrionic annals of the city. Mesdames Sharpe, Chapman, and HUson, new all dead, did them full justice, and they were received with acclama- tions by as brilliant and fajhionable audiences as ever as- sembled within the walls of a theatre, which, upon each night, was crowded from floor to ceiling ; the pit presents ing the appearance of a parterre, being graced with the sparkling eyes and beaming faces of the belles and beau- ties of the most capricious, busy, and bustling metropolis of America. ADDRESS, FOR THE BENEFIT OF WILLIAM DUNLAP. BPOKEN BY MRS. SHARPE. What gay assemblage greets my wondering sight ! Wliat scene of splendor, conjured here to-night ! What voices mnrmur, and what glances gleam f Sure 'tis some flattering, unsubstantial dream. The house is crowded — everybody's here ; For beauty fomous, or to science dear ; Doctors and lawyers, judges, belles and beaux. Poets and painters — and heaven only knows Who else beside : and aee gay ladies sit, Lighting with smiles that fearful place, the pit (A fairy change— ah, pray, continue it !) Grey heads are here, too, listening to my rhymes. Full of the spirit of departed times ; Grave men and studious, strangers to my sight, All gather round me on this brilliant night : And welcome are ye all ! Not now ye come To speak some trembUng poet's awful doom, With frowning eyes a " want of mind" to trace lOi BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CUETAIN. In some new actor's inexperienced face. Or e'en us old ones (oh, for shame !) to rate, " With study, good — in time — ^but — never great; Not like yon travelled native, just to say, " Folks in this country cannot act a j^ay. They can't, 'pon honor !" How the creature starts I His wit and whiskers came from foreign parts. Nay, madame, spare your blushes : you, I mean. There— close beside him— oh, you'rp full nineteen ; You need not shake your flowing locks at me ; The man, your sweetheart — then, I'm dumb, you see. I'll let him off; you'll punish him in time. Or I've no skill in prophecy or rhyme.. A nobler motive fills your bosoms now, To wreath the laurel round the silvered brow Of one who merits it, if any can. The artist, author, and the honest man. With equal charms, his pen and pencil drew Rich scenes, to nature and to virtue true. Full oft upon these boards hath youth appeared, And oft your smiles his faltering footsteps cheered; But not alone on budding genius smile. Leaving the ripened sheaf unowned the while; To boyish hope not every bounty give, And only youth and beauty bid to live. Will you forget the services long past — Turn the old war-horse out to die at last. When, his proud strength and noble fleetness o'er, His faithful bosom dares the charge no more .' Ah, no ! The sun that loves his beams to shed Round every opening floweret's tender head. With smiles as kind his genial radiance throws. To cheer the sadness of the fading rose ; Thus he, whose merit claims this dazzling crowd, Points to the past, and has his claims allowed, Looks brightly forth, his faithful journey done. And rests in triuhiph, like the setting sun I BEFOEE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. IBS ADDRESS, FOR THE BENEFIT OF JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES. SPOKEN BY MRS. CHAPMAN. Nat, Mr. Simpson ! 'tis not kind, polite. To shut me out, six. I'm in such a fright ! I cannot speak the lines, I'm sure. Oh, fie ! To say I must — ^but if I must, I'll try. From him I turn to these more generous aouls, The drama's patrons, and the friends of EJiowles. Why, what a brilliant galaxy is here ! What stars adorn this mimic hemisphere ! Names that shine brightest on our country's page ; The props of science, literature, the stage ; Above, below, around me, woman smiles, The fairest floweret of these western wilds. All come to pay the tribute of their praise To the first dramatist of modern days, And welcome, to the green home of the free> With heart and hand, the bard of liberty. His is a wizard wand. Its potent spell Broke the deep slumber of the patriot Tell, And placed him on his native hills again. The pride and glory of his fellow-men. The poet speaks ; for Rome Virginia bleeds Bold Caius Gracchus in the forum pleads. Alfrcd^ths Great, because the good and wise, Bids prostrate England burst her bonds, and rise ; Sweet Boss, the Beggar's Daughter, beauty's queen. Walks forth the joy and wonder of the scene. The Hunchback enters — kindly— fond— severe, And last, behold the glorious Wife appear ! These are the bright creations of a mind Glowing with genius chastened and refined. In all he's written, be this praise his lot. " Not one word, dying, would he -wish to blot."" Upon my life, 'tis no such easy thing To laud the bard, itoless on eagle's wing My muse would take, and fixiag oii the sun Ser burning eye, soar as hia own has done ! Bid you apeak, sir ? What, tnadame, did he say i Wrangling ? For shame ! before your wedding-day ! Nay, gentle lady, by thine tyeg of bhie, ' And vermeil blushes, I did not mean you! Bless me, what friends at every glance I see! Artists and authors, men of hi^ degree : Grave politicians, who have weighed each ehance. The next election, and the war with France; Doctors — jiist come from curing half a score. And belles — from kiJling -twice as many more t Judges, Recorders, Aldermen, and Mayors, Seated, like true republicans, down stairs; All wear a glow of sunshine in their faces. Might well become ApOUo and the graces — Except one yonder, with a look infernal. Like a blurred page of Fanny Kemble's journal. But to my task. The muse, when I began. Spoke of the writer— welcome ye the man ! Genius, at best, acta but an humble part, . Unless obedient to an honest heart : And such a one is his, for whom, to-night. These walla are crowded with this cheering sight. Ye love the poet — 6ft have confted him o'er ; Knew ye the man, ye'd love him ten times more. Ye critics, spare him from your tongue and quill ! Ye gods applaud him, and ye fops— be still ! BBl»01lB A]*D BEHIND THE dlTBTAIK. IM* ADDRBSSi FOE THE BENEFIT OF HENRY PLAClDB. SPOKEN BY Mas. HltSON. The music's done.- Be quiet, Mr. Durie ; Your bell and whistle put me in a fury. Don't ring up yet, sir ; I've a word to say Before the curtain rises for the play. Your pardon, gentlefolks ; nor think me bold. Because I thus our worthy prompter scold. Twas all ffeigued anger. This enlightened »ge Requires a ruae to bring one on the stage. Weir, here I am, quite dazzled with the sight Presented on thie brilliant festal night. Where'er. I turn whole rows of patrons sit — The house is full— box, gallery and pit. Who says the New York public are unkind? I know them well, and plainly speak my mind. " It is our ifight,?' the ancient poet sung ; He knew tjhe Yulvle of a woman's tongue. With this I will defend ye, and rehearse Jiive glorious acts of yours, in modern Terse, Each one concluding with a generous deed For Dunlap, Cooper, Woedworth, Knowles, Placid*. rwas nobly done, ye patriots and scholars ; Besides — they netted twenty thousand dollars ! A good round stim in ,these degenerate times, " Thif baqk-note World," so called in Halledi^ riiymes, An(^ propf ooncluj9}T« you will frankly own, In liberal actionB,.New York stands alone. Though rtiams he oft 'mong green poetic bowers, The actor's path is seldom strewn with flowers ; His is a sile^t^ secret, patient toil ; While other» sleep, h« burns the midnight oil. Pores o'er his books, thence inspiration draws. And wastes ,hi9.,lJif<^ to merit your applause; 19|? BEFORE ANP BEHIND THE CURTAIN, Oh, ye who come the laggard hours to Trhilc, And with the laugh-provoking muse to smile. Remember this : the mirth that cheers you so. Shows but the surface, not the depths below. Then judge not lightly of the actor's art. Who smiles to please you with a breaking heart ; Neglect him not in his hill -climbing course Nor treat him with less kindness than your horse ; Up hill indulge him — down the deep descent Spare — and don't urge him when his strength is spent ; Impel him briskly o'er the leyel earth. But in the stable don't forget his worth . So with the actor : while you work him hard, Be mindful of his claims to your regard. But hold ! methinks some carping cynic here Will greet my homely image with a sneer. Well, let us see ! I would the monster view. Man, with umbrageous whiskers, is it you .' Ah, no ! I was mistaken ; every brow Beams with benevolence and kindness now ; Beauty and fashion all the circles grace, And scowling Envy here were out of place ; On every side the wise and good appear i The very pillars of the State are here ; , There sit the doctors of the legal clan ; There, all the city rulers to a man ; Critics, and editors, and learned M.D.'s, Buzzing and busy like a hive of bees ; And there, as if to keep us all in order. Our worthy friends, the Mayor and the Recorder. Well, peace be with you, friends of native worth !, Yours is the power to call it into birth ; Yours is the genial influence, sqiiles upon The budding flowerets opening to the sun. They all around us court your fostering hand ; Rear them with care, in beauty they'll expand. With grateful odors well repay your toil. Equal to those sprung fr^m a foreign soil. BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 109 And more Placides bask in your sunshine then. The first of actors, and the best of men. „ Such were some of the offerings made by General Mor- ris from the store of his good feelings and ripe fancy to the benefit of others. But in the way of benefits, and the crowning point of all his exertions,' on occasions of this kind, his labors in the cause of the family of the late Edmund Simpson must afford him the most heartfelt pleasure. We witnessed, in part, the General's indefatigable exertions in this cause ; his labor was unceasing ; and the i;esult, which may be seen from the following report, every way gratifying to his feelings. Mr. Simpson had for more than thirty years been manager of the first theatre in the United States, viz., the Park ; and ever maintained a high character, not only as a manager, but as a man of unblemished character ; and when, after such a lengthened period of toil, it was disco- vered, at his death, that he had left nothing for his family but an untarnished name, the most active means were at once adopted by his persmal friends to draw from that public he had so long and so faithfully served, such a return as would comfort and sustain his widow and orphans. General Morris was most active in this matter ; and, backed by the ready ao- qaiescence of all the managers of the New York ^heatresj he achieved a splendid offering for the widow of bis friend. The following is the report of the committee, to whom was confided the duty of carrying into effect the' resolutions passed at a meeting of the friends of the late Edmund Simpson, on the 1 1th of August, 1 848 : — " Report.— That upon notice of this appointment, after the usual measures of organization, they took the incipient steps towards effecting a series of benefits at the several laoo 9sroBE and BsmND the. curt Am. theatres in the city. Upon the first intimation to the va- rious members of the theatrical profession, the latter gene- rally, in a manner manifesting undoubted interest and siii- -oerity, tendered their services; nay, morej in some in- 'Stanoes contributed to the subscription — a touching proof of their respsct and regard for the memory of Mr. Simpson. " The first of the behefita was giten at the late Patk Theatre, on the 7th of December, in the year above-men- tioned. "To add to its effect, the committee and their femiKes ■eleetcd to oeowpy the pit, leaving the residue of the hooSS to the public at large. It was a fortunate arrangement, fcH- it secured an excellent audience to all parts of the house. '' The entertainments on that evening' will not in a loiig time be forgotten. It was a brilliant picture on and off thi Stage. On the one shone forth a galaxy of dramatic talent never exceeded, and in front of it an audience, in number, splendor, and excellence, unsurpassed at any theatrical entertainment. " The performers, tinder impulses of the purest benevO' kn-ce, exerting themselves to their utmost ability, and the audience were delighted at the extraordinary talent, ss well as the fine fe sling displayed before them. On the boards that r^vemngvrere Mrs. Hamblin, Mrs. Winstanley, Mrs. Gilbert; smd Missi Taylor — Signorina Tru£B, Signora Truffi, Bene- detti, and Rossi— Monsieur and Madame Monplaisir ; alsd, Messra Burton, Blake, Barry, and Richings, (jiropiietorS or ccmduotors of other theatres,) and Messrs. H. Plaoide, Barret, Woleot, Dawson", andPov^. " There wore many others, who, in the most generous m'anner, proffered their aid ; btit of them the comraitleo ootdd not avail, really and only because they could not Jfl- BEFORE AiJD BEHIND JHE CURTAIN. ¥)l tSgn them such parts as their talents deserved. Among these were Mrs. Vcmdn, Mrs. Abbot, and the late (and ■we may add new truly lamented") Rose Telbjn. These IkdieS, one and ill, tendered their services in a spirit of benevolence highly to theii" honor. " Mr. Mitchell, the propristor of the Olympic, who ha^, throughout the proceeding of the cominittee, been emi- nently of service to them, was east in one of the characters, but was prevented, by indispositiori, from appearing. " I'he kindness and distinguished liberality df Mr. arid Mrs. Hamblin, arid of the whole Pslrk company on thsit ttee^oTij deserve tKe warmest dekribwledgmerits. Indeed, the efficient arid happy exertions of all who took part iri thai interesting entertainment, are beyond all praise, " The beilefit above-mentioned, was followed by Others at the.National, Olyifipie, and Chambers-street TheatreSj arid at the Italian O^eret House'. " At every one of these several teiefits, the most gene- f oils efforts were' made, airid Tsenevolent feelings manifested, iy every member of the companies of the several theatres; all appeared to be atriimated of a sincere desire thai the representation, should be as efficient as possible. The re- spective conductors of the theatres seemed to adopt the affair as their own, and their example was followed by the performers with -de votfid' fidelity. " ' " When the proeeedirigs of the meeting above mentioned, of the friends of Mr. Simpson, was njade known to Mr. Ma- ^ready, who was thea in this country, he spoBtaneoaely offered the receipts of one evening's readings to the fiind ; his offer wasaccepted,and lie resulting proceeds, $300, were ^eceJved. This-aet of praoSoal philarithro^y, jirid the manuM in wbiek it was done, must command respect and admiration. 202 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. . " Among the many donations to the fund; the committee hope they will stand excused for mentioning Mrs. Frances Butler. That lady, in a manner as gratifying as generous, enclosed to the committee $300, and the delicacy and feel- ing expressed in her note carrying the sum, proved thai the offering was indeed from a warm heart. Acts of such disinterested munificence cannot fail to be held in grateful remembrance. " The committee hoped to be excused for mentioning specially the donation of $366 from Mdlle. Fanny Elssler. This donation was conveyed by her through the hands of Mr. Barry, the late stage manager of the Park Theatre, iu the most grateful manner, and proves how well she deserves the popularity she enjoys. " To the various conductors and members of the public press especial thanks are due ; throughout these proceed- ings they have displayed a sympathy and liberality, and performed services, which will not be forgotten. " The result of the proceeds are set forth in the follow- ing amounts, viz. : — Amount of benefit at the Park Theatre, includ- ing a donation from Mr. Placide of $60, and fi^om Mr. Collins one of $20,. $4,424 75 Expenses, including $250 for the use of the house, 371 67 $4,053 08 Avails of the benefit at the Opera House 309 63 do. at Burton's Theatre, 202 51 do. Olympic do. 151 3T do. Chatham do 86 60 Donation from Mr. Macready SOO 00 do. Frances Ann Kemble, 300 00 do, Madlle. Fanny Elssle 866 00 Interest received from Trust Company, 61 71 $6,769 20 BEFORE Am> BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 208 Paid for house and lot. Twenty-second Street, f 4,600 00 OK nn For sewer to same, •"' "" For disbursements on examining title, ...,..-. 22 50 Carpenter's work on same, --• ^° *'" E, Simpson, Jr., for alterations to the house, ... 81 94 Sundry expenses, - ^^ ^^ 4,800 40 Cash paid to Mrs. Simpson i. 968 80 $5,769 20 " It was expected, also, that a benefit would be given at the Broadway Theatre, but from causes which could not be controlled, this was omitted. " In closing this report the committee cannot refrain from expressing their deep sense of the noble beneficence, not only of the theatrioil profession, but to the citizens gene- rally, in reference tfi the objects of their efforts. In ac- complishing the intent of the resolutions, and in placing the widow and children of a good and honorable man in a condition' of comfort, a just and deserved tribute of re- spect is paid to his memory. " To his widow and children it is a consolation invaluable, an inheritance superior to riches. It is honorable to the bestowers and recipients of the benefit. It is honorable to the community, that a man who has passed life without a reproach is thus a,ppreciated. " To the members of the dramatic profession especially, the occasion is one of high honor. They have in this in- stance, by their devotion and efforts to aid an unfortunate family of one of their profession, demonstrated that lofty philanthropy, governed by just principles, is eminently possessed by those who Lave contributed their aid most i efficiently. m SSFQRE AND BBHINBTJHB CDKTiEnE " It 19^ ■with, extreme pain that thei undersigned' liavef tb mention 1§at, by reason of the unexpected demise of our late excellent Chairman, David C; Golden, Esi^., his name cannot be, afiSxcdto this report. To him, in a material de- gree, is djafrmuch of the success of this undertaldng" j, the charitable- and pure spirit which actuated him in hb useful and energetic exertions, cannot be too highl;^. valued. His benevolent services in these proceedings are but a small portion of the multitude of good deeds for which his memory must ever be respected. All which is respectful- ly submitted. In bebalf of the Committee. F. R. TiLLov; EpWAED S. GouLDt James Foster, Jr. George P.' Morris;" The house and lot in Twenty-Seeond*Btreet, (now valued at $7000,) was vested by the committee in Mrs. Simpson, her children, and Miss Maria Hilson, (the only living child of Mr. and Mrs. Hilson,) whom Mr. and. Mrs. Simpson adopted as their own after , the death of her esteemed and much -lamented parents. The property is always kept.in- . snred, and cannot be disposed of until the youngest child, (now, we believe, about eight years old,) becomes of age, at which time, no doubt, it will be of great valae. The comipittee consisjted of a large number of aur most prominent and public-spirited men. Gen . Morris has often spoken in warm terms of their aidj and. has,, on. all oeoasiona, especially awarded to Francis R. Tillou, Esq., (one of oui most estimable and benevolent. citizens,) the utmost. eredii for his zeal and unremitting services in this noble charity, SEFOBB Aim BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 206 THE POOR BALLET GIRL, The miost sacred institutions, as well as the most profane, are liabler to atuSe. The temptations to vice in a well- regulated theatre do notTjoar a pre-eminence over those met in establishments of more reputed morality! There are a class of places of amusement which usurp the name of theatre ; the only real objects of which are to pander to the lowest and most grOVelling tastes. It was in an establish- ment of this kind that, by a series of events it is not neces-, sary here' to relate, we were thrown ib contact with Haria - — , who was there engaged in the ballet', and sometimes entrusted with small pixrts in farce's, &e. She was exceed- idgly beatttifiil, arid, with a proper opportunity, would have made a figure upon the stage ; for she had every requisite. Her voice' was very sweet, both in song and dialogue ; and her face one of the most expressive we ever saw. Such a girl, we need scarcely say, was a source of great attraction to that class of sensual' loungers of a t^ieatre, whose only niotive for ever gbing there, is to gratify a sensual taste. At the period our sketch commences, she had baffled the plans laid for her destruction, and proiudly trod, amidst the pro- fligacy and corruption which surrounded her, as pure and undefiled as she was when she first entered upon her dan- gerous career. Not only behind the scenes was she assailed ; but from the crowds of yoUng men drawn to the boxes by the force of her attractions, was liightly insulted by attentions of the grossest character. Gladly would she have fled from scenes 206 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CERTAIN. SO revolting to her nature ; fcnt stern necessity obliged her to linger upon the threshold of destruction ; for ste had a widowed mother, and a young brother and sister, who had none to look to but her for snpport. How frequently we see the heroic deeds of the battle-field paraded for pub- lic admiration— ^howfrecpeatly is- the successful soldier crowned with a ch?iplet of laurels for his bravery— but who thinks to bestow a crown upon, or parade the noble daring of the poor girl who, resisting all temptation to wrong, amidst biting want and startling destitution, maintains thfe integrity of her character, and vindicates the honor of her sex f when but the slightest yielding would clothe her in gay attire, and send want shivering from her door. There is a heroism in all this before which the flush of triumph fades from the soldier's cheek. Maria was not only a victim to the meritricious attentions of the manager of the theatre in which she was engaged, but also the object of the same kind of attentions from the moustachoed things, mis-named gen- tlemen, who afi^ect such mighty airs in the side boxes. One of these apologies for a man, named F. W., had been more persevering in his attentions than the rest, and, to a certain extent, more successful than them all. His personal ap- pearance was unexceptionable, and his manners easy and graceful ; but he was an apt scholar in the worst school of design, and thought that there was no glory equal to that of overcoming what he waspleasgdito term, the squoamish- ness of the opposite ^qx. Accident one night producedan acquaintance between him and Maria, which all the strata- gems, him had before employedjjhsid failed, to bring about. Leading the theatre one winter's night, and for the first time she , had done so alone, F- rescued her from the clutches of some rowdy youths, who, in a drunken frolic, mistaking BEFORE AND BEHINlf THE CUETAIN. 207 P^ " ■ hfir for one of another character, interrupted her"pr(3groB3 home. For this opportune service which ,F— — with apparent generosity rendered, Maria was grateful, and con- fidingly accepted his escort to her humble dwelling. He was too well versed in his arts to proffer more than distant and polite -civilities to her on her way home ; for, as he said to his friends, he did, not wish to frighten the hare with tho sight of the net until he could fairly entangle the game in its meshes. This incident occurred in about a year after Maria's engagement at the Theatre, and at a time when she had become the most attractive card the manager hold in his hand. F did not fail to take advantage of this accident to call upon Maria the next day, to assure himself, as he remarked, that she had not suffered from the fright of the evening before. Maria introduced the stranger to her mother, who warmly expressed her gratitude for the services rendered to her daughter. " Don't name it, my dear madam," said F . " I should of course have fled to the rescue of any female situa- ted as Miss — — ; but,, I assure you, it gave unusual energy to my determination when I saw who was the object of the aiisault. For I have been too pleasantly impressed with the modest bearing and exquisite grace of Miss on the boards of the Theatre not to feel anxious to relieve her from any difScuIty which would cause not only me, but public generally, to regret her absence from her duties for a single evening.'' This compliment was paid with such apparent earnest- ness and sincerity that F quite won the mother's heart. Maria remained silent ; for, although not disposed in this instance, at least, to doubt the sincerity of the speaker, she had had so much experience of the hollowness and objects of compliai^lk'ry remarts inadfe to aiitfe's^es, that tte worii Ml' deadni|(on' liier ear. Again' and sigairi did' i* ^ call at'theiheuBST, and with' •uttdBviatifag' punctuality occupy tlie privatff box on the O. P. side'. He had too much cunninir tii proffet Ms Services to see her home after the performancej He todb good cstre not.to iwiritife his attentibns, anc( lay this prudence, as might have beeb '^kpedted, te made greater advances' into the goodwill of the uistt^pectiiig Maria ttaii he' could possibly haVe effected' by a bolder cdursfe bif opera- tions. Sd donstant and "respectful were Lis attentions, and so ounahi^|<^ did he pursue his heartless designs, that fear, gave Way tb' doBfidehcie, iind Maria began to feel' a tender interest' in- her pefsevefribg admirer'. B*— — saw the ad- vaintage he had gaiiied, but was WU assured, at the same time', that'H^ must still disguise the rottenness of his heart ■^stnd he e'^eh went so far te to' speak' of marriage. The mother was delighted at 'the idea of her daughter being ^Jacedurar situation above' thene'ce^sity of depending upon the: Oheatre' for a living, afld the poof' girl Was not the less happy at the prospect of being removed from associations which, in her hfeart, she abhorred. Six months had elapsed since he' first became a constant visitor at the house, when he and Maria were seated in the little parlor one Sunday evening. ' F ' ' • ' , after professing the most ardent attach- ment, exclaimed, " Would to heaven I was in a situation to make ySu mine by the most solemn tie ; but years must yet elapse, from the circumstances I have already told you,bp- fore r can fbllow the dictates of my heart. " " Well, F ," replied Maria, " unless you are afrai^ to trust your own affections, you need have no apprehen- sions widiregard to mine ; for so long as you remain wortnj of my. efsticia, I am unalterably^ yours." ^iVfyd^aif gill, i Have' ? a^opj, F^pny JCf^}^%'fl CTOJP, feeing the Rqro§9 pf the eveping. Tlje per^9nal appgar^QQe of Miss Grove was exceedingly intepes^ing ^Jid, HrflU cajcnldted tq i^a^e a pleasant first impression. Qn tlie Sisi night of her appearfince she was received ]ty qt full l|f>us% with that kindness '^hich always distinguishes the ]S$ir Ymk audiences in their reQeptioq ^of strapgp;:p. iShe l)§d not ^oie;n many gpeiephes, heiweyer, when ^ fovind of enthusiastie applause acknowledged k^ merits f nd powers as an actress. We shall never forget the enthusiasm she created in the balcony scene. It was one of the most deli- cately and beautifully expressed scenes ever rendered upon the Park stage. In short, from the beginning to the end of the tragedy, she achieved the most signal triumphs. She was loudly called for before the curtain, and, appearing, gracefiilly acknowledged the compliment. The most in- tense curiosity was excited in relation to her. Who was she .' where did she come from .' But nobody could tell. On the following night she appeared in Fa^io, and still more strongly confirmed the favorable impression made on ber first night. She played through the week with eminent |Success,her benefit was well attended, and she completed her brief engagement, well established in public favor. f Now for the reasons of her sudden departure from Now York. It appears that a Mr. Y— d, a lessee of one of the .minor theatres in London, paid his addresses to Miss Grove, which, however, were received with great disfavor by her parents, who absolutely refused to countenance the intima- cy. Miss Grove, despairing of gaining a parental authori- ty for an attachment she warmly reciprocated, resolved to seek m the United States that peace and repose which was domed her at home. Mr. Y. learned whither she had fled, 218 BEFOBE AND BEHIND THE CUKTAIN. and in a fewdays after she left England, he followed he He arrived in New York on the Sunday following the coi pletion of her engagement at the Park, They were ma ried in the evening, and on Monday morning, hoth set si for Englaild. Some seven or eight years after this, we visi ed England, and had the pleasure of seeing Mrs. Y— on the boards of the Haymarket Theatre. There wi little of the Juliet left in her appearance ; she looked t though the nurse would have been a better caste. BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 219 CRUMMLES HUMBUGGED; OR CHARITY MISPLACED. One night a poor but lovely maiden sought the shades of the Olympic hall. While seated there, the eye of him, whose duty it was to stop all who had no business on the stage, fell upon her. A dismal groan greeted his ear, and lookin" round, he saw the maiden fair upon the stairs lead- in" to-the place where mirth and jollity spread good nature o'er all. " What is the matter .'" he kindly asks. " Oh !" she echoed back ; " the pain ! Oh ! what a pain I have !— the cold.' And cold it was, for as sbe spoke, a blast from boreas swept by the man. He trembled, and quickly thought of the remedy he had had already for the same complaint, and hurried to Scarfs, next door, and with trembling lips called for a brandy sling. " Another — quick ! It is not for me but a sweet lady, who, with pain, has fell beneath our por- tico, and you, George, if you are a philanthropist, aid me now." Away they went, and Crummies too, who had heard all that passed. George Scarf first broke silence — " What ia the matter, good woman .'" And with the assistance of Charles, they raised the prostrate woman to her feet. " The cold has chilled me through ; and I have no home," and as she contmued her story, the tears rolled in torrents from her beautiful eyes. " Where have you slept," be asked, " if you have no tome ?" 220 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. " In Wall Street, beneath a broker's stoop," answerei she, with sobs.' " But drink this sling," said Crummies, and with bashfu air he turned his head at the thought of asking a woman t( do such a thing. He held the toddy forth, she grasped it and at a single gulp the toddy disappeared. The governo: smacked his lips, and thought neither substance or quantitj were strangers to the road ; and yet he reproached himself for thinking so, and laid all to the pain she suffered. " You say you have no home — come, don't cry — dry uj your tears." And poor complacent thing, she did as she was bid. At this period two strangers stopped and looked on, and then exclaimed^ ^' An impostor ! Pooh ! I would not give her a cent — come, let us go." Scarf could not stand this — " What .'" cried he, " she an impostor .' Why, she has been shedding tears of distress. She is suffering pain, and if you will not give her a cent I will give her fifty of them," and suiting the action to the word, pulled out half a dollar from his pocket, and as ho placed it in her hand, and, as we thought, gave her a very philanthropic squeeze. Old Crummies now came forward, and with ready hand plunged into his pocket and out again, placed into her hands a handful of silver ; but we did not observe that Crummies squeezed her hand. Now Tom was a fellow who threw light upon many ads performed at that period in the neighborhood. Crummies asked him to procure a bed. " For two," innocently asked Tom. " No, you scamp ; for this poor half-frozen woman. Come, don't weepr^-we will soon provide you with food and fire — but business calls — Tom, take her down and have her oared for." fiEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 221 She was sent down and cared for — the pain soon left her, and a warm supper filled its place. Now the kind woman of the house provides a bed for the unfortunate stranger. Whilst thus engaged the unfortunate woman counts her " Oh, kind Madam," she cried, " don't make a bed for me ; my pain is better, and I will go away. " The lady smiled, for she thought her suspicions were coming true, and that it would soon be seen that Scarf, Crummies, and Tom, were humbugged completely. To make our story short, we will confess the humbug^ — ^it was a joke desigoed to take in the knowing ones. Hal Grundly, feeling pf etty fine one night at Jack Mar- tin's Broadway House, the conversation turned on Mitchell, and as the bottle passed and the joke went round, Martin declared there were two people. Crummies and Georgo Scarf, who could not be taken in by any trick. " I'll bet," says Hal, " a basket of champagne that I humbug the pair." " When ?" " Between this and to-morrow night." " Done," cried Jack. And he did^for the female with the pain was no other than the famous Hal. How well he performed ElS'=fart we leave the reader to judge. Jack was satisfied and paid the bet. 222 BEFORE AKD BEHIND THE CURTAIN. THE YOUNG AUTHOR. We had the honor one night at the Olympic of peeing a literary phenomenon — a successful dramatic author ; we had never seen one of these extraordinary individuals be- fore — during the first representation of a new farce. The happy gentleman we allude to was at the theatre on the awful night at a very early hour. He was up-staiis and down-stairs — now in the pit — then in the boxes — as thougk he were invoking the spirits of the place to tickle the ex- pected audience into merriment and good humor. As the audience came dropping in, our author, with an involuntary politeness, touched his hat to them, and smiled with a do be-seated kind of an expression, which must have been very flattering to the boxites and the pitites, in spite of their being a little bothered to know why the gentleman was so extremely courteous. Well, at length the time came — the bell rung — the author sweats great drops of anxiety — and the curtain went up. During the performance of the first scene we only caught an occasional glimpse of the author, as he popped his head from behind one of the box-pillars, to take a squint at the folks around him. We pitied him sincerely — what agony he endured ! Our attention was now directed to the stage for a short time. We again turned to take a view of the author. How changed. In- stead of cringing behind a post, there he stood out in bold relief, arms folded, head erect, lips compressed, looking a sort of, Napoleon of a composite order. The truth is, the audience had given the most unequivocal signs of approba- BEFORE AND BEfflND THE CURTAIN. 223 on, and the piece and the author were saved. When the irtain fell upon the sttccessful farce, the . author was seen ir a moment with head bent, sucking the last lingering iho of applause. He was next seen embracing all his lends and acquaintances in front, and then all those be- nd the scenes who had anything, however remotely, to do ith his piece. He was wild with joy — in a perfect pa- xysm of pleasant agony. The last we saw of him he was aking hands violently with the tail of his coat, and con- atulating himself on the success of his farce. BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. MISCELLANEOUS. A Dead Hit. — " You ougtt to make a good living ty your jokes," said Mitchell, to ' Billy Villiains, of the Veils,' one day. " Why so," inquired the latter. " Because," re- plied the manager, " your puna are a^Xfim-dead property." Williams never was funny again, at least whenever we saw him on the stage. From the same to the same. — " Suppose some scoun- drel were to run you through the body, Billy," said Mit- chell to Williams, " what trade or profession would he be- long to." " Can't possibly say,'' was the reply. " A BiU- sHcker to be sure," said Mitchell. A Prophet at Fault. — Mundy, the Prophet, as he was called at one time, used to preach against theatres, and entertained the Quixotic idea of converting all the mana- gers to his particular faith. On one occasion, he went to the Arch-Street Theatre, Philadelphia, and inquired at the box- pflSoe for Mr. Burton. The Call-boy was the only person in the office at the time, and he, knowing the character of the inquirer, did not choose to answer him satisfactorily, until he had indulged his own curiosity by putting a few queries BEFOKE AND BEfflND THE CURTAIN. 226 to the Prophet. " What do you want with Mr. Burton .>" said the boy. — " I am sent on an important mission, to save this soul from utter ruin, and I must see the man of sin," replied the Prophet.—" Who sent you .'" asked the boy.— " The Lord of Hosts !" blasphemously exclaimed Mundy. ' " Then it is a pity the Lord of Hosts did not know that Mr. Burton is in New York, and has been for a week ;" and with that the door of the office was shut in the Pro- phet's face. " Sic transit gloria Mundy ."' A GOOD Hit.— Mr. Mitchell was quite famous in his palmy days for the readiness and wit of his speeches, when suddenly called xtpon by any incident occurring in front of the curtain. We well remember on one occasion, that of Mr. Raymond's benefit, when some persons in the pit, to whom this gentleman had rendered himself somewhat unpopular, took the opportunity of offering him a public insult, by throwing a calf's head upon the stage, just as the curtain was descending. The more generous part of the audience called for Mr. Raymond ; but, hurt by the cirtumstance which had occurred, he hastened to his dress- ing-room and would not come out. The uproar continuing, Mr. Mitchell appeared before the curtain, and thus ad- dressed the audience : Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Raymond not being in a condition to appear before you, wishes me to thank you sincerely for the kindness of your attendance here this evening, and to assure you he will always gratefully remember, and particularly the gen- tleman who has so kindly left his portrait upon the stage." We need scarcely say this reproof was received with roars of laughter and applause. 226 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. PiAy-BiLLS. — When Mitchell first opened the Olympic Theatre, and indeed for several years afterwards, his bills were among the most amusing and spicy things which he ^id. We have seen the audiences at the Olympic, before the curtain went up, in roars of laughter at the humorous character of the bills each one made a point of reading when he was fairly seated. Not only were the serious pieces of other establishments burlesqued, but their very announcements, &o.— " Look at this and then at t'other." BOWERY THEATRE. Brilliant Success of THE E AIRY SPELL! A magnificent Operatic Romance, with New Scenery, New Dresses, New Machinery, New Decorations, and New Ballets, produced at an expense of MANY THOUSAND D O L L A ft B ! The Scenery entirely new, and painted on 81,000 square feet of canvas ! HAS BEEN THREE MONTHS IN PREPAKATION ! In consequence of the length of time the New Spectacle Will oc- cupy in representation, no other piece will be played on the same evening. So much for " that," now for " this." MITCHELL'S OLYMPIC THEATRE. Brilliant success of the Funny Nautical Burlesque of BILLY TAYLOR, Produced without an immense expense, the entire cost being considerably under TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS ! The new scenery is painted on less than 30,000 square feet of canvas, and has not been MANY MONTHS IN PREPARATION. N.B. — ^In consequence of this burlesque not being too long, three othei^ piedes, and a variety of entertainments, will be played on the same evening. BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 227 The following announcement of Mitchell, in the charac- ter of Hamlet, in Hamlet Travestie, is a capital thing in its way. The First Appearance of that not-at-all celebrated Tragedian. pS- MR. MITCHELL, -^ In the ardnona, overpowering, philosophical, and awfully tremen- dous character of 2^- HAMLET, -^ May be looked upon as an era of the dramatic annals of the present generation, and then again it may not. To say in the embodyment of this part, he displayed the solemnity and coach-horse style of John Phillip Kemble, the overpowering majesty of Tauha, the grace and dignity of Young, the head and front of Hamblin, and the manly form and spirit of FoKKEST, with the fire and energy of the Two Keans, would perhaps be considered as going it a leetle too strong — but it is not so— for it is a fact susceptible of the most ample proof that he did things wliich none of the above Celebrated Artists ever attempted. If there exists in the Western World, one indiyi- daal who doubts this, let that individual come, see, and judge for himself. Douglass Jerrold and Mr. Mitchell. — When Mr. Mitchell went first up to London, he was engaged at the Theatre,- of which the eelehrated Douglass Jerrold was the author. He was engaged as first low comedian. Soon after his connexion with the theatre, he was cast a subordinate part in a farce just presented by Mr. Jerrold. He went to the manager's office, and claimed his right upon the terms of his agreement to the first comedy part. He was informed that Mr. Kirby had been oast for the part, and that he was expected to play 228 BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. the one wUch lip,^ heen allotted him. He firmly declined. Mr. Jerrold was incdgnant, and the contumaciouB actor was sent for to confront the irate author in the manager's room. The character in dispute was called Wrags. On Mr. Mitchell entering .the room, Jerrold attacked him at once. •■' So, sir," said he, " you decline the character assigned you .'" " I do, sir, most positively." " Humph ! It is really come to a pretty pass, that an unknown provincial actor should come up here and show humors and caprices about parts. The profession will soon go to the devil, if such impertinence is tolerated." " Look, sir," said Mr. Mitchell, " you must talk to me and treat me as a gentleman, or I shall convince you through the medium of your nose that you have made a serious mistake in the man you would so gratuitously insult." " Nonsense, sir ! I'll write you down, sir ; . I'll be re- venged, sir, depend upon it!"' " No, doubt," said Mitchell, very quietly, " you will be amply revenged, for you will live to see me in Wrags, and be glad of it.'' The hit was too palpable, and Jerrold too fond of wit to let his personal pique prevent its recognition, so, run- ning across the room, he seized Mitchell by the hand, shool it heartily, and said he should play the part. Fortunste for Mr. Jerrold that the " provincial actor " did play it,fo] through the genius of Mr. Mitchell, the piece run ovesi one hundred and fifty nights. On the Occasion of Mr. Mitchell's benefit at the National alter his row with Elliot, the husband of Madame Celeste BEFORE AND BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 229 a wreath of onions, turnips, and carrots was thrown to him, accompanied by the following verses : — ADDRESS TO THE STAGE MANAGER. In times of old, as legend says. Merit received a orown of bays ; The wreath we to thy merit yield. Are treasures from a native field ; Let it adorn thy brow to-night. When an array of beauty bright. Yields the reward to merit due, A meed so riclily earned by you. What though it boasts no flowerets fair, 'Tis OS a wreath more rich and rare ; And though no gold it can display. Yet many carrots it will weigh. Thus blending ornament witli use, 'Twill many benefits produce. Which if our wish be understood. Will as to nights " turn-up" as good. March 25, 1839. THE END .