little she had to do, with that fine unobtrusive good sense, and reluctant naïveté, which distinguish all her performances. If she carries her shyness of the audience and of her profession to a fault, not so Mr. Munden. He outcaricatures caricature, and outgrimaces himself. We have seen him twice lately in the same character of a drunken confidant, and were both times heartily tired. He is not only perfectly conscious what he is about, but has a thorough understanding with the audience all along. He makes his face up into a bad joke, and flings it right in the teeth of the spectators. The expression of the masks hanging out at the shop-windows is less extravagant and distorted. There is no one on the stage who can, or at least who does, draw up his eyebrows, roll his eyes, thrust out his tongue, or drop his under jaw, in so astonishing a manner as Mr. Munden; and if acting consisted in making wry faces, he would be the greatest actor on the stage, instead of which he is, on these occasions, only a bad clown. His over-desire to produce effect, destroys all effect on our minds.' Mr. Knight played the servant very well; but in general, there is too much an appearance in his acting, as if he was moved by wires. His feeling always flies to the extremities: his vivacity is in his feet and finger-ends. He is a very lively automaton.

[Covent Garden.]

The farce of Love in Limbo,2 brought out at Covent-Garden Theatre, has no other merit than the plot, which, however, is neither very laughable nor very probable. The melo-drame of Zembuca, besides the attractions of the scenery and music,

1 It will be seen, that this severe censure of Munden is nearly reversed in the sequel of these remarks, and on a better acquaintance with this very able actor in characters more worthy of his powers. [W. H.] See p. 173, post.

2 Love in Limbo, by Dr. John G. Millingen, was produced on March 31. 3 Zembuca; or, The Net Maker and his Wife, by Isaac Pocock, was produced on Easter Monday, March 27. Liston was Buffardo, a court jester.

has considerable neatness of point in the dialogue, to which

Liston gave its full effect.

MR. KEAN'S ZANGA.

[Drury Lane] May 28, I815.

MR. KEAN played for his benefit on Wednesday,' the character of Zanga, in The Revenge (which he is to repeat), and the character of Abel Drugger from The Alchymist (we are sorry to say for that night only). The house was crowded to excess. The play of The Revenge is an obvious transposition of Othello: the two principal characters are the same; only their colours are reversed. The giving the dark, treacherous, fierce, and remorseless character to the Moor, is an alteration, which is more in conformity to our prejudices, as well as to historical truth. We have seen Mr. Kean in no part to which his general style of acting is so completely adapted as to this, or to which he has given greater spirit and effect. He had all the wild impetuosity of barbarous revenge, the glowing energy of the untamed children of the sun, whose blood drinks up the radiance of fiercer skies. He was like a man stung with rage, and bursting with stifled passions. His hurried motions had the restlessness of the panther's: his wily caution, his cruel eye, his quivering visage, his violent gestures, his hollow pauses, his abrupt transitions, were all in character. The very vices of Mr. Kean's general acting might almost be said to assist him in the part. What in our judgment he wants is dignified repose, and deep internal sentiment. But in Zanga, nothing of this kind is required. The whole character is violent; the whole expression is in action. The only passage which struck

1 May 24.

2 By Edward Young, author of "Night Thoughts."

us as one of calm and philosophical grandeur, and in which Mr. Kean failed from an excess of misplaced energy, was the one in the conclusion,' where he describes the tortures he is about to undergo, and expresses his contempt for them. Certainly, the predominant feeling here is that of stern, collected, impenetrable fortitude, and the expression given to it should not be that of a pantomimic exaggeration of the physical horrors to which he professes to rise superior. The mind in such a situation recoils upon itself, summons up its own powers and resources, and should seem to await the blow of fate with the stillness of death. The scene in which he discloses himself to Alonzo, and insults over his misery,2 was terrific: the attitude in which he tramples on the body of his prostrate victim,3 was not the less dreadful from its being perfectly beautiful. Among the finest instances of natural expression, were the manner in which he interrupts himself in his relation to Alonzo, "I knew you could not bear it," and his reflection when he sees that Alonzo is dead—“And so is my revenge.” The play should end here: the soliloquy afterwards is a mere drawling piece of common-place morality. We ought to add, that Mr. Rae acted the part of Alonzo with great force and feeling.

4

6

Mr. Kean's Abel Drugger was an exquisite piece of ludicrous naïveté. The first word he utters, (6 Sure," drew bursts of laughter and applause. The mixture of simplicity and cunning in the character could not be given with a more whimsical effect. First, there was the wonder of the poor Tobacconist, when he is told by the Conjurer that his name

6 The Tobacconist. Altered from Ben Jonson by Francis Gentleman [1728-84]. "Sure," must have been Kean's gag: Abel's words in the printed play are “Yes, sir,” as in The Alchemist of Ben Jonson. Subtle was played by Gattie.

is Abel, and that he was born on a Wednesday; then the conflict between his apprehensions and his cupidity, as he becomes more convinced that Subtle is a person who has dealings with the devil; and lastly, his contrivances to get all the information he can, without paying for it. His distress is at the height, when the two-guinea pocket-piece is found upon him: "He had received it from his grandmother, and would fain save it for his grand-children.' The battle between him and Face (Oxberry) 2 was irresistible; and he went off after he had got well through it, strutting, and fluttering his cloak about, much in the same manner that a game cock flaps his wings after a victory. We wish he would do it again!"

MR. BANNISTER'S FAREWELL.

[Drury Lane] June 4, 1815.

2

MR. BANNISTER had the comedy of The World,* and the after-piece of The Children in the Wood, for his benefit on Thursday last, at Drury-Lane. Mr. Gattie, in consequence of the indisposition of Mr. Dowton, undertook the part of Index in the play. This alteration occasioned a short interruption; but after the usual explanation, the piece proceeded, and in our opinion, Mr. Gattie made a very excellent representative of the busy, whiffling, insignificant, but goodnatured character which he personated. The figure and manner of this actor are certainly better fitted for the part than those of Dowton, who has too much weight and sturdiness of mind and body, to run about on ladies' errands, and

1 The Tobacconist, I.

2 The playbill says,

"Face-Mr. Wallack," and this is confirmed by

The Theatrical Inquisitor.

This notice is copied in The European Magazine for July. 4 The World, by James Kenney.

take an interest in every thing that does not concern him. He is not a Will Wimble.1 Mr. Bannister played the character of Echo, which is a whimsical mixture of simplicity, affectation, and good-nature, with his usual excellence. Mr. Elliston's Cheviot is one of his best characters. Whatever requires spirit, animation, or the lively expression of natural feelings, he does well. Sentimental comedy is the equivocal reflection of tragedy in common life, and Mr. Elliston can rehearse the one just well enough to play the other. The coincidence is complete. He raises his voice to a pitch of romantic rapture, or lowers it to the tones of sullen despondence and disappointment, with the happiest effect. The Duke,2 in The Honey-Moon, is the assumption of an impassioned character. The comedy of The World is one of the most ingenious and amusing of the modern stage. It has great neatness of dialogue, and considerable originality, as well as sprightliness of character. It is, however, chargeable with a grossness which is common to modern plays; we mean the grossness of fashionable life in the men, and the grossness of fine sentiment in the women. Mrs. Davison did not soften down the exuberant qualities of Lady Bloomfield into any thing like decency; and the two fashionable loungers, Loiter and Dauntless, were certainly done to the life by Decamp and R. Palmer. Between the acts, Mr. Braham sung "Robin Adair," and "The Death of Nelson," in his most delightful style.

In the after-piece, Mr. Bannister played the favourite part of Walter, in The Children in the Wood, for the last time.

1 Will Wimble was a friend of Sir Roger de Coverley, always ready to help everybody. See The Spectator, No. 108.

2 The Duke of Aranza. See p. 136, post.

3 The Children in the Wood, by T. Morton. John Bannister (17601836), whose farewell on June 1, 1815, is here described, made his début at the Haymarket, as Dick (in The Apprentice) in 1778. He was the original Walter (in The Children in the Wood), October 1, 1793; the original Lenitive (in The Prize, with Suett as Label and Storace as Caroline), March 11, 1793; the original Vapour (in My Grandmother),

G