Text: Edgar Allan Poe (?), Literary, Broadway Journal (New York), November 1, 1845, vol. 2, no. 17, p. ???, col. ?

[page 259, column 1, continued:]

The Drama.

THE SUBJOINED comments on Mr. Murdoch were furnished us by a friend whose judgment we respect. The first three paragraphs were intended for last week's Journal, but accidentally omitted — the dates, of course, refer to last week. With the opinions expressed we nearly, but not altogether, agree. What we ourselves think of Mr. Murdoch, we shall take occasion to say, somewhat in detail, hereafter. — Ed. B. J.

MR. MURDOCH’S RECEPTION. — Mr. Murdoch made good our augury by presenting to the most watchful audience of the season, at the Park Theatre, on Tuesday evening, the best Hamlet on the continent. No actor, on his first appearance, was ever so closely followed; and it was only great skill wisely employed that gained for him a triumph at the end. It was clearly his determination from the first, by no act nor look, to overstep the modesty of nature. The same discretion and power, employed on a more telling part, would have secured to him a house stormy with applause. But it was his cue to enter on his great career as an actor modestly, to begin at the fine end of the wedge, and to drive it home firmly thereafter, in parts of force, and passion, and louder emphasis. It was a critical undertaking, and to have brought himself off with credit, would have been much; to have made an “impression,” and to have gained for himself by this single performance a right to engage in personations of the highest range, was a triumph indeed. Our good hope of Mr. Murdoch is sustained, and more than sustained. — With this verdict of approval, the well-earned favor of an audience vigilant and hard to please, and lately over tasked with Hamlet, (for it was up twice in the just previous engagement of Mr. Charles Kean,) he will go abroad, sure of a triumphant reception in all quarters of the country. We are proud that another of our young countrymen has planted his foot on the stage, there to stand in honor and increasing power, for a long day, we hope, of active skill and popular favor.

If we can but persuade our countrymen to look at it aright, this is a memorable event. Every native man put upon the stage, with character and judgment, and true power to bear him up, is a ground and pillar on which to build a drama of our own. It was to this we referred in introducing Mr. Murdoch to our readers at first; and it is to this, we believe, he will be true to the last. We do not enter upon a critical examination of his Hamlet, further than to say, that it was the most perfect commentary on the written play we have ever had presented [column 2:] to us. It was plain and easy reading throughout. The embodiment was perfect.

It is not to be said of Mr. Murdoch that he has a fine conception of his author, but that his voice failed him; or that his voice was musically true to the sentiment, but that his person lacked something of the scholar and the man of graceful mien. He had them all together: voice, person, mien, and insight. And this, we will undertake to say, can be asserted of no Hamlet with which American audiences have been recently familiar. Mr. Murdoch's Hamlet is but the first round on the ladder. We are safe in asserting, that each new personation will carry him higher in his art, and lift him to a point where he will fix upon himself more and more of the popular regard.

Mr. Murdoch followed up his success in Hamlet with an Othello on Thursday evening still more decisive. Our contemporaries have all acknowledged the great excellence of this personation, and we are not disposed to dispute it. The fifth act, particularly, impressed us as it has everybody else, as a masterpiece. It was one of the complete, finished and satisfactory achievements which hang in the mind like a choice painting, apart by themselves, never to be outdone or superseded. Throughout the whole play there were constant indications of the fine spirit which possesses Mr. Murdoch, and at times flashes of fire and passion which carried the audience as by storm.

To these admirable performances Mr. Murdoch added his Benedick on Monday, which is acknowledged on all hands to be the best, taken all in all, which the New-York stage has known for many and many a year. Perfect grace and beauty and spirit marked it ail through. The challenge and the parting with the prince; the wooing of Beatrice, and the closing scenes, were the perfection of gentlemanly bearing — the chivalry of a true souled lover, and the best.

Wearing these laurels as his vouchers of merit, this young American actor must be received in all parts of the country with acclamation. He has acquired suddenly (but as the fruit of long previous and assiduous training) a great renown; and he will add to it, we are safe in declaring, every day of his life. The early day at which we go to press will not allow us to speak of his Claude Melnotte (Wednesday evening) nor his Macbeth (of Friday); but of these and of his parting reception at the houses of New-York, we shall have something to say in our next paper.

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WE HAVE before us a letter from Miss Eliza Cook, in which she says “I need not tell you how much I admire and estimate your bright countrywoman, Miss Cushman. We are friends, and, I trust, will long be such. — She is gathering golden opinions from the English, and will take a high standing in her profession.”

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THE WELL-KNOWN company of rats at the Park Theatre, understand, it is said, their cue perfectly. It is worth the price of admission to see their performance. By long training they know precisely the time when the curtain rises, and the exact degree in which the audience is spellbound by what is going on. At the sound of the bell they sally out; scouring the pit for chance peanuts and orange-peel. When, by the rhyming couplets, they are made aware that the curtain is about to fall, they disappear — through respect for the moving heels of the audience. Their temerity is regulated by the intensity of [page 260:] the performers. A profitable engagement might be made, we think, with “the celebrated Dog Billy.”

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“CRUIKSHANK’S TABLE-BOOK” has a pleasant paper, setting forth some of the secrets of ‘advertising patronage’ and the use that may be made of orders to the theatre, (a privilege of the London press not adopted here,) in fomenting the same. Hanker Grabb calls himself Editor, and admits a limited circulation and that “to the offices of such newspapers trades-people do not come rushing, frantically tendering their five and sixpences for the insertion of their announcements.” And he feelingly remarks, “In these days a fresco painting is the only thing that can stand without a canvass.”

His advice is this: “On Wednesday morning — it is useless to begin earlier — pocket as many tickets as the managers will let you write — and go round your advertising connection. Some editors are silly enough to think that this is not a gentleman's vocation — who says it is? The question is not about gentlemanliness, but about advertisements. If you want these, go for them — if not, send your clerks. Go into the shops and see the principals. Say something of this kind, “Ah! Choppings, how are you?” (Your friend is e. g. a sausagemaker.) “Coining money, as usual? Oh! don’t tell me — I’m coming to borrow a few thousands of you one of these days. I say, old fellow, you have n’t given us a turn lately. Oh, nonsense! can’t afford it. You can afford anything. What! advertising don’t bring returns? Stuff! I pledge you my sacred honor, that one of the Queen's tradesmen came to me yesterday, swearing he had made ninety-four pounds by one advertisement only. Come, give us a ‘repeat’ of that about the ROYAL ALBERT BRAWN and PETTITOES. No? Yes, you will. “Oh! by the way, would n’t you like to go to the theatre? — Any you like. Here's the ‘Garden,’ and the ‘Wells’ — have ‘em both — take Mrs. Choppings — how is she? Here — I’m always happy to oblige you; and now, good-bye — I shall insert the Royal Albert's. Good-bye.”