CHAPTER 13

Theatre—­Fine Arts—­Delicacy—­Shaking Quakers—­
Big-Bone Lick—­Visit of the President

The theatre at Cincinnati is small, and not very brilliant in decoration, but in the absence of every other amusement our young men frequently attended it, and in the bright clear nights of autumn and winter, the mile and a half of distance was not enough to prevent the less enterprising members of the family from sometimes accompanying them.  The great inducement to this was the excellent acting of Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Drake, the managers. [Mr. Drake was an Englishman.] Nothing could be more distinct than their line of acting, but the great versatility of their powers enabled them often to appear together.  Her cast was the highest walk of tragedy, and his the broadest comedy; but yet, as Goldsmith says of his sister heroines, I have known them change characters for a whole evening together, and have wept with him and laughed with her, as it was their will and pleasure to ordain.  I think in his comedy he was superior to any actor I ever saw in the same parts, except Emery.  Alexander Drake’s comedy was like that of the French, who never appear to be acting at all; he was himself the comic being the author aimed at depicting.  Let him speak whose words he would, from Shakspeare to Colman, it was impossible not to feel that half the fun was his own; he had, too, in a very high degree, the power that Fawcett possessed, of drawing tears by a sudden touch of natural feeling.  His comic songs might have set the gravity of the judges and bishops together at defiance.  Liston is great, but Alexander Drake was greater.

Mrs. Drake, formerly Miss Denny, greatly resembles Miss O’Neil; a proof of this is, that Mr. Kean, who had heard of the resemblance, arrived at New York late in the evening, and having repaired to the theatre, saw her for the first time across the stage, and immediately exclaimed, “that’s Miss Denny.”  Her voice, too, has the same rich and touching tones, and is superior in power.  Her talent is decidedly first-rate.  Deep and genuine feeling, correct judgment, and the most perfect good taste, distinguish her play in every character.  Her last act of Belvidera is superior in tragic effect to any thing I ever saw on the stage, the one great exception to all comparison, Mrs. Siddons, being set aside.

It was painful to see these excellent performers playing to a miserable house, not a third full, and the audience probably not including half a dozen persons who would prefer their playing to that of the vilest strollers.  In proof of this, I saw them, as managers, give place to paltry third-rate actors from London, who would immediately draw crowded houses, and be overwhelmed with applause.