Love raging in her breast, but banish'd from her cheek. He who would read her thoughts must mark un €% * seen Her eye's full undisguised expression; trace (If trace he could while distance stretch'd between) The feelings, blushing, quivering on her face: SH AUTO-BIOGRAPHY OF EDMUND KEAN. HERWOOD & CO. have been seduced into the rash act of publishing a collection of nonsensical Memiors of the eminent Men, Women, and Children, who perform plays, now-adays for us, under the title of Biography of the British Stage.* We cannot compliment the author on the execution of his work. It is only a series of daubing puffery upon almost every name mentioned, and that laid on thick. It is evidently the composition of somebody intimate with the worthies whom he commemorates; as he is manifestly afraid to say a word against any of them. But a still more decisive proof exists in the indignation occasionally expressed against the manage ment of the theatres. From time immemorial, players, particularly the underlings, have been thoroughly convinced that nothing can be more partial, villainous, and unjust, than the manner in which managers overlook their immense merits, so particularly visible to themselves. Hence, they are always ready to exclaim, that there is something rotten in the theatrical cabinet-and their biographers, as in the present instance, find it convenient to adopt their tone. We hear accordingly of the "infamous partiality," or the "consummate imbecility" of the managers, from such people. It is true, that we do not look upon R. W. Elliston or C. Kemble, to be actually a pair of wise men on the plan of Solon or Lycurgus, and we doubt not that they occasionally commit as much absurdity as can reasonably be expected; but, nevertheless, they in general know what they are about, and must not be bullied down without reason. Our own jolly old friend, Elliston, who, by the by, will not be a bit obliged to us for calling him old, may safely despise these little buzzings, and empty his magnum of claret, or knock down his man, both of which things the ancient of Drury well knows how to do, unaffected by the uproar of the Dii minorum gentium of the stage, or their bottleholders. As for us, who never go to a play now-a-days, we should not have thought of noticing this pen-dribble at all, but that we wished to expose before the eyes of our readers Mr. Kean's autobiography. From p. 104 to p. 144, an eighth part of the volume, is occupied with the memoirs of this gentleman, written by himself. We speak merely from internal evidence, for not even a pot-house Plutarch could think of wasting forty pages upon such a hero. None but himself could think of such an enormity; and as we have lately been pleasantly amusing the reading public by the discussion of the memoirs of our worthy Shepherd, and other stars of the age, as a pendant we shall give them Kean's opinion on himself and things in general. It begins well-Plutarch had just given the life of Richard Jones, the most perfect gentleman of the stage, on or off it. We shall not stop to puff Jones-for every body knows his merits in public; and as to his private life, we shall only say this of him, that he is one of the few actors whom we have ever met who can put the actor off, and take his place in society as a gentleman-and, of that few, the man who can do it most completely and most easily. Now, how do you think, reader of ours, that the life following his is introduced? Why, then, by this motto "As one who, long in thickets and in brakes And winds his way with pleasure and with ease." manner which he did. But it appears also that he had a bandy-legged uncle in the same employment, from whom we opine he borrowed his novel and original method of treading the stage. Under these auspices, he was introduced to the stage almost in childhood, and put under the tuition of a posturemaster. To him Kean slily attributes the distortion of his legs, which everybody who reads the memoir must see was solely owing to the Persian fashion of sitting, which has been the custom of the sartorial tribe from time immemorial. The honest posture-master did his best to correct his tailorly appearance, by putting him in irons, but the only thanks he receives from his Ex-grateful patient is to be accused of having been the occasion of the defect which he endeavoured to remedy. So that having been entangled in the thickets and brakes of Richard Jones, foiled and discomfited in his miry way, and plunging from slough to slough, in narrating the adventures of his life, the biographer finds greensward smooth in ambling his donkey over the res gestœ of Mr. Kean! We go on just as well. "This TRAORDINARY individual, whose name heads this memoir, and which name will be imperishable in dramatic annals, was born, &c. &c. Bravo! Kean! Extraordinary, however, you are, beyond all question; for never before, in the annals of a civilized country, was it heard of, that a man, who could not act, was puffed off as the prince of actors, by people who could not write, and the audacious lump of pomatum swallowed, even by the capacious gullet of the long-eared monster who acts audience at our playhouses. The next great action of Kean's life, according to himself, is thus narrated in this veridical tone. It is one of the immense and thriving family of "the lie with circumstance;"—viz. opening of the new house, in March 1794, Mr. John Kemble, who was at that time manager, imagined that he could increase the effect of the incantation scene, and therefore resolved that the black spirits and white, blue spirits and grey,' should be brought before the audience in propria persona, and a number of children were ac "In the performance of Macbeth, at the Just at the moment of Macbeth's entrance His sire, it appears, was a tailor.—cordingly appointed to personate a party This is no disparagement to any man. There is Place of Charing Cross is a tailor-a ninth-part fraction of humanity, and yet he writes articles which Jerry Bentham swears are as clever as his own and he talks in them most valorously of altering all the old habits of the country-of mending Parliament, as if it were a pair of corduroys and of changing state-measures, as if they were no more than the graduated slip which he rolls over his finger while taking the nether circumference of a Whitechapel victualler. If tailors are such great fellows as this comes to, we cannot see why Kean's father should not have been a tailor. In truth, we never looked at him performing Romeo, that that truth did not immediately flash across our mental optics. None but the offspring of the shopboard could have acted the part in the of goblins and other fantastical creations, who were to dance in a circle, while the witches were moving round in a cauldron, winding up the charm that was afterwards throne. Among those selected for this purto deceive the usurper of Donald Bain's pose, young Kean of course was employed, as being accustomed to the stage; but his appearance on that occasion was as little advantageous to himself as his employer. into the cavern, the boy made an unlucky step, from which, owing to the irons about his limbs, he could not recover; he fell against the child next to him, who rolled upon his neighbour, who, in turn, jostled upon the next, and the impulse thus communicated, like an electric shock, went round the circle, till the whole party toppled down headlong,' and was laid prostrate on the floor. The comedy of this the tragic-sublime of the scene, and the event mingled not very harmoniously with laughter of the audience, was, if possible, still less in unison with the feelings of Mr. Kemble, who, however remarkable for self by an accident so ludicrous. He was a de possession, could not fail to be disconcerted cided enemy to everything that in the slight est way infringed upon the decorum of the scene; of course, then, he looked upon this accident as a serious evil, and in consequence determined to dismiss the goblin troop from Macbeth, observing, these things must not be done after these ways, else they will make us mad.' The cause of this confusion, however, 'Smiled in the storm,' and very philosophically replied to all reproaches, that he had never before acted in tragedy,' a reply which by no means altered the manager's resolution; he was dismissed from Macbeth and the theatre. This anecdote, if true, is certainly most curious. Little could the manager have thought, that the mischief-making goblin who had thus spoiled his beautiful invention, would one day become the rival of his fame!" Oh! Jupiter Gammon ! there's a bouncer! What a picture!-a brat making a philosophical reply to Kemble! and the future rival of his fame! But the thing never happened-no, nor anything bearing the slightest re semblance to it. In the theatre, he remarks, he had the benefit of a total want of education-a very gratuitous piece of news and he congratulates himself that the energies of his mind were not enfeebled or destroyed by the contamination of school. His mother thought differently, and sent him to the celebrated Academy of Orange-Court, from which, however, he ran away, and went onboard a vessel bound to Madeira as cabin-boy. Here the engraver, with a propriety of judgment that cannot be too much commended, gives us a vignette of a little naked cherub, or seraph, sitting aft in a yawl, with a skull in his left hand, and a church and steeple on the palm of his right, scudding before the wind with a full foresail-typical, no doubt, of Kean. But our cherubical cabin-boy got tired of this life, and, according to the truthtelling history before us, practised the ingenious trick of shamming deafness and lameness. For his great ingenuity in doing this, he receives much laud; but there is not a word of truth in the story. The captain was glad enough to get rid of his bargain, and there required no trick whatever to induce him to turn the youth adrift. up by a Mrs. Tidswell, an actress, who behaved kindly to him, and put him in the line of characters for which nature and education had designed him. She made him a tumbling boy, and showed him about the streets. This is an unpalatable part of the story, and therefore the auto-biographer gets over it, by assuring us that, in the meantime, he was taking lessons from his uncle Moses, the tailor, in tragedy, to whom, it appears, the world is indebted for Mr. K.'s conceptions of Lear and Richard the Third, (p. 111.) We always suspected something of the kind. But these lectures were merely in private; in public he shone in the characters of Monkey and Serpent-a pair of characters which have been, indeed, at all times very prominent in his acting through life. However, he tells us that "it is said" he was at Eton School for three years, where he read Virgil, Cicero, and Sallust-rather an odd course of reading-and called forth much applause by the manner in which he recited a Latin ode. This intelligence strikes us as being rather apocryphal.-By whom is it "said" that Kean was at Eton? We are most incredulous, for we think the thing next to an impossibility. Under the name of Carey, he commenced soon a strolling life, the particulars of which are dexterously veiled in oblivion. Many idle stories, we are told, are in circulation concerning the events of this period of his life; but it is insinuated that they are not deserving of credit. Id populus curat scilicet-we can scarcely help laughing at the idea of people putting stories "in circulation" about Kean. No doubt there are public-house anecdotes enough, which might be gleaned among the elegant circles which make up the company at such places of resort, and two or three of them, deserving of credit, have casually come to our ears, which the biographer knows as well as we do. He suppresses them, because he cares for his hero-we suppress them, from the very opposite reason, because we do not care a farthing about him, and therefore we do not think them worth wast Arrived in London, he was taken ing paper about. Among other ram bles, he went to Guernsey, where it appears he met with a judicious critic. We shall give the passage which contains the account of his row with the Guernsey audience, and the reason of it, p. 114. "Here," quoth the auto-biographer, "we meet with the following curious and authentic document, [what does he mean by authentic?] which deserves to be recorded, as a warning to all ignorant and malicious critics on the one hand, and to a too credulous public on the other." - We leave it to our readers to decide whether the criticism displays ignorance. Abating a little spooniness about respect due to the audience, which, however, is quite natural in so very provincial a writer, it appears to us to be a most sensible piece of criticism, and one fully justified by the result. "Last night, a young man, whose name the bills said was Kean, made his first appearance in Hamlet, and truly his performance of that character made us wish that we had been indulged with the country system of excluding it, and playing all the other characters. This person had, we understand, a high character in several parts of England, and his vanity has repeatedly prompted him to endeavour to procure an engagement at one of the theatres in the metropolis; the difficulties he has met with have, however, proved insurmountable, and the theatres of Drury-Lane and Covent-Garden have spared themselves the disgrace to which they would be subject, by countenancing such impudence and incompetency. Even his performance of the inferior characters of the drama would be objectionable, if there was nothing to render him ridiculous but one of the vilest figures that has been seen either on or off the stage; and if his mind was half so well qualified for the conception of Richard III. which he is shortly to appear in, as his person is suited to the deformities with which the tyrant is said to have been distinguished from his brothers, his success would have been most unequivocal. As to his Hamlet, it was one of the most terrible misrepresentations to which Shakspeare has ever been subject. Without grace or dignity he comes forward; he shows an unconsciousness that anybody is before him, and is often so forgetful of the respect due to an audience, that he turns his back upon them in some of those scenes where contemplation is to be indulged, as if for the purpose of showing his abstractedness from all ordinary objects. His voice is harsh and monotonous, but as it is deep, answers well enough the idea he entertains of impressing terror by a tone which seems to proceed from a charnel-house." This article, it appears, produced a sensation. "When he first appeared in Richard, he was greeted with laughter and hisses, even in the first scene; for some time his pa tience was proof against the worst efforts of malignity, till at last, irritated by the continued opposition, he applied the words of dressing the pit, with— the scene to his auditors, and boldly ad 6 Unmanner'd dogs, stand ye when I command.” The clamour of course increased, and only paused a moment in expectation of an apology. In this, however, they were deceived; so far from attempting to soothe their wounded pride, Kean came forward and told them, that the only proof of understanding they had ever given, was the proper application of the few words he had just uttered.' The manager now thought proper to interfere, and the part of Richard was given to a man of less ability, but in higher favour with the brutal audience." Spoiled actors, we see, treat audiences as Whigs do juries. The spectators are discerning, and perspicacious, and everything that is delectable, as long as they applaud; but when they discover incompetence, or scout down impertinence, they are malignant and "brutal." Had Kean behaved as he says he did, a kicking would have been too good for him; but, as usual, there is no foundation whatever for the story, farther than that he was hissed by the men of Guernsey. Governor Doyle took his part with his usual kindness-paid his debts, and offered to take charge of his child, whom Kean had the inhumanity to bring forward on the stage at the age of two. There is an immensity of silly vapouring in this part of the book ;how he wanted to go into the army as an officer-his sole claim to such honthat he was a hooted player-how he our being neither more nor less than spouted before Governor Doyle; and how he made fine speeches about his wife and children. All stuff. The only piece of truth about his affairs in Guernsey is the story of a trick which he resorted to, to draw company. At this time poor Lady Douglas had been clamoured down for telling what now we all know to have been the truth, about the late unfortunate Queen, and she was obliged to retire from England. Kean privately circulated a report that she was to appear at his benefit, and thereby gathered a large audience it was a respectable way of doing business. Though it is out of our way to make any political remarks while going over the memoirs of a stroller, yet we cannot refrain from observing on the consistent conduct of the Whigs, and the blackguards with whom they linked themselves, on the Queen's business. Nobody with more brains than a turnip doubts the guilt of the Queen now; and yet if we venture to say a word about it, we are told of our barbarity in attacking a woman, and she, too, in her grave. God bless the Whigs, they are a darling set of fellows! but we must go back to Kean. He continued to act in the obscurity which he deigns not to enlighten until somebody pointed him out in 1813, while playing at Exeter, to the notice of Mr. Pascoe Grenfell, a wise member of Parliament, and one of that egregious body, the Managing Committee of Drury Lane. Pascoe sent down Arnold, the stage-manager, to report on Kean's abilities, and the report was favourable. Kean came up, and acted at Drury Lane. There is an attempt to vilify Elliston, for endeavouring to keep Kean to his word, made in this authentic biography; but it only plunges the hero into farther dirt. The speculation was a good one for the house, which was at that time sinking under the mismanagement of Whitbread, Douglas Kinnaird, and other great men, who were equally great in the theatre as in the state. Shylock, he says, he played with an originality of style, and a vigour of genius; but he informs us that it was reserved for the performance of his Richard III. to place him at once on the highest pinnacle of dramatic glory. In Hamlet, he assures us, the force of his genius broke through the disadvantages of his figure, and the brilliant points which illuminated his delineation of the character were so numerous, as entirely to cast his defects into the shade. Othello actually electrified the audience-Luke, in Riches, commanded universal applause; and so on through all his roles. In a word, he was the passion of the day. Novelty will always command notice in London, and Kean's acting, happily, was a novelty on the English stage. His croaking tones-his one-two-three-hop step to the right, and his equally brusque motions to the left his retching at the back of the scene whenever he wanted to express passion his dead stops in the middle of sentences-his hurre hurre hurre, hop hop hop! over all passages where sense was to be expressed, took amazingly. His very defects told in his favour. Don't you think, a doubting critic would say, Kean is rather low ?Yes, quoth a critic of the mob, rather low, I confess; but you see how well he acts, in spite of his wretched appearance-Garrick was low.-I am of opinion, said another hesitator, that his voice is bad.-Oh yes, retorted the critic, rather hoarse, I confess; but you see how well he acts, in spite of his wretched voice. But, persevered the first interlocutor, I do not think he understands his author.-Why, entre nous, was the reply of the critic, I can't exactly say; but you see how well he acts, though he does not understand his author.-What could a man say after that? But the real secret of this ultra-popularity was what Cobbett calls the BASE PRESS. At that time, gentle reader, there flourished a knot of numskulls, absolute over the dramatic world. Flourished, we say, for now it is laid prostrate. There will be a sighing among the Strephons, and a wailing among the Wiolars, when we namethe Cockney School! Dead they are now-down, down, among the dead men do they lie. But away with banter! At that time the most conceited, insolent, filthy, and ignorant dominion was exercised over all dramatic concerns by the Examiner. Its writers are now sunk, and we have no wish to trample on their misfortunes; but it must have cost the principal libellers of that set many and bitter pangs, if they were possessed of any feeling whatever, to be conscious in their own day of suffering, when Z. was gibbetting them as objects for the slow-moving finger of scorn to point at, how |