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Contents
1. Cover
2. Title Page
3. Copyright Page
4. Dedication
5. Contents at a Glance
6. Contents
7. Acknowledgments
8. Part I Understanding Business Intelligence and Power BI

1. Chapter 1 How to Use This Book

1. The Tool Chest Called Power BI

1. The BI Process
2. Power BI Parts and Pieces

2. The Right Tool(s) for the Job

1. Consuming Power BI Reports

2. Power BI as a Data Visualization Tool
3. Power BI as a Modeling Tool
4. Power BI as a Data Warehouse/Data Mart

3. Where to Find What You Need

1. Obtaining Power BI Desktop Software

2. Sample Code and Supporting Materials
3. Information on Power BI New Features and
Enhancements

4. How to Succeed at Self-Service Analytics

 2. Chapter 2 Successful Self-Service Analytics

1. What Is Business Intelligence?

1. Defining KPIs

2. Is Your Organization Ready for BI?

1. Desire
2. Realistic Expectations
3. Ongoing Care and Feeding
4. Well-Defined KPIs
5. Actionable KPIs
6. Reliable Sources of Data

3. Implementation: Best Practices

1. Take an Iterative Implementation Approach

2. Utilize a Data Warehouse/Data Mart
3. Cleanse and Validate During Data Gathering
4. Create User-Friendly Data Models
5. Publish Latency
6. Provide Training and Support
7. Use the Right Tool for the Job
8. Establish Standards and Limits

4. Successfully Using Power BI

9. Part II Interacting with Power BI

1. Chapter 3 Power BI Architecture

1. The Power BI Architecture

1. Power BI Desktop
2. The Power BI Service
3. The Power BI Report Server
4. The Power BI Mobile App
 2. Power BI Desktop Optimizations
3. Power BI Updates
4. Microsoft On-premises Data Gateway
5. What Does the Data Have to Say?

2. Chapter 4 Using Power BI Visualizations

1. Power BI Desktop

1. Obtaining What You Need

2. Opening the Report/Preparing the Environment

2. Interacting with a Power BI Report

1. Working with a Single Report Item

2. Interacting with Multiple Report Items

3. Changing the Data with Slicers and Filters

1. Slicers
2. Filters

4. Navigating Power BI Reports

1. Drill Down and Drillthrough

2. Buttons
3. Bookmarks
4. Additional Data Interactions

5. A Cloudy Forecast

3. Chapter 5 Using the Power BI Service (PowerBI.com)

1. PowerBI.com

1. The Organization of PowerBI.com

2. Connecting to PowerBI.com
3. The Navigation Pane
 2. Workspaces

1. Reports
2. Dashboards
3. Workbooks
4. Datasets
5. Dataflows

3. Additional Areas and Items Within PowerBI.com

1. Additional Navigation Pane Items

2. Additional Buttons

4. How It All Gets Made

10. Part III Creating Visualizations

1. Chapter 6 Basic Data Visualizations

1. Learn By Doing

1. Starting Point

2. Basic Visualizations

1. Maximum Miniatures Manufacturing

2. Our First Report Page
3. Text-based Visualizations
4. Graphical Visualizations

3. Interactivity

1. Slicers
2. Filters
3. Drillthrough

4. Geographic Visualizations
 1. Bing Map Visualizations
2. Shape Map Visualizations
3. GIS Map Visualizations

5. Other Visual Elements

1. Text Boxes, Images, and Shapes

6. Fancy Formatting

2. Chapter 7 Visualization Formatting

1. The Visualization Format Tab

1. Report Page
2. All Items
3. Charts
4. Additional Chart Functional Groups
5. Table and Matrix
6. Card and Multi-row Card
7. Pie Chart, Donut Chart, Treemap, and Maps
8. Funnel
9. Gauge
10. KPI
11. Slicer
12. Button, Shape, and Image

2. Advanced Formatting Dialog Boxes

1. Conditional Formatting Advanced Controls

Dialog Box
2. Data Bars Advanced Controls Dialog Box

3. The Visualization Analytics Tab

1. Types of Analytics Lines

2. Controls for Editing Analytics Lines
 4. Themes
5. New Ways to Interact and Visualize

3. Chapter 8 Advanced Interactivity and Custom Visualizations

1. Controlling Interactivity

1. Controlling Interactions
2. Synchronizing Slicers

2. Creating Interactivity

1. Custom Tooltips
2. Bookmarks
3. Selection Pane
4. Buttons

3. Customizing Visualizations

1. Custom Visualizations from the Marketplace

2. Custom Visualizations from R and Python
3. Creating a Custom Shape Map

4. Moving on to Modeling

11. Part IV Building Data Models

1. Chapter 9 Loading Data with Power BI

1. Gathering Data

1. Get Data
2. Power BI Connection Types

2. Transforming Data During the Data Import

1. The Power BI Query Editor

2. A New Sample: World Population
 3. Repeating and Changing the Data Import

1. Refreshing Data in Power BI Desktop

2. Modifying Queries
3. The Advanced Editor and the Power Query
Formula Language
4. Data Source Permissions

4. Relationships and Intermediate Tables

1. Creating an Intermediate Table from a Data

Source
2. Manually Creating Intermediate Tables

5. Parameters

1. Putting Parameters to Use

6. Transformers

2. Chapter 10 Power BI Transformation Reference

1. Transformation Reference

1. Informational-Only Transformations
2. Transformations on the Query Editor Home
Tab
3. Transformations on the Query Editor
Transform Tab
4. Transformations on the Query Editor Add
Column Tab

2. Model Building

3. Chapter 11 Creating a Tabular Model in Power BI

1. Relationships
 1. Creating Relationships

2. User-Friendly Models

1. Hiding Columns from the End User

2. Column Names and Descriptions

3. Formatting and Categories

1. One Final Relationship

2. Data Categories
3. Hierarchies, Groups, and Bins

4. Measuring Up

4. Chapter 12 Measures and Calculated Columns

1. Calculated Columns

1. Creating a Calculated Column

2. The Context for Calculated Columns

2. Measures

1. Default Summarization
2. Explicit Measures
3. Measures and Context
4. Defining Context Within a Measure
5. Time Analytics
6. Row-by-Row Calculations
7. The FILTER() Function

3. DAX Variables

1. Declaring DAX Variables and Assigning a

Value
2. Using a DAX Variable
3. Using Return in a Measure
 4. Everything DAX

5. Chapter 13 DAX Language Reference

1. DAX Operators

1. Comparison Operators
2. Arithmetic Operators
3. Text Operator
4. Logical Operators

2. DAX Functions

1. Modifying Context
2. Table-Valued Functions
3. Aggregate Functions
4. DAX Functions for Time Analytics
5. Parent/Child Relationships
6. Additional DAX Functions

3. Additional Modeling

6. Chapter 14 Additional Power BI Desktop Features

1. Additional Power BI Data Model Features

1. Synonyms
2. Linguistic Schemas
3. Display Folder
4. What-If Parameters
5. Roles

2. Performance Analyzer

1. Capturing Performance Information

2. Viewing the DAX Query

3. Import and Export

 1. Excel Workbook Content
2. Power BI Templates

4. Spreading the Word

12. Part V Sharing Content

1. Chapter 15 Sharing Content on the Power BI Service

(PowerBI.com)

1. The Power BI Service and Data Refresh

1. The On-premises Data Gateway

2. The On-premises Data Gateway Architecture
3. Installing the On-premises Data Gateway
4. Managing the On-premises Data Gateway
5. Managing the On-premises Data Gateway
(personal mode)
6. Setting a Dataset for Scheduled Refresh

2. The Power BI Service and Sharing

1. Using Share
2. Using Content Packs
3. Using Apps

3. The Power BI Service and Row-Level Security

1. Assigning Users to a Custom Security Role

4. Another Way to Share

2. Chapter 16 Saving to the Power BI Report Server

1. Power BI Service and Power BI Report Server

Comparison

1. Versions
 2. Power BI Desktop Optimizations

2. Installing Power BI Report Server

1. The Power BI Report Server Installation

Executable
2. The Report Server Configuration Manager

3. The Report Catalog

1. Folders
2. The Web Portal
3. Saving a Report to the Power BI Report Server

4. Security

1. Folder and Report Security

2. Row-Level Security

5. Branding the Power BI Report Server

1. Modifying the Site Name

2. Creating a Brand Package

6. Powered Up and Ready to Go

13. Index

Guide
1. Cover
2. Title Page
3. Data Analysis with Microsoft Power BI
Page List
1. i
2. ii
3. iii
4. iv
5. v
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Other documents randomly have
different content
 MR. HARLEY’S FIDGET
The Examiner.

August 6, 1815.
Mr. Harley is an addition to the comic strength of the Lyceum. We
have not seen him in the part of Leatherhead, in The Blue Stocking,
in which he has been much spoken of; but as an intriguing knave of a
servant, he was the life of a very dull and incredible farce, which
came out the other night under the title of My Aunt; and we
afterwards liked him still better as Fidget, in The Boarding House,
where he had more scope for his abilities. He gave the part with all
the liveliness, insinuating complaisance, and volubility of speech and
motion, which belong to it. He has a great deal of vivacity, archness,
and that quaint extravagance, which constitutes the most agreeable
kind of buffoonery. We think it likely he will become a considerable
favourite with the public; and the more so, because he is not only a
very amusing actor, but also possesses those recommendations of
face, person, and manner, which go a great way in conciliating public
favour. These are the more necessary in those burlesque characters,
which have little foundation in real life, and which, as they serve
chiefly to furnish opportunities for the drollery of the actor to display
itself, bring him constantly before us in his personal capacity.
We are really glad to be pleased whenever we can, and we were
pleased with Peter Fidget. His dress and his address are equally
comic and in character. He wears a white morning jean coat, and a
white wig, the curls of which hang down like lappets over his
shoulders, and form a good contrast with the plump, rosy, shining
face beneath it. He comes bolt upon the stage, and jumps into the
good graces of the audience before they have time to defend
themselves. Peter Fidget, ‘master of a boarding-house, with a green
door—brass knocker—No. 1, round the corner—facing the Steyne—
Brighton’—is a very impudent, rattling fellow, with a world of
business and cares on his back, which however it seems broad
enough to bear, the lightness of whose head gets the better of the
heaviness of his heels, and whose person thrives in proportion to his
custom. It is altogether a very laughable exaggeration, and lost none
of its effect in the hands of Mr. Harley.
In the new farce of My Aunt, Mr. Wallack played the character of a
fashionable rake, and he is said to have played it well. If this is a good
specimen of the class, we can only say we do not wish to extend our
acquaintance with it; for we never saw any thing more disagreeable.
Miss Poole played the Niece to Mrs. Harlowe’s Aunt; and seemed a
very proper niece for such an aunt. Mr. Pyne ‘warbled his love-lorn
ditties all night long;’—for a despairing lover, we never saw any one
look better, or flushed with a more purple grace—‘as one incapable of
his own distress.’ He appears to have taken a hint from Sir John
Suckling;—
‘Prythee, why so pale, fond lover,
Prythee why so pale?
Will, if looking well won’t win her,
Looking ill prevail?
Prythee, why so pale?’

We went to the Haymarket Theatre on Thursday, to see Mr.

Meggett in the Iron Chest, with that laudable desire which we always
feel to find out any error in our former opinions; but in this desire, as
it generally happens, we were disappointed. We however consider
Mr. Meggett’s Sir Edward Mortimer as a much more successful
delineation than his Octavian. The character is taken from Falkland,
in Mr. Godwin’s Caleb Williams, which is unquestionably the best
modern novel. The character, as it is treated by Colman, is one of
much less genius and elevation than the original. It is harsh, heavy,
fierce, and painfully irritable, but at the same time forcible and
affecting. Such, at least, was the impression we received from Mr.
Meggett’s representation of it. What this actor wants is genial
expression, and a certain general impulse which is inseparable from
all passion. The tide of feeling in him frets itself away in narrow
nooks and estuaries. His habitual manner is too hard and dry—he
makes too dead a set at every thing. He grinds his words out between
his teeth as if he had a lockjaw, and his action is clenched till it
resembles the commencement of a fit of the epilepsy. He strains his
muscles till he seems to have lost the use of them. If Mr. Kemble was
hard, Mr. Meggett is rigid, to a petrifying degree. We however think
that he gave considerable force and feeling to the part, by the
justness of his conception, and by the energy of his execution. But
neither energy nor good sense is sufficient to make the great actor:—
it requires genius, which nothing can give. Study may teach us to
distinguish the forms and classes of things; but it is genius alone
which puts us in possession of the powers of art or nature. This play,
when it first came out, excited a great deal of idle controversy and
vulgar abuse. It appears to us to be a play of great interest; but that
interest depends upon the sentiment, and not on the story or
situations, and consequently is very little understood by a mixed
audience.
Miss Greville made an interesting representative of Helen, the
mistress of Sir Edward Mortimer. Mr. Barnard had considerable
merit in Wilford, the Caleb Williams of the piece; though he seemed
somewhat too insignificant an instrument to produce such terrible
effects. Mr. Tokely played the ruffian (Orson) admirably well. Mrs.
Belfield, his Dulcinea in the gang of robbers, perfectly frightened us
in the cave-scene. We felt as much disconcerted by the uncalled-for
phrensy of this theatrical amazon, as the Squire of Dames in Spenser
did, when he was carried off by the giantess, Ogygia; or, as Mr. Capel
Lofft must have done the other day, when Mrs. Mary Ann Bulmer
pounced upon him in the Chronicle.
Mr. Foote was the brother of Sir Edward Mortimer. This
gentleman is of the Wroughton school; that is, he belongs to the old
English class of honest country gentlemen, who abound more in
good nature than good sense, and who have a most plentiful lack of
gall and wit. Mr. Foote does not discredit this branch of the
profession. These persons are always very comfortable in themselves,
and busy about other people. This is exceedingly provoking. They
speak with good emphasis and discretion, and are in general of a
reasonable corpulence. Whenever we see an actor of this class, with a
hat and feather, a gold belt, and more than ordinary merit, we are
strangely reminded of our old friend Mr. Gyngell, the celebrated
itinerant manager, and the only showman in England, who, after the
festivity of the week, makes a point of staying the Sunday over, and
goes with all his family to church.
 LIVING IN LONDON
The Examiner.

August 13, 1815.

A new Comedy, called Living in London, by the author (as it
appears) of Love and Gout, has been brought forward at the
Haymarket Theatre. It is in three acts. The first act promised
exceedingly well. The scenes were well-contrived, and the dialogue
was neat and pointed. But in the second and third, the comic
invention of the writer seemed to be completely exhausted; his plot
became entangled and ridiculous, and he strove to relieve the
wearied attention of the audience, by some of the most desperate
attempts at double entendre we ever remember. Thus a servant is
made to say, that ‘no one can bring up his master’s dinner but
himself.’ We are told by very good authority, that ‘want of decency is
want of sense.’ The plot is double, and equally ill-supported in both
its branches. A lady of fashion (who was made as little disgusting as
the part would permit by Miss Greville) makes overtures of love to a
nobleman, (Lord Clamourcourt, Mr. Foote), by publishing an
account of a supposed intrigue between herself and him in the
newspapers. The device is new, at least. The same nobleman is
himself made jealous of his wife by the assumption of her brother’s
name (Neville) by a coxcomb of his acquaintance, by the
circumstance of a letter directed to the real Neville having been
received by the pretended one, and by the blunders which follow
from it. The whole developement of the plot is carried on by letters,
and there is hardly a scene towards the conclusion, in which a
footman does not come in, as the bearer of some alarming piece of
intelligence. Lord Clamourcourt, just as he is sitting down to dinner
with his wife, receives a letter from his mistress; he hurries away,
and his Lady having no appetite left, orders the dinner back. Lord
Clamourcourt is no sooner arrived at the place of assignation than he
receives an anonymous letter, informing him that Neville is at his
house, and he flies back on the wings of jealousy, as he had come on
those of love. All this is very artificial and improbable. Quod sic mihi
ostendis incredulus odi.
We were a good deal disappointed in this play, as from the
commencement we had augured very favourably of it. There was not
much attempt to draw out the particular abilities of the actors; and
the little that there was, did not succeed. Matthews, who is in general
exceedingly amusing, did not appear at all to advantage. The author
did not seem to understand what use to make of him. He was an
automaton put into his hands, of which he did not know how to turn
the pegs. He is shoved on, and then shoved off the stage to no
purpose, as if his exit or his entrance made the jest. One person
twirls him round by the flap of his coat, and another jerks him back
again by the tail of his periwig. He is first a stupid servant, and is
next metamorphosed, without taking his degrees, into an ignorant
doctor. He changes his dress, but the same person remains. He has
nothing to do but to run about like a dog to fetch and carry, or to
fidget over the stage like the dolls that dance (to please the children)
to the barrel-organs in the street. For our own parts, we had rather
see Punch and the puppet-shew.
 THE KING’S PROXY
The Examiner.

Aug. 27, 1815.

A new Opera was brought out at the Lyceum, last week, called The
King’s Proxy; or Judge for yourself. If we were to judge for ourselves,
we should conceive that Mr. Arnold must have dreamt this opera. It
might be called the Manager’s Opera. It is just what might be
supposed to occur to him, nodding and half asleep in his arm-chair
after dinner, having fatigued himself all the morning with ransacking
the refuse of the theatre for the last ten years. In this dozing state, it
seems that from the wretched fragments strewed on the floor, the
essence of four hundred rejected pieces flew up and took possession
of his brain, with all that is thread-bare in plot, lifeless in wit, and
sickly in sentiment. Plato, in one of his immortal dialogues, supposes
a man to be shut up in a cave with his back to the light, so that he
sees nothing but the shadows of men passing and repassing on the
wall of his prison. The Manager of the Lyceum Theatre appears to be
much in the same situation. He does not get a single glimpse of life
or nature, but as he has seen it represented on his own boards, or
conned it over in his manuscripts. The apparitions of gilded sceptres,
painted groves and castles, wandering damsels, cruel fathers and
tender lovers, float in incessant confusion before him. His characters
are the shadows of a shade; but he keeps a very exact inventory of his
scenery and dresses, and can always command the orchestra.
Mr. Arnold may be safely placed at the head of a very prevailing
class of poets. He writes with the fewest ideas possible; his meaning
is more nicely balanced between sense and nonsense, than that of
any of his competitors; he succeeds from the perfect insignificance of
his pretensions, and fails to offend through downright imbecility.
The story of the present piece, (built on the well-known tradition of
the Saxon King who was deceived by one of his courtiers in the
choice of his wife), afforded ample scope for striking situation and
effect; but Mr. Arnold has perfectly neutralised all interest in it. In
this he was successfully seconded by those able associates, Mr. and
Mrs. T. Cooke, Mr. Pyne, Mr. Wallack, by the sturdy pathos of
Fawcett, and Miss Poole’s elegant dishabille. One proof of talent the
author has shewn, we allow—and that is, he has contrived to make
Miss Kelly disagreeable in the part of Editha. The only good thing in
the play was a dance by Miss Luppino and Miss C. Bristow.
 THE MAID AND THE MAGPIE
The Examiner.

Sept. 3, 1815.
A piece has been brought out at the Lyceum, called the Maid and
the Magpie, translated from the French, and said to be founded on a
true story of a girl having been condemned for a theft, which was
discovered after her death to have been committed by a magpie. The
catastrophe is here altered. The play itself is a very delightful little
piece. It unites a great deal of lightness and gaiety with an equal
degree of interest. The dialogue is kept up with spirit, and the story
never flags. The incidents, though numerous and complicated with a
number of minute circumstances, are very clearly and artfully
connected together. The spirit of the French stage is manifest
through the whole performance, as well as its superiority to the
general run of our present dramatic productions. The superiority of
our old comedy to the French (if we make the single exception of
Moliere) is to be traced to the greater variety and originality of our
national characters. The French, however, have the advantage of us
in playing with the common-place surface of comedy, in the
harlequinade of surprises and escapes, in the easy gaiety of the
dialogue, and in the delineation of character, neither insipid nor
overcharged.
The whole piece was excellently cast. Miss Kelly was the life of it.
Oxberry made a very good Jew. Mrs. Harlowe was an excellent
representative of the busy, bustling, scolding housewife; and Mr.
Gattie played the Justice of the Peace with good emphasis and
discretion. The humour of this last actor, if not exceedingly powerful,
is always natural and easy. Knight did not make so much of his part
as he usually does.
 THE HYPOCRITE
The Examiner.

(Drury-Lane) Sept. 17, 1815.

The Tartuffe, the original of the Hypocrite, is a play that we do not
very well understand. Still less do we understand the Hypocrite,
which is taken from it. In the former, the glaring improbability of the
plot, the absurdity of a man’s imposing on the credulity of another in
spite of the evidence of his senses, and without any proof of the
sincerity of a religious charlatan but his own professions, is carried
off by long formal speeches and dull pompous casuistry. We find our
patience tired out, and our understanding perplexed, as if we were
sitting by in a court of law. If there is nothing of nature, at least there
is enough of art, in the French play. But in the Hypocrite (we mean
the principal character itself), there is neither the one nor the other.
Tartuffe is a plausible, fair-spoken, long-winded knave, who if he
does not convince, confounds his auditors.
In the Hypocrite of Bickerstaff, the insidious, fawning, sophistical,
accomplished French Abbé is modernised into a low-lived, canting,
impudent Methodist preacher; and this was the character which Mr.
Dowton represented, we must say, too well. Dr. Cantwell is a sturdy
beggar, and nothing more: he is not an impostor, but a bully. There is
not in any thing that he says or does, in his looks, words or actions,
the least reason that Sir John Lambert should admit him into his
house and friendship, suffer him to make love to his wife and
daughter, disinherit his son in his favour, and refuse to listen to any
insinuation or proof offered against the virtue and piety of his
treacherous inmate. In the manners and institutions of the old
French regime, there was something to account for the blind
ascendancy acquired by the good priest over his benefactor, who
might have submitted to be cuckolded, robbed, cheated, and
insulted, as a tacit proof of his religion and loyalty. The inquisitorial
power exercised by the Church was then so great, that a man who
refused, to be priest-ridden, might very soon be suspected of designs
against the state. This is at least the best account we can give of the
tameness of Orgon. But in this country, nothing of the kind could
happen. A fellow like Dr. Cantwell could only have got admittance
into the kitchen of Sir John Lambert—or to the ear of old Lady
Lambert. The animal magnetism of such spiritual guides, is with us
directed against the weaker nerves of our female devotees.
We discovered nothing in Mr. Dowton’s manner of giving the part
to redeem its original improbability, or gloss over its obvious
deformity. His locks are combed down smooth over his shoulders;
but he does not sufficiently ‘sleek o’er his rugged looks.’ His tones,
except where he assumes the whining twang of the conventicle, are
harsh and abrupt. He sometimes exposes his true character
prematurely and unnecessarily, as where he is sent to Charlotte with
a message from her father. He is a very vulgar, coarse, substantial
hypocrite. His hypocrisy appears to us of that kind which arises from
ignorance and grossness, without any thing of refinement or ability,
which yet the character requires. The cringing, subtle, accomplished
master-villain, the man of talent and of the world, was wanting. It is,
in a word, just that sort of hypocrisy which might supply a lazy
adventurer in the place of work, which he might live and get fat
upon, but which would not enable him to conduct plots and
conspiracies in high life. We do not say that the fault is in Mr.
Dowton. The author has attempted to amalgamate two contradictory
characters, by engrafting our vulgar Methodist on the courtly French
impostor; and the error could not perhaps be remedied in the
performance. The only scene which struck us as in Mr. Dowton’s best
manner, as truly masterly, was that in which he listens with such
profound indifference and unmoved gravity to the harangue of
Mawworm. Mr. Dowton’s general excellence is in hearty ebullitions
of generous and natural feeling, or in a certain swelling pride and
vain glorious exaggerated ostentation, as in Major Sturgeon, and not
in constrained and artificial characters.
Mawworm, which is a purely local and national caricature, was
admirably personated by Oxberry. Mrs. Sparks’s old Lady Lambert,
is, we think, one of the finest exhibitions of character on the stage.
The attention which she pays to Dr. Cantwell, her expression of face
and her fixed uplifted hands, were a picture which Hogarth might
have copied. The effects of the spirit in reviving the withered ardour
of youth, and giving a second birth to forgotten raptures, were never
better exemplified. Mrs. Orger played young Lady Lambert as well as
the equivocal nature of the part would admit; and Miss Kelly was as
lively and interesting as usual in Charlotte. Of Mr. Wallack we cannot
speak so favourably as some of our contemporaries. This gentleman
‘has honours thrust upon him’ which he does not deserve, and which,
we should think, he does not wish. He has been declared, by the first
authority, to stand at the head of his profession in the line of genteel
comedy. It is usual, indeed, to congratulate us on the accession of
Mr. Wallack at the expence of Mr. Decamp, but it is escaping from
Scylla to Charybdis. We are glad to have parted with Mr. Decamp,
and should not be inconsolable for the loss of Mr. Wallack.
The best thing we remember in Mr. Coleridge’s tragedy of
Remorse, and which gave the greatest satisfaction to the audience,
was that part in which Decamp was precipitated into a deep pit, from
which, by the elaborate description which the poet had given of it, it
was plainly impossible he should ever rise again. If Mr. Wallack is
puffed off and stuck at the top of his profession at this unmerciful
rate, it would almost induce us to wish Mr. Coleridge to write
another tragedy, to dispose of him in the same way as his
predecessor.
 MR. EDWARDS’S RICHARD III
The Examiner.

Oct. 1, 1815.
A Mr. Edwards, who has occasionally played at private theatricals,
appeared at Covent-Garden Theatre in the character of Richard the
Third. It was one of those painful failures, for which we are so often
indebted to the managers. How these profound judges, who exercise
‘sole sway and sovereignty’ over this department of the public
amusements, who have it in their power to admit or reject without
appeal, whose whole lives have been occupied in this one subject,
and whose interest (to say nothing of their reputation) must prompt
them to use their very best judgment in deciding on the pretensions
of the candidates for public favour, should yet be so completely
ignorant of their profession, as to seem not to know the difference
between the best and the worst, and frequently to bring forward in
the most arduous characters, persons whom the meanest critic in the
pit immediately perceives to be totally disqualified for the part they
have undertaken—is a problem which there would be some difficulty
in solving. It might suggest to us also, a passing suspicion that the
same discreet arbiters of taste suppress real excellence in the same
manner as they obtrude incapacity on the notice of the public, if
genius were not a thing so much rarer than the want of it.
If Mr. Edwards had shewn an extreme ignorance of the author, but
had possessed the peculiar theatrical requisites of person, voice, and
manner, we should not have been surprised at the managers having
been deceived by imposing appearances. But Mr. Edwards failed, less
from a misapprehension of his part, than from an entire defect of
power to execute it. If every word had been uttered with perfect
propriety (which however was very far from being the case) his
gestures and manner would have made it ridiculous. Of personal
defects of this kind, a man cannot be a judge of himself; and his
friends will not tell him. The managers of a play-house are the only
persons who can screen any individual, possessed with an
unfortunate theatrical mania, from exposing himself to public
mortification and disgrace for the want of those professional
qualifications of which they are supposed to be infallible judges.

At the same Theatre, a lady of the name of Hughes has been

brought out in Mandane, in the favourite Opera of Artaxerxes—we
should hope, not in the place of Miss Stephens. We do not say this
for the sake of any invidious comparison, but for our own sakes, and
for the sake of the public. Miss Hughes is, we believe, a very
accomplished singer, with a fine and flexible voice, with considerable
knowledge and execution. But where is the sweetness, the simplicity,
the melting soul of music? There was a voluptuous delicacy, a
naiveté in Miss Stephens’s singing, which we have never heard
before nor since, and of which we should be loth to be deprived. Her
songs in Mandane lingered on the ear like an involuntary echo to the
music—as if the sentiment were blended with and trembled on her
voice. This was particularly the case in the two delightful airs, ‘If o’er
the cruel tyrant love,’ and ‘Let not rage thy bosom firing.’ In the
former of these, the notes faultered and fell from her lips like drops
of dew from surcharged flowers. If it is impossible to be a judge of
music without understanding it as a science, it is still more
impossible to be so without understanding the sentiment it is
intended to convey. Miss Hughes declaimed and acted these two
songs, instead of singing them. She lisps, and smiles, and bows, and
overdoes her part constantly. We do not think Mandane is at all the
heroine she represents her—or, if she is, we do not wish to see her.
This lady would do much better at the Opera.
Mr. Duruset sung ‘Fair Semira’ with taste and feeling. We wish, in
hearing the song ‘In infancy our hope and fears,’ we could have
forgotten Miss Rennell’s simple, but sustained and impressive
execution of it.—Mr. Taylor played Arbaces, instead of Mr. Incledon.
 LOVERS’ VOWS
The Examiner.

October 8, 1815.
Lovers’ Vows has been brought forward at Drury-Lane Theatre,
and a young lady of the name of Mardyn has appeared in the
character of Amelia Wildenheim. Much has been said in her praise,
and with a great deal of justice. Her face is handsome, and her figure
is good, bordering (but not too much), on embonpoint. There is, also,
a full luscious sweetness in her voice, which was in harmony with the
sentiments she had to express. The whole of this play, which is of
German origin, carries the romantic in sentiment and story to the
extreme verge of decency as well as probability. The character of
Amelia Wildenheim is its principal charm. The open, undisguised
simplicity of this character is, however, so enthusiastically
extravagant, as to excite some little surprise and incredulity on an
English stage. The portrait is too naked, but still it is the nakedness
of innocence. She lets us see into the bottom of her heart, but there is
nothing there which she need wish to disguise. Mrs. Mardyn did the
part very delightfully—with great spirit, truth, and feeling. She,
perhaps, gave it a greater maturity of consciousness than it is
supposed to possess. Her action is, in general, graceful and easy, but
her movements were, at times, too youthful and unrestrained, and
too much like waltzing.
Mrs. Glover and Mr. Pope did ample justice to the principal moral
characters in the drama; and we were perfectly satisfied with Mr.
Wallack in Anhalt, the tutor and lover of Amelia. Some of the
situations in this popular play (let the critics say what they will of
their extravagance), are very affecting, and we will venture our
opinion, that more tears were shed on this one occasion, than there
would be at the representation of Hamlet, Othello, Lear, and
Macbeth, for a whole season. This is not the fault of Shakespeare, but
neither is it the fault of Kotzebue.
 Mr. Dowton came out for the first time in the character of Shylock,
in the Merchant of Venice. Our own expectations were not raised
very high on this occasion, and they were not disappointed. All the
first part of the character, the habitual malignity of Shylock, his keen
sarcasms and general invectives, were fully understood, and given
with equal force and discrimination. His manner of turning the bond
into a ‘merry jest,’ and his ironical indifference about it, were an
improvement which Mr. Dowton had borrowed from the comic art.
But when the character is brought into action, that is, when the
passions are let loose, and excited to the highest pitch of malignity,
joy, or agony, he failed, not merely from the breaking down of his
voice, but from the want of that movement and tide of passion, which
overcomes every external disadvantage, and bears down every thing
in its course. We think Mr. Dowton was wrong in several of his
conceptions in the trial scene and other places, by attempting too
many of those significant distinctions, which are only natural and
proper when the mind remains in its ordinary state, and in entire
possession of its faculties. Passion requires the broadest and fullest
manner possible. In fine, Mr. Dowton gave only the prosaic side of
the character of Shylock, without the poetical colouring which
belongs to it and is the essence of tragic acting. Mr. Lovegrove was
admirable in Launcelot Gobbo. The scene between him and
Wewitzer, as Old Gobbo, was one of the richest we have seen for a
long time. Pope was respectable as Antonio. Mr. Penley’s Gratiano
was more remarkable for an appearance of folly than of gaiety.
 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL
The Examiner.

(Covent Garden) October 15, 1815.

Why can we not always be young, and seeing the School for
Scandal? This play used to be one of our great theatrical treats in our
early play-going days. What would we not give to see it once more, as
it was then acted, and with the same feelings with which we saw it
then? Not one of our old favourites is left, except little Simmons, who
only served to put us in mind more strongly of what we have lost!
Genteel comedy cannot be acted at present. Little Moses, the money-
lender, was within a hair’s-breadth of being the only person in the
piece who had the appearance or manners of a gentleman. There was
a retenu in the conduct of his cane and hat, a precision of dress and
costume, an idiomatic peculiarity of tone, an exact propriety both in
his gestures and sentiments, which reminded us of the good old
times when every one belonged to a marked class in society, and
maintained himself in his characteristic absurdities by a cheveux-de-
fris of prejudices, forms, and ceremonies. Why do our patriots and
politicians rave for ever about the restoration of the good old times?
Till they can persuade the beaux in Bond-street to resume their
swords and bag-wigs, they will never succeed.
When we go to see a Comedy of the past age acted on the modern
stage, we too almost begin to ‘cast some longing, lingering looks
behind,’ at the departed sword-knots and toupees of the age of Louis
XIV. We never saw a play more completely vulgarised in the acting
than this. What shall we say of Fawcett, who played Sir Peter Teazle
with such formidable breadth of shoulders and strength of lungs? Or
to Mrs. Dobbs, who made such a pretty, insipid little rustic of Lady
Teazle, shewing her teeth like the painted dolls in a peruke-maker’s
window? Or to Mrs. Gibbs, who converted the delicacy of Mrs.
Candour into the coarseness of a bar-maid? Or to Mr. Blanchard,
whose face looked so red, and his eyes so fierce in Old Crabtree, and
who seemed to have mistaken one of his stable-boys for his nephew,
Sir Benjamin? Or (not to speak it profanely) to Mr. Young’s Joseph
Surface? Never was there a less prepossessing hypocrite. Mr. Young,
indeed, puts on a long, disagreeable, whining face, but he does not
hide the accomplished, plausible villain beneath it. Jack Palmer was
the man. No one ever came so near the idea of what the women call
‘a fine man.’ With what an air he trod the stage!—With what pomp he
handed Lady Teazle to a chair! With what elaborate duplicity he
knelt to Maria! Mr. Young ought never to condescend to play
comedy, nor aspire to play tragedy. Sentimental pantomime is his
forte. Charles Kemble made the best Charles Surface we have seen.
He acted this difficult character (difficult because it requires a union
of so many requisites, a good face and figure, easy manners, evident
good nature, animation and sensibility) in such a way as to make it
truly interesting and delightful. The only fault we can find with him
is, that he was not well dressed.—Mrs. Faucit was respectable in Lady
Sneerwell. Mr. Terry, as Sir Oliver Surface, wore a great coat with
yellow buttons. Mr. Farley, in Trip, had a large bouquet: and why
should we refuse to do justice to Mr. Claremont, who was dressed in
black? The School for Scandal is one of the best Comedies in our
language (a language abounding in good Comedies), and it deserves
either to be well acted, or not acted at all. The wit is inferior to
Congreve’s, and the allusions much coarser. Its great excellence is in
the invention of comic situations,[35] and the lucky contrast of
different characters. The satirical conversation at Lady Sneerwell’s, is
an indifferent imitation of The Way of the World, and Sir Benjamin
Backbite a foolish superfluity from the older comedy. He did not
need the aid of Mr. Tokely to make him ridiculous. We have already
spoken well of this actor’s talents for low humour, but if he wishes to
remain on the establishment, we are afraid he must keep in the
kitchen.
 MRS. ALSOP’S ROSALIND
The Examiner.

October 22, 1815.

A Lady of the name of Alsop, a daughter of Mrs. Jordan (by a
former husband), has appeared at Covent-Garden Theatre, in the
character of Rosalind. Not only the circumstance of her relationship
to that excellent actress, but the accounts in the papers, raised our
curiosity and expectations very high. We were unwillingly
disappointed. The truth is, Mrs. Alsop is a very nice little woman,
who acts her part very sensibly and cleverly, and with a certain
degree of arch humour, but ‘no more like her mother than we to
Hercules.’ When we say this, we mean no disparagement to this
lady’s talents, who is a real acquisition to the stage in correct and
chaste acting, but simply to prevent comparisons, which can only
end in disappointment. Mrs. Alsop would make a better Celia than
Rosalind. Mrs. Jordan’s excellences were all natural to her. It was not
as an actress but as herself, that she charmed every one. Nature had
formed her in her most prodigal humour: and when nature is in the
humour to make a woman all that is delightful, she does it most
effectually. Mrs. Jordan was the same in all her characters, and
inimitable in all of them, because there was no one else like her. Her
face, her tones, her manner were irresistible. Her smile had the effect
of sunshine, and her laugh did one good to hear it. Her voice was
eloquence itself: it seemed as if her heart was always at her mouth.
She was all gaiety, openness, and good-nature. She rioted in her fine
animal spirits, and gave more pleasure than any other actress,
because she had the greatest spirit of enjoyment in herself. Her Nell
—but we will not tantalize ourselves or our readers. Mrs. Alsop has
nothing luxurious about her, and Mrs. Jordan was nothing else. Her
voice is clear and articulate, but not rich or flowing. In person she is
small, and her face is not prepossessing. Her delivery of the speeches
was correct and excellent as far as it went, but without much richness
or power. Lively good sense is what she really possesses. She also
sung the Cuckoo Song very pleasingly.
 Charles Kemble made an interesting Orlando. Mr. Young spoke
the ‘Seven Ages’ with propriety, and some effect. Mr. Fawcett’s
Touchstone was decent; and Mrs. Gibbs in Audrey, the very thing
itself.

Mrs. Mardyn appeared at Drury-Lane Theatre in the play of The

Will. We like her better than ever. She has still an exuberance in her
manner and action, which might be spared. She almost dances the
character. She is, or she looks, very handsome; is perfectly well
made, and has a very powerful voice, of which she makes full use.
With a little more elegance, a little more decorum, a little more
restraint upon the display of her charms, she would be the most
fascinating comic actress on the stage. We cannot express the only
fault we have to find with her better than by saying, that we think her
manner was perfectly in character in her boy’s clothes. The scene
with Deborah, where she was frightened by the supposed ghost, had
wonderful effect. Mr. Wallack played the young tutor as if he had
been chaplain to a bishop. Lovegrove’s humour in the old steward
was feeble: it would not reach the galleries.
 JOHN DU BART
The Examiner.

October 29, 1815.

John Du Bart is said to have made a great noise in his life-time;
but it was nothing to the noise he makes at present at Covent-Garden
Theatre, with his good ship Fame, and his gallant son Francis. We
very much doubt, whether the vessel in which the great John forced
his way out of Dunkirk harbour, was equal in size to the one in which
Mr. Farley pipes all hands on board, and assaults the chandeliers and
side-boxes of the Theatre-Royal. The ladies, like so many
Andromedas, were thrown into evident consternation at the
approach of this sea-monster. To what a degree of perfection the
useful and elegant arts must have been carried in a country, where a
real ship, as large as the life, can be brought on the stage, to the
amazement and confusion of the audience! Speaking within
compass, the man of war which is now got up at Covent-Garden, is
full as large as any of the flotilla which last year ploughed the bosom
of the Serpentine River, and the sea-fight with which the Managers
have favoured us before Christmas, is as interesting as that which
took place in Hyde Park, between the English and American
squadrons, under the tasteful direction of the Prince Regent. We
pronounce this the most nonsensical farce (with the exception
perhaps of the one just alluded to) we were ever present at. The
utmost that the poet or the mechanist could have aspired to, must
have been to produce the effects of a first sea-voyage. There lay the
ship of John Du Bart for half an hour, rocking about on crape waves,
with the sun rising on one side, and night coming on in a thunder-
storm on the other, guns firing, and the orchestra playing; Mr. Farley
on board, bawling himself hoarse, looking like the master of a Dutch
squabber, or still more like the figure at the mast-head; Miss Booth
as busy as she could make herself; Mr. Treby and Mr. Truman doing
nothing; Mr. Hamerton with a hat and feathers, as the Crown Prince
of Poland; Mr. Tokely very much at home drinking punch, and Mr.
Liston (the only sensible man on board) wishing himself in any other
situation. If any thing were wanting to complete the dizziness of
brain produced by all this, it was supplied by the music of Mr.
Bishop, who kept firing a perpetual broadside on the ears of the
audience. From the overture to the finale, we heard nothing but
‘Guns, drums, trumpets, blunderbuss, and thunder!’

Never since the invention of French Operas was there such an

explosion of dissonant sounds. If this is music, then the clashing of
bells, the letting off of rockets and detonating balls, or the firing a
pistol close at your ear on an illumination night, is music. John Du
Bart is taken from the French; and from the plot and sentiments, it is
not difficult to guess the date of the French piece. It turns upon the
preference due to an elected over an hereditary prince; and the chief
actors are made to utter such sentiments as this, that ‘treason
consists in supporting a monarch on the throne in opposition to the
voice of the people.’ We wonder it is suffered to be acted—since the
hundred days are over!
 THE BEGGAR’S OPERA
The Examiner.

November 6, 1815.
We are glad to announce another interesting Polly at Drury-Lane
Theatre, in the person of Miss Nash, from the Theatre-Royal, Bath.
We are glad of every thing that facilitates the frequent representation
of that inimitable play, the Beggar’s Opera, which unites those two
good things, sense and sound, in a higher degree than any other
performance on the English or (or as far as we know) on any other
stage. It is to us the best proof of the good sense as well as real
delicacy of the British public, to see the most beautiful women in the
boxes and the most veteran critics in the pit, whenever it is acted. All
sense of humanity must be lost before the Beggar’s Opera can cease
to fill the mind with delight and admiration.
Miss Nash is tall, elegantly formed, in the bloom of youth, and
with a very pretty face. Her voice has great sweetness, flexibility, and
depth. Her execution is scientific, but gracefully simple; and she sang
the several songs with equal taste and feeling. Her action, though
sufficiently chaste and correct, wanted ease and spirit, so that the
general impression left on the spectator’s imagination was that of a
very beautiful alabaster figure which had been taught to sing. She
was greeted in the most encouraging manner on her first
appearance, and rapturously applauded throughout. Indeed the
songs and the music are so exquisite in themselves, that if given with
their genuine characteristic simplicity, they cannot fail to delight the
most insensible ear. The songs to which she gave most sweetness and
animation were those beginning, ‘But he so teazed me’—‘Why how
now, saucy Jade’—and ‘Cease your funning.’ Her mode of executing
the last was not certainly so delightful as the way in which Miss
Stephens sings it, but it was still infinitely delightful. Her low notes
are particularly fine. They have a deep, mellow richness, which we
have never heard before in a female voice. The sound is like the
murmuring of bees.
 Miss Kelly played Lucy, and we need hardly add, that she played it
well. She is a charming little vixen: has the most agreeable pout in
the world, and the best-humoured smile; shews all the insolence of
lively satisfaction, and when she is in her airs, the blood seems to
tingle at her fingers’ ends. Her expression of triumph when
Macheath goes up to her rival, singing ‘Tol de rol lol,’ and her
vexation and astonishment when he turns round upon her in the
same manner, were admirable. Her acting in this scene was encored;
that is to say, Mr. Cooke’s song was encored for the sake of the
acting. She is the best Lucy we have seen, except Mrs. Charles
Kemble, who, though she did not play the part more naturally, did it
with a higher spirit and greater gusto.
Of Mr. T. Cooke’s Macheath, we cannot say any thing favourable.
Indeed, we do not know any actor on the stage who is enough of the
fine gentleman to play it. Perhaps the elder Kemble might, but then
he is no singer! It would be an experiment for Mr. Kean: but we don’t
think he could do it. This is a paradox; but we will explain. As close a
resemblance, then, as the dress of the ladies in the private boxes
bears to that of that of the ladies in the boxes which are not private,
so nearly should the manners of Gay’s Macheath resemble those of
the fine gentleman. Mr. Harley’s Filch is not good. Filch is a serious,
contemplative, conscientious character. This Simmons perfectly
understands, as he does every character that he plays. He sings the
song, ‘’Tis woman that seduces all mankind,’ as if he had a pretty girl
in one eye, and the gallows in the other. Mr. Harley makes a joke of
it. Mrs. Sparkes’s Mrs. Peachum we hardly think so good as Mrs.
Davenport’s.
Munden spoils Peachum, by lowering the character into broad
farce. He does not utter a single word without a nasal twang, and a
distortion of his face and body. Peachum is an old rogue, but not a
buffoon. Mr. Dowton’s Lockitt was good, but it is difficult to play this
part after Emery, who in the hard, dry, and impenetrable, has no
rival. The scene where Dowton and Munden quarrel, and exchange
wigs in the scuffle, was the best. They were admirably dressed. A
hearty old gentleman in the pit, one of the old school,
enthusiastically called out, ‘Hogarth, by G—d!’ The ladies in the
scene at the tavern with Macheath were genteeler than usual. This we
were pleased to see; for a great deal depends on the casting of that
scene. How Gay must have chuckled, when he found it once fairly
over, and the house in a roar! They leave it out at Covent-Garden,
from the systematic attention which is paid there to the morals of the
town!
 MISS O’NEILL’S ELWINA
The Examiner.

November 19, 1815.

During the last week Miss O’Neill has condescended to play the
character of Elwina, in Miss Hannah More’s tragedy of Percy.
‘Although this production,’ says a critic in the Times, ‘like every other
of the excellent and enlightened author, affords equal pleasure and
instruction in the perusal, we are not sure that it was ever calculated
to obtain very eminent success upon the stage. The language is
undoubtedly classical and flowing; the sentiment characteristically
natural and pure; the fable uninterrupted; the catastrophe mournful;
and the moral of unquestionable utility and truth. With all these
requisites to dramatic fortune, the tragedy of Percy does not so
strongly rivet the attention, as some other plays less free from
striking faults, and composed by writers of far less distinguished
talent. Though the versification be sufficiently musical, and in many
passages conspicuous for nerve as well as cadence, there is no
splendid burst of imagery, nor lofty strain of poetical inspiration.
Taste and intelligence have decked their lines in every grace of
sculptured beauty: we miss but the presence of that Promethean fire,
which could bid the statue ‘speak.’ It may be objected, moreover, to
this drama, that its incidents are too few, and too little diversified.
The grand interest which belongs to the unlooked-for preservation of
Percy’s life, is, perhaps, too soon elicited and expended: and if we
mistake not, there is room for doubting whether, at length, he fairly
met his death, or was ensnared once more by some unworthy
treachery of Douglas. Neither do we think the passions which are
called into play by the solemn events of a history so calamitous, have
been very minutely traced, intensely coloured, or powerfully
illustrated. We have a general impression that Douglas is racked by
jealousy—Elwina by grief—and Percy by disappointment. But we fain
would have the home touches of Shakespear.’