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 THE KEMBLES 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF THE KEMBLE FAMILY, 
 
 INCLUDING THE LIVES OF 
 
 MRS. SIDDONS, 
 
 AND HER BROTHER 
 
 JOHN PHILIP KEMBLE. 
 
 BY 
 
 PERCY FITZGERALD, M.A., F.S.A. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE LIFE OF CARRICK," " PRINCIPLES OF COMEDY," ETC. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 
 
 [All rights of Translation and Reproduction are reserved.]
 
 LONDON : 
 
 SAVILL, EDWARDS AND CO., PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET, 
 
 COVENT GARDEN. 
 
 
 
 
 * r ■ 
 
 , , , , , , , . ' . ... t.c.* - 

 
 20 
 
 v. \ 
 
 TO 
 
 E. A. SOTHEEN, Esq. 
 
 Mt dear Sothern, 
 
 It is witli great pleasure that I inscribe to 
 you the following history of two great lights of the 
 English Stage, both as a token of personal regard and 
 as a cordial admirer of your many talents. 
 
 PEKCY FITZGERALD. 

 
 PREFACE. 
 
 TT7'ITH a Biography of John Philip Kemble, and 
 no less than two accounts of Mrs. Siddons's 
 career, already in existence, it might see in that any 
 fresh attempt to describe the lives and adventures of 
 these great artists would scarcely be called for. But 
 what has been done in this direction was found 
 unsatisfactory by the public, to whom those 
 accounts were presented; and though the present 
 writer's attempt may not be admitted as either final 
 or sufficient, he ventures to hope that he will be found 
 to have contributed a fuller and more authentic 
 dramatic history than either of his predecessors. 
 
 Boaden's two works are professedly a contribution 
 to the history of the great London theatres.
 
 viii Preface. 
 
 Kemble and his sister figure there only inci- 
 dentally: about two-thirds of each volume being 
 filled with accounts of new plays, of their writers, 
 of the debuts of new actors, and of subjects so little 
 apropos as the opening of a new room at Coutts's Bank, 
 and the Festival at Westminster Abbey. His account 
 of Mrs. Siddons is meagre to a degree, which may be 
 explained by the fact that it was published during 
 her life. Though he was intimately acquainted with 
 both brother and sister, he seems either to have 
 obtained little knowledge of their life, or to have been 
 cautious in making use of whatever was communicated 
 to him. The substantial and valuable portions of his 
 work are the detailed criticisms on the performances 
 of the two great artists, which are acute and graphic. 
 He has, besides, told but little of their private his- 
 tory, which, in Mrs. Siddons's instance, at least, was 
 really interesting, and almost adventurous. His style, 
 too, is singularly infelicitous, being inflated and 
 ponderous to a degree that now seems ludicrous. At 
 the same time, I have made free use of his volumes,
 
 Preface. ix 
 
 and acknowledge many obligations to his labour and 
 industry. 
 
 Thomas Campbell, the poet, for many years a warm 
 admirer of Mrs. Sid dons, was specially enjoined 
 by her to write her life. During her latter years he 
 was one of her most intimate friends, and on her death 
 all her correspondence and private papers, with a Diary 
 of singular interest, was placed in his hands. He 
 entered on the work with some enthusiasm, but soon 
 began to flag, and at last seems to have found it a 
 piece of wearisome taskwork. When it appeared it 
 was universally admitted to be a failure. Much of it 
 was done by deputy, and he seems to have received 
 great assistance from Mr. Winston, of the Garrick 
 Club, whose notes are now in my possession, and which 
 Campbell has copied almost literally. But the most 
 extraordinary blemish was the meagreness of the 
 account. He made but little use of the vast quantity 
 of papers intrusted to him, gave merely a few extracts 
 from the characteristic Diary, and suppressed nearly 
 all the letters, from which might at least have been
 
 x Preface. 
 
 gleaned many interesting incidents or illustrations of 
 character. The impartial reader will own, from the 
 specimens presented to him on the following pages, 
 that Mrs. Siddons's style was singularly natural and 
 engaging, and that when she wrote she opened her 
 heart to her friends with a naivete and freedom that is 
 charming ; yet, with these documents before him, which 
 would have helped to fill spaces in her life which 
 he has left blank, he preferred to go out of his way to 
 deal with matters which have only the remotest con- 
 nexion with his subject. A reviewer in the Gentle- 
 mans Magazine had looked over these papers, and 
 pronounced them of the highest interest and impor- 
 tance. The only excuse Campbell gives for not avail- 
 ing himself of such advantages is the following: — 
 " Hundreds of her letters have been submitted to me, 
 and though her correspondence has disappointed me 
 in being less available than I could have wished for 
 quotation, yet, in one respect, it delighted me by the 
 proof which it gave of her endearing domestic 
 character."
 
 Preface. xi 
 
 Believing that these papers would be " available for 
 quotation," like most of her printed letters, I applied to 
 Mr. Cox, of Edinburgh, Mrs. Siddons's grandson, and 
 received from him the unwelcome news that the poet 
 had not merely made no use of what was intrusted to 
 him, but had unfortunately prevented others doing so. 
 
 Mr. Cox's letter gives a very clear account of the 
 transaction, and I therefore insert it here : — 
 
 " In reply to your inquiry as to what became of 
 the MSS. of Mrs. Sicldons, which were lent by her 
 daughter, Mrs. Combe, to Campbell, the poet, I 
 am able to state that they were never returned to 
 her, either by him or by his executors. She con- 
 cluded that he had lost them, or carelessly allowed 
 them to be stolen or destroyed. 
 
 " I am her nephew by marriage (Mr. Combe having 
 been my uncle), and am also an executor of each, and 
 have the custody of their private papers. The delay 
 in replying to your letter has arisen from my wish 
 to look among her papers and see whether they in- 
 clude any statement by herself about those MSS. 
 
 b2
 
 xii Preface. 
 
 The search has resulted in the finding of a copy of 
 an article inserted, soon after Mr. Campbell's death, 
 in the Scotsman of 31st August, 1844, which I know 
 to have been written by Mr. Combe from information 
 given by her, and in which it is stated that when she 
 despaired of Campbell's ' Life ' of her mother ever 
 appearing, ' she made an application for the return of 
 the manuscript (a memoir) in her mother's hand- 
 writing. This request was unceremoniously answered 
 in the negative; and she has never received it, or 
 any of her mother's other papers, to the present 
 day.' 
 
 " Possibly the article in the Scotsman was copied 
 soon afterwards into the Literary Gazette ; as it was 
 called forth by a communication of Mr. Dyce's, pub- 
 lished in that journal, in which it was stated that 
 Campbell had been indignant at Mrs. Combe for 
 patronizing a proposed Life of Mrs. Siddons, by Mrs. 
 Jameson, though she knew that he had been appointed 
 the biographer. The explanation was, that Mrs. 
 Jameson, apparently thinking that Campbell would
 
 Preface. xiii 
 
 never write the Life, wrote to Mrs. Combe, ' asking 
 lier whether, in the event of Mr. Campbell's relinquishing 
 the materials to her, she should have her sanction in 
 going forward with the work. Miss S. lost no time 
 in replying in the affirmative, and most willingly pro- 
 mised her all the little assistance in her power. Mrs. 
 J. did not mention what communication she had held 
 with Mr. Campbell ; but, as the condition of her pro- 
 curing the materials necessarily implied her obtaining 
 his consent, Miss S. could not possibly, in assenting 
 to her request, have contemplated giving offence to 
 Mr. Campbell,' &c. 
 
 " Had the papers ever been returned to her after 
 the 31st August, IS 44, I could not but have become 
 aware of the fact, as I was in frequent and familiar 
 intercourse with her and her husband till their 
 deaths ; and I know that they were not found in her 
 repositories after her decease." 
 
 Mr. Cyrus Eedding, in his "Fifty Years' Eecol- 
 lections," gives an account of Campbell's ennui and 
 almost disgust as he toiled through the wearisome
 
 xiv • Preface. 
 
 task. It seemed to weigh on liirn like a nightmare ; 
 but he laboured on, and, to secure himself against 
 interruption, would fix a placard on the door of his 
 chambers, announcing that Mr. Campbell was en- 
 gaged with the biography of Mrs. Siddons, and was 
 not to be disturbed. A work written under such 
 conditions must have, at least, been wanting in 
 spirit and enthusiasm. Indeed, it is hard to recog- 
 nise the agreeable editor of the "Specimens of 
 British Poetry" in the singular style of the bio- 
 grapher of Mrs. Siddons, the extraordinary inflation 
 of the language reaching nearly to the grotesque. 
 These oddities caused not a little surprise when 
 the book came out, and the following, which are 
 chosen almost at random, may be accepted as fair 
 samples : — " The company was for some time shaken 
 with uproar" "borrow a debt from elocution ;'' "sound 
 the very bass-string of humility;" "he-creatures;" 
 " make the hair of our literary faith stand on end;" 
 " encrusted with ignorance as she was, she was still a 
 diamond;" "at the same time she must have been
 
 Preface. xv 
 
 unequal in her appearances ;" " she electrified the 
 Irish with disappointment;" "this chain-shot satire;" 
 "the artificers of calumny;" " Shakspearc, who alone 
 knew how to dip their motley coats in the hues of 
 immortality." Even more singular are the reflections 
 on the stage; the accounts of plays and actors, given 
 
 in a half-jocular fashion ; the extraordinary meta- 
 phors, the grave tone where he finds it necessary 
 to reprehend, and which reads like burlesque. He has 
 at times an air of mystery, which is highly comic, as 
 where he speaks of Mrs. Siddons's nerves, " which 
 
 a 
 
 were of the most delicate texture. By looking at the 
 note appended to p. 34, it will be seen that her health 
 could not now be very robust." On turning to the 
 page, we find a notice of the birth of her son ! There 
 are also lengthy disquisitions on the remote history 
 of the stage, where it is clear from the notes now 
 before me that the poet had been " coached" for the 
 purpose in hand, and with which he had previously 
 little acquaintance. 
 
 This, then, constitutes a fair apology for making
 
 xvi Preface. 
 
 yet one more attempt to tell the story of these two 
 gifted artists. Since Campbell and Boaden wrote, 
 great stores of new material have come to light — thea- 
 trical memoirs, diaries, histories, recollections in pro- 
 fusion. Collecting all that seemed material from these 
 sources, I found that the interest in Mrs. Siddons 
 would centre not so much in her dramatic life as in 
 the story of her own adventures and struggles, her 
 difficulties and trials, her friendships and social exis- 
 tence, all of which make up a woman's history of 
 singular attraction. That of her brother has far less 
 dramatic interest, and it will be seen that his life can 
 be dealt with as part of hers with far more effect than 
 if it had been related separately. The lives of the 
 other Kembles, Charles and Stephen, with that 
 of the various members of the family, had nothing 
 dramatic or interesting to the reader to recommend 
 them. From a few persons I have received some 
 family recollections of the great actress, and from one 
 or two some stray personal recollections. I have to own 
 obligations to Mr. Cox, of Edinburgh, Mrs. Siddons's
 
 Preface. xvii 
 
 grandson, who has furnished much information as to 
 
 the genealogical branch of the subject, as also to the 
 
 representative of the late " Conversation" Sharpe. 
 
 Mr. Harvey, of St. James's Street, whose name is 
 
 well-known to the " curious" and to amateurs, has 
 
 formed a most important collection of materials for 
 
 Kemble's life, which fills eight sumptuous volumes. 
 
 Here is gathered every print and portrait, and every 
 
 pamphlet and caricature, with autograph letters of the 
 
 actor, as well as of his friends — all, in short, that could 
 
 pleasantly illustrate his career. These I have been 
 
 allowed to look over. Even from these volumes may 
 
 be gathered proofs of how dignified an actor's calling 
 
 was fifty years ago; for we here find some forty 
 
 or fifty different portraits of this great player — the 
 
 finest engravings after the finest painters — of all 
 sizes and shapes. It is thus that one great art 
 
 acts upon another. Fine acting produces fine ex- 
 pression, and offers irresistible temptation to the 
 great painter. 
 
 I have also to return my thanks for assistance
 
 xviii Preface. 
 
 to his Grace the Duke of Abercorn, with whose grand- 
 father, the Marquis of Abercorn, Kemble was on inti- 
 mate terms ; to Mr. E. Harcourt, of Nuneham, who 
 has kindly placed at my disposal Lord and Lady 
 Harconrt's correspondence with Mrs. Siddons, and 
 many more. Nor must I leave unacknowledged the 
 great help I have received from Dr. Doran's account 
 of the Kemble family, in his "History of the 
 English Stage," where he has gathered all the im- 
 portant facts in their lives. 
 
 I have also made use of the many letters in Dr. 
 Whalley's Memoirs, as Well as of the interesting Bate 
 letters, to be found in the Ad. MSS. of the British 
 Museum, and which are given at the end of the first 
 Volume of this work. Books on theatrical life are 
 specially liable to errors, from the vast number of facts 
 and dates introduced in every page ; and I can hardly 
 hope that the present work will be found an excep- 
 tion. I may call attention to two " slips," which the 
 readei is asked to correct: one at page 43 of vol. i., 
 when AIi-. Tom Taylor's name has been put for that
 
 Preface. xix 
 
 of Mr. John Taylor ; another at page 40, line 9, where 
 the year 1776 has been omitted. 
 
 In conclusion, I may add that another purpose has 
 been kept in view all through the narrative — viz., that 
 of dwelling on such points as seem to have been the 
 cause of the former nourishing state of the Stage, as 
 well as on the abuses which have led to the later 
 unfortunate decay. The whole, I trust, will be found 
 to have been executed in an impartial and appreciative 
 spirit.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OP 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAP. FAGB 
 
 I. THE STROLLERS 1 
 
 II. ROGER KEMBLE's COMPANY 11 
 
 III. MISS SARAH KEMBLE's MARRIAGE 26 
 
 IV. MRS. SIDDONS* LONDON ENGAGEMENT .... 45 
 V. FAILURE 56 
 
 VI. ON " THE CIRCUIT" 68 
 
 VII. THE BATH THEATRE 83 
 
 VIII. A NIGHT OF TRIUMPH 100 
 
 IX. LONDON HOMAGE 109 
 
 X. SUCCESS AT DUBLIN 127 
 
 xi. kemble's FIRST APPEARANCE IN LONDON . . . 149 
 
 XII. SOCIAL HOMAGE 162 
 
 XIII. EDINBURGH 179 
 
 XIV. TROUBLES AT DUBLIN 188
 
 xxu 
 
 Contents. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 XV. UNPOPULARITY 197 
 
 XVI. RESTORED TO FAVOUR 208 
 
 XVII. MACBETH 225 
 
 XVIII. DOMESTIC EVENTS 256 
 
 XIX. KEMBLE MANAGER 276 
 
 XX. SHERIDAN AND " NEW DRURY LANE" .... 298 
 
 XXI. THE GERMAN DRAMA 320 
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 348 
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 Vol. i. p. 38, note, for " 178-" read " 1784. 
 „ p. 43, line 13, for " Tom" read " John." 
 „ p. 256, line 5, for "Lad" read "has."
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 ■Irs. Siddons as " The Tragic Muse," after Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds ...... 
 
 Roger Kemble ...... 
 
 Mrs. Roger Kemble ..... 
 
 Caricature of Mrs. Siddons as " Melpomene " 
 Mrs. Siddons as " Lady Macbeth " 
 Mrs. Siddons at the age of thirty 
 Drawing of T. P. Kemble, after Lawrence . 
 Autographs of the Kemble family 
 
 • 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 
 . Page 
 
 12 
 
 
 >> 
 
 24 
 
 
 T) 
 
 176 
 
 
 » 
 
 242 
 
 
 5» 
 
 256 
 
 
 ' 11 
 1> 
 
 298 
 320 
 
 VOL II. 
 
 John P. Kemble, after Sir M. Shee . 
 
 As " Penruddock "......, 
 
 Fac-Simile Letters of Mrs. Siddons and Charles Kemble 
 Charles Kemble ...... 
 
 Stephen Kemble as " Falstaff" 
 Caricature of the Kemble Family 
 Ticket for Farewell Dinner to Kemble 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 Page 4 
 
 30 
 
 78 
 
 108 
 
 114 
 
 263
 
 THE KEMBLES. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 THE STROLLERS 
 
 HP HERE are, perhaps, no English Players of mark 
 who seem so lifted above the undignified associ- 
 ations of their profession as John Kemble and his 
 sister, the gifted Siddons, whose career we are about 
 to pursue. In the life of Garrick there was a certain ad- 
 venture and even romance. His power to win laughter 
 as well as to draw tears, and his quick French vivacity, 
 created a sympathy and easy familiarity, while the 
 wilder career of Kean, with his impetuous acting, 
 seemed to prove that genius on the stage had but too 
 many of the human frailties found in the boxes and 
 in the pit. But a sort of classic grandeur, with a 
 demeanour that in the distance might be counted 
 majestic, appeared to place the Kembles on the steps of 
 a classic temple : the ancient draperies of Greece and 
 Rome covered their stately persons, while their 
 vol. i. 1
 
 The Kembles. 
 
 speech, gait, and bearing were all in harmony. 
 Standing on a distant and sacred eminence, these 
 two great artists were regarded with a species of 
 sacred awe which checked familiarity, and which is, in 
 truth, one of the important elements of histrionic 
 effect. But, on the other hand, there is the disad- 
 vantage — that this tone must insensibly colour any 
 narrative of their career, which, though highly inte- 
 resting, will lack the delightful and intoxicating alter- 
 nations which made the story of their predecessors' 
 lives more exciting than a romance. Yet there is 
 something almost piquant in the notion, that so 
 majestic a career should find its starting-point among 
 the squalid associations of the strolling players and 
 the booth, and the haughty Kemble eyes must have 
 often turned away uncomfortable from what in the 
 last century was the most complete and fatal leveller 
 of theatrical dignity and self-respect. The strolling 
 player, with his entourage, and the incidents of his 
 life, makes an epitome of all that is degraded and 
 contemptible. He lived in terror of the law, and 
 might be put lower in the scale than the unhappy 
 tramps who now infest race-courses, whose elements 
 of entertainment consist in a stool and leathern 
 -trap, or a clumsy wheel, with a rudely-painted piece
 
 The Strollers. 
 
 of oil-cloth. The shifts, meannesses, and pretences of 
 this unhappy pariah seem to have been a perpetual 
 invitation to satirists, even of such rank as Scarron, 
 Churchill, and Hogarth, who exhausted their most 
 pitiless raillery on victims who might appear to us 
 scarcely worthy of their notice. But the truth is, 
 poverty and pretence, shabbiness and finery, found in 
 company, make up what has been called " snobbery ;" 
 in short, have been always the game a satirist loves 
 to hunt down — the unclean bird which he nails 
 against his barn-door. So harsh a view is more than 
 justified ; for the mere vulgar accessories of rant and 
 frippery, with the brief assumption of say regal rank or 
 historical character, by poor wretches, barely tolerated 
 for the night in their barn, and hunted from the 
 parish in the morning by terror of the stocks, is a 
 spectacle to excite bitter contempt and laughter. 
 These miserable incidents have nothing to do with 
 real dramatic genius, though the crowd, in our day 
 more than ever, have always insisted on confounding 
 with it the cheap and tawdry accidents that help to 
 set it off. Happily, the magnificent gifts of a true 
 actor can make the barn and its earthen floor pass 
 away, his poor robes be forgotten, and soften the 
 frowns of the dullest Justice that ever made the 
 
 1—2
 
 The Kembles. 
 
 county bench ridiculous. "What in that day made 
 the profession so contemptible is now causing the pre- 
 sent decay of the stage, only now the corruption of 
 the audience protects the "stroller" from the old 
 inconvenient disabilities. Gaudy theatres, sumptuous 
 scenery and dresses, may have indeed taken the place 
 of barns and makeshifts ; but in the estimation of 
 future judges, English players will be found to have 
 sunk to a position almost as low as that of strollers 
 in their old days of degradation. 
 
 From the old theatrical memoirs, whose abundance 
 shows how great was the interest felt in the stage, it 
 would be interesting to show how this legal oppression 
 of what seemed a harmless class, whose aim was the 
 amusement of the community, could be traced to the 
 self-abasement of the members of the profession. 
 The harsh Acts of Parliament of George II., which 
 at the present moment are doing so much mischief 
 by being distorted to the purposes of monopoly, 
 were intended to deal with the bands of wanderers 
 and mountebanks who were found as troublesome to 
 the good order and police of a parish as gipsies and 
 tramps. The company of strollers would arrive at a 
 village without money, and scarcely any means to 
 support themselves. Some coach-house or barn, or, in
 
 The Strollers. 
 
 rare cases, a room at the inn, was lent to them ; or, in 
 more remote days, the open inn-yard, with its antique 
 galleries running round, became a convenient theatre, 
 and, indeed, was said to have furnished the present 
 model for the playhouse. All sorts of odds and ends 
 were borrowed to make a show ; a few wretched candles 
 were stuck round, and thus the performance took 
 place. The result was generally a number of small 
 debts for lodging and board, or hopeless insolvency, with 
 a flight by night. This catastrophe angry landladies 
 sometimes anticipated by seizing some wretched 
 articles of clothing while the owner lay in bed j and 
 the spectacle of the player flying from the house, 
 some old rags about him, was likely to add to the 
 "stock" ridicule against his caste. Sometimes their 
 miserable stage-poor properties were laid hold of and 
 forfeited. There were generally pleasant, jovial crea- 
 tures amongst them, who, in return for a supper or 
 pot of ale, told their adventures, and disturbed the 
 heads of the simple lads of the village by vaunting 
 the glories of the stage. Sometimes there were 
 quarrels, and the whole place was thrown into con- 
 fusion by some tipsy Hamlet or Lothario, who had 
 run away from a squire's house, and fancied himself 
 still a gentleman and entitled to respect.
 
 G The Kembles. 
 
 One of these vagrants, Ryley by name, has written 
 a strange incoherent account of this sort of life, that 
 spreads over nine volumes. A most degrading record 
 it is : a few facts, seasoned with a prodigious deal of 
 buffoonery. We here see the strollers, after a dis- 
 astrous week, quitting the town on credit, having found 
 indulgent tradesmen, and being actually " trusted " for 
 the chaises which took them away. But this was a 
 rare humanity. We see " Mrs. Long " on the eve of 
 a " bespeak " dressing up her eight children in scarlet, 
 and taking them round to distribute bills, with 
 the most successful result. The " bespeak " system, 
 with the respectful waiting on patrons, obtained to 
 our own time, as we learn from Nickleby ; and Wil- 
 kinson describes the genteel actor, panting eagerly 
 along the road after the mounted gentleman, and 
 forcing play-bills on him. 
 
 Often, too, a young girl falling in love with this 
 lleeting Romeo caused a scandal — servants became 
 demoralized, property was missed (as in the case of 
 gipsy visits) ; in short, these theatrical visitors were 
 considered as mountebanks, plagues, and nuisances 
 by the justices — who thus classed the interpreters of 
 ili.' drama with the tramps and vagrants who gave 
 them so much trouble. Even in London, the simple
 
 The Strollers. 
 
 turning of a " throwster's " warehouse into a theatrical 
 saloon was described as at once causing bagnios and 
 other " houses " to spring up all round in un- 
 wholesome luxuriance, and as demoralizing the whole 
 quarter ;* so it is hardly surprising that in the 
 country the strolling visitors should be sternly dealt 
 with by the rigid Puritans of the bench. When, 
 therefore, the increasing bands of showmen, hawkers, 
 mountebanks, tumblers, and " bear- wards," wandered 
 over the kingdom, between whom and beggars 
 it was scarcely possible to draw any distinction, it 
 was not surprising that strolling players should be in- 
 cluded in the Act under the title " Vagrant." This, 
 though it seems an everlasting stigma on the pro- 
 fession, does not, in truth, touch the pure drama, 
 which would have too much dignity to exhibit itself 
 under such degrading conditions. On this ground 
 alone, it might seem desirable that some shape 
 of State license or restriction should exist for 
 the stage, if only to save it from the "vaga- 
 bondage," which the liberty of playing everywhere, 
 and under every condition, would certainly entail. 
 A harlequin and player, Lee Lewes, exhibits to 
 
 * Sir J. Hawkins.
 
 The Kembles. 
 
 us — w ith that unconsciousness of humiliation which 
 belongs only to the profession — many grotesque -scenes 
 from the life of the stroller ; as does also the inco- 
 herent, but graphic Tate Wilkinson. In their pages 
 we see the " Priest of the Sun " stride forward, a bor- 
 rowed bed-curtain draped about him, a deal box for 
 his altar ; or the player, performing in " Mr. Coote's 
 Malthouse," finds his boot sink in the soft clay as he 
 declaims, and must leave it there. But what befel 
 Elrington, an Irish actor of some mark, is more sig- 
 nificant. Opening a small theatre at Manchester, he 
 proposed conciliating all voices by a proclamation 
 that the first receipts were to be given over to a new 
 hospital. On this, he and his troupe were dragged 
 before the justices, and chassed from the town forth- 
 with, for daring " to insult the subscribers to that insti- 
 tution." And one pleasant member of the Kemble 
 family used to tell how, when walking with the pro- 
 vincial mayor of an Irish town, he was puzzled by 
 some persons, who persisted in bowing repeatedly, in 
 a fashion that seemed almost like prostration, 
 before the functionary, who took no notice what- 
 ever. At the next street they found the same 
 sycophants waiting, who again ran on and re- 
 peated their salaams, until the mayor at last said,
 
 The Strollers. 
 
 indulgently, " I see you — I see you !" These were 
 the strollers. 
 
 Long after, John and Stephen Kemble were fond 
 of recalling the grotesque incidents of this early pro- 
 bation. With a grim humour, John would tell of 
 that highly critical stroller, who took the view that 
 Kent in King Lear was a doctor, and appeared with 
 grizzled wig, black suit, a cane held to his nose, and 
 a box under his arm. He would support his view by 
 the passages — 
 
 " Do kill thy physician, Lear !" 
 
 " To new climes my old trunk I'll bear." 
 
 The trunk, he said, being the medicine chest. Stephen 
 Kemble, always an admirable raconteur, overflowed 
 with such sketches. He described to Mr. Taylor, 
 with infinite humour, a season of privation in a once 
 wretched village, where the poor strollers could not 
 muster a farthing, and where the unhappy beings, of 
 whom he was one, were baited and hunted by furious 
 landladies. To avoid this persecution he lay in 
 bed two days, suffering the pangs of hunger, and 
 then his only resource was a distant turnip field, to 
 which he was persuaded to bring Davenport (the hus- 
 band of the well-known actress), boasting of the " hos- 
 pitality" of the establishment they were going to, its
 
 1 The Kembles. 
 
 vast size, and thus raised the hopes of his unfortunate 
 companion, until the disclosure was made that it was 
 a turnip field.* 
 
 * This story is valuable here for showing the worthlessness of 
 the ordinary " funny" theatrical stories, for this was repeated with 
 singular enjoyment in the profession as an incident in John 
 Kemble's life, there being a satisfaction in the thought that one so 
 dignified and gentlemanly had been reduced to such degrading straits. 
 Stephen Kemble told it very dramatically to Mr. John Taylor.
 
 Roger Kemble s Company. 11 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 5, 
 
 R 
 
 ROGER KEMBLE S COMPANY 
 
 OGER KEMBLE was the manager of a com- 
 
 pany of these unhappy comedians, and ranged 
 the counties of Staffordshire, Gloucestershire, and 
 Warwickshire, which formed his theatrical " circuit." 
 He was born in Hereford in the year 1721, and it 
 was reported in the profession that he began life as 
 a hairdresser. He claimed to belong to an old Eng- 
 lish Catholic family, and though his biographers tell 
 the story of Captain Kemble, who did good service at 
 the battle of Worcester, and of the Father Kemble, 
 who was put to death for his religion, they do not 
 make out any connexion between these members of 
 the family and Roger. Still his manners, which were 
 coloured by an old-fashioned courtesy, his ambitious 
 views as to the education of his son, and the well-cut 
 and dignified features of his children, seem fair evi- 
 dence of breeding and extraction, though unsupported 
 b} r the Heralds' College. Henry Siddons, long after,
 
 12 The Kembles. 
 
 told the author of The Pleasures of Hope that the 
 names Campbell and Kemble were virtually the 
 
 same. 
 
 In the year .1752, when he was wandering about 
 the country, and irresistibly attracted by a horde of 
 strollers, he fell in with Smith's Company at Can- 
 terbury, and " Fanny Furnival," a handsome actress, 
 who afterwards found her way to London, took notice 
 of his merits. His stalwart figure and aquiline nose 
 were said to have recommended him to her good graces : 
 and she proposed that he should join their corps. It 
 was found, however, difficult to train him. Setting off 
 to join Ward's Company at Birmingham, the pair 
 halted at Coventry, where a Mrs. Quelch's troupe was 
 performing; with whom Mrs. Furnival remained, 
 while Kemble went on to arrange the engagement 
 with Ward. It was a vulgar story in the profession, 
 that when he returned he found a brawny Irishman 
 sitting with her, who, on the direction of the lady 
 herself, turned him out in a very summary manner.* 
 
 * Theatrical " stories " of this personal sort often are of a coarse 
 and boisterous sort, set off with exaggeration, if not falsehood. 
 But Lee Lewes, who tells the above, is tolerably accurate, and it 
 besides agrees with the description of Mrs. Furnival given in other 
 memoirs. Even to a London theatre she brought her "strolling" 
 habits.
 
 (2/l#?/z^('
 
 Roger Kemble's Company. 13 
 
 After which rude dismissal, jeered at by a mob which 
 had collected to see this strollers' quarrel, he returned 
 to Birmingham. 
 
 Mr. John Ward was a respectable Irish actor, who 
 had been at the new Aungier Street Theatre in 
 Dublin, playing with the Elringtons, where little 
 Miss Woffington, then only fifteen or sixteen, was 
 considered clever enough to be entrusted with im- 
 portant parts. She played once for his benefit ; but 
 it was said that Mr. Ward's roughness drove her 
 from the theatre. This, however, was nearly twenty 
 years before. Ward now commanded a corps of his 
 own, which included his wife, and handsome daughter 
 Sally Ward. 
 
 Passing by Stratford-on-Avon, he had given a 
 benefit for the purpose of restoring the well-known 
 Shakespeare bust ; and it was his gaudy colouring 
 that the hasty whitewashing of Malone was to 
 efface. Mr. Ward, who must have seen Betterton, 
 was very near living to compare that great actor 
 with his own gifted grandson; but Mrs. Ward 
 lived to see, or hear of, the glories of John and Sarah 
 Kemble. 
 
 The Wards are buried at Leominster, with the 
 following inscription on their tomb : —
 
 14 The Kembles. 
 
 Here, waiting for the Saviour's great assize, 
 And hoping, through His merits, hence to rise 
 In glorious mode, in this dark closet lies — 
 
 John Ward, Gent., 
 Who died Oct. 30th, 1773, aged 69 years. 
 
 Also Sarah, his Wife, 
 Who died Jan. 30th, 1786, aged 75 years. 
 
 Koger Kemble presently fell in love with his ma- 
 nager's daughter. She was very handsome ; and Mr. 
 Boaden says, " had once been tempted by a coronet." 
 This ambiguous compliment was only too common an 
 incident with many of her profession ; but if it was 
 an honourable proposal, it seems strange why she re- 
 sisted such a temptation. Those who met her in 
 after life a venerable matron, saw in her the stately 
 peculiarities of both her children — the severe diction 
 of the son, with the accurate elocution of the daughter, 
 set off, however, with a flow of spirits which neither 
 possessed. Mr. "Ward vehemently opposed the 
 match ; but when he found opposition was of 
 no use he reluctantly consented, consoling himself 
 with a rough thrust at his new son-in-law. He had 
 wished her, he said, not to marry an actor, and she 
 had so far complied with his wishes. It is curious 
 how many important actors had paid this bad
 
 Roger Kemble's Company. 15 
 
 compliment to the profession which has made them 
 famous.* 
 
 The marriage took place at Cirencester in the year 
 1753. Eoger is described as a man of blunt sense 
 and placid good humour. As he was a Catholic, and 
 his wife a Protestant, an arrangement — that used to be 
 found convenient in the case of mixed marriages — was 
 agreed to, that the girls were to be brought up in 
 their mother's faith, the boys in their father's. This 
 doubtful ranging of a family into two hostile camps 
 seems to have finally resulted in making the sons 
 Protestants. In the present case it became a more 
 serious question, from the large number of children, 
 which reached to twelve. There were four boys and 
 eight girls, according to the long list furnished by 
 Mr. Campbell. There was Sarah and John Philip, 
 the two eldest and greatest ; Stephen, Frances, Eliza- 
 beth, Mary, Anne, Catherine, Lucy, Henry, Charles, 
 
 and Jane. Most of these children were born on the 
 
 i 
 
 " circuit," at Hereford, Worcester, and other adjacent 
 towns. Some died very young, while eight grew up. 
 Sarah Kemble, the most gifted and famous of the 
 
 * This reply is commonly attributed to Roger Kemble, as made 
 to Mr. Siddons.
 
 16 The Kembles. 
 
 family, was born in Wales on July 5, 1755; and 
 within less than two years — on Feb. 1, 1757 — she 
 was followed into the world by her remarkable bro- 
 ther, John Philip.* The wandering parents perhaps 
 welcomed with a sigh this new and burdensome charge 
 upon their resources and weary journeys, and little 
 dreamed how prodigiously they were destined to in- 
 crease the " harmless stock of public pleasure." 
 
 By this time Eoger had inherited the sovereignty 
 of his father-in-law's company, and it was when he 
 was performing at Brecknock, in Wales, that Sarah, 
 according to a favourite periphrasis of the day, " first 
 saw the light." Her mother was confined at a little 
 inn in the High Street, known as the " Shoulder of 
 Mutton," much frequented by drovers. It was not 
 unpicturesque, being a framed and gabled old house, 
 with its sign hanging over the door ; and there the 
 cheerful manager sought the company of the con- 
 genial Welsh farmers who crowded in on market- 
 
 * The following is her certificate of baptism, copied from the 
 -Ler book in St. Mary's, Brecon, 1826 ; given in the Gentle- 
 's Magazine. " Baptisms, 1755. July 14, Sarah, daughter of 
 George Kemble, a comedian, and Sarah, his wife, was baptized. 
 Thomas Bevan, Curate." The mistake of George for Roger is curious, 
 as well as the description, "a comedian."
 
 Roger Kembles Company. 17 
 
 days, and over a pot of Welsh ale entertained them 
 with his adventures. 
 
 John Philip Kemble was born at Prescott, in Lan- 
 cashire, and the house in which he " first saw the 
 light " is still pointed out, a substantial two-storied 
 farmhouse, built of the bluish-grey Lancashire stone. 
 His father had a sort of dreamy purpose that his edu- 
 cation at least should be that of a gentleman. This 
 was no doubt a complacent homage to that " old 
 family" with which he felt himself so indistinctly con- 
 nected ; or perhaps the triumphs of the officer's son, 
 David Garrick, with the success of University men 
 like Quin, Delane, and Mossop, at Dublin, might 
 fairly raise the self-respect and ambition of the much 
 persecuted actors. 
 
 We come occasionally on other traces of the gro- 
 tesque course of the strolling manager, Eoger, and 
 his company. One unlucky youth found his way 
 from Dublin, with a few pence in his pocket, and 
 after wandering over the country in search of them, 
 footsore and starved, came up with them at Hereford. 
 He was directed to a barber's, who was described as 
 being a brother of the manager's.* They did not 
 
 * In some accounts Mr. Siddons is described as a barber. It is 
 strange why this profession is fastened on so many players. 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 18 The Kembles. 
 
 offer him any relief, though he was half-famished; 
 
 but the kindly strollers assisted him, and enrolled him 
 
 in their corps. With them he wandered from village 
 
 to town, by Ludlow, Worcester, Leominster, Bewdley, 
 
 Droitwich, and other places, noting the half-piteous, 
 
 half-ludicrous features in their life : how the leading 
 
 actor with the fiery bottle-nose, who drank hard, had 
 
 rubbed the powder off that feature, while his drunken 
 
 lady stood ready with a powder puff at the wings to 
 
 cover it afresh. This new recruit was Thomas Holcroft, 
 
 author of the Road to Ruin, and in more favourable 
 
 times he talked over these scenes with Mr. Eoger 
 
 Kemble. Other incidents in keeping with the vagabond 
 
 traditions of the professiou pursued the manager's 
 
 gathering family, and Mrs. Eoger Kemble could not 
 
 increase the number of her children without some 
 
 grotesque association. Thus her son Stephen 
 
 came into the world under circumstances of good 
 
 theatrical omen. Eoger had led his little corps 
 
 to Kington, a market town in Herefordshire, where it 
 
 fell out that the lady had to play Anne Boleyn, in 
 
 lie /in/ VIII., during which the birth of the Princess 
 
 Elizabeth is supposed to take place. As soon as she 
 
 got home, her confinement came on,* and Stephen 
 
 lb' was baptized on April 21, 1758, as a correspondent of
 
 Roger Kembles Company. 19 
 
 was thus born under circumstances of dramatic 
 propriety. Sarah received a surprisingly good educa- 
 tion for a " stroller's " daughter, an advantage no 
 doubt owing to her mother, who was a woman of 
 good spirit.* She sent her child to respectable day 
 schools in the country towns to which the " circuit " 
 brought the troupe. At Worcester a kindly Mrs. 
 Harris received her among her pupils at Thornloe 
 House, refusing to accept any payment. A cen- 
 tenarian lady, alive a short time ago, recalled per- 
 fectly how the young girls in the establishment were 
 inclined to look down on the " play-actor's " daughter, 
 until some private theatricals being set on foot, 
 her histrionic taste and experience put her forward, 
 and made her services extremely valuable. She won 
 universal popularity by exhibiting a device for imitating 
 a " sack-back " with the thick paper that covers sugar- 
 loaves. But this education must have been of a fitful 
 sort, for the manager could not well afford to forego the 
 
 "Notes and Qiieries" has discovered. He could not therefore 
 have been born on May 3rd, as Mr. Campbell states. 
 
 * Some of the following details will be found in the " Siddoniana," 
 a paper contributed to " Titan " in 1857, by a gentleman who 
 writes under the title of " Cuthbert Bede," who collected a few 
 traditions in Worcester, and diligently searched some of the local 
 i-ewspapers. 
 
 2—2
 
 20 The Kembles. 
 
 assistance of a clever girl. Even when she was almost 
 a child, the future Mrs. Siddons was announced, on 
 some benefit, as a sort of " Infant Phenomenon," to add 
 to the attractions of the evening. As she came for- 
 ward, some confusion arose in the gallery, which over- 
 powered all her attempts. Then her mother, who was 
 a woman of promptness and spirit, led her down to 
 the footlights, and made her recite the fable of " The 
 Boys and Frogs," which at once lulled the tumult 
 and restored good humour.* 
 
 A playbill of one of these early performances was 
 not long ago found pasted to a brick wall in a shoemaker's 
 shop in a country town. Considering that the family of 
 a country manager is in the profession from the earliest 
 age, it would be impossible to discover any particular 
 period when Sarah made her first appearance. One 
 tradition runs that it took place in a barn at the 
 back of the old Bell Inn, at Stourbridge, "Worces- 
 tershire, when some officers quartered in the neigh- 
 bourhood gave their services. It was said that she 
 burst into fits of laughter at the most tragic moment, 
 and inflamed to fury the military tragedian who 
 was playing with her. This piece was the Grecian 
 
 * Holcroft.
 
 Roger Remote' s Company. 21 
 
 Daughter. Another tradition has it that her first 
 character was Leonora in the Padlock* 
 
 Roger in the meantime was sending his son John 
 to a day school at Worcester ; bnt when a great occa- 
 sion pressed, he did not scruple, like Mr. Crummies, 
 to present the whole strength of his family to the 
 audience. The only theatre at Worcester was an old 
 wooden building at the end of the yard at the back 
 of the King's Head Inn, and there, in the year 1767, 
 the tragedy of Charles the First was given, Mrs. 
 Kemble playing Lady Fairfax, and her children the 
 Duke of York and the Young Princess. Mr. Siddons 
 was the James, Duke of Richmond. But the bill on 
 so remarkable an occasion is worth producing : — 
 
 Worcester, 12th February, 1767. 
 
 MR. KEMBLE'S COMPANY OF COMEDIANS. 
 
 At the Theatre at the King's Head, this evening will be 
 
 performed 
 A CONCERT OF MUSIC. 
 
 (To begin exactly at Six o'clock.) — Tickets to be had at the 
 
 usual places. 
 Between the Parts of the Concert will be presented, gratis, a cele- 
 brated historical play {never performed here), called 
 
 CHARLES THE FIRST. 
 
 The Characters to be dressed in ancient habits, according to the 
 
 fashion of those times. 
 
 * Tymms, " Family Topographer."
 
 22 The Kembles. 
 
 The Part of King Charles, Mr. Jones ; 
 
 Duke of Richmond, Mr. Siddons; 
 
 Marquis of Lindsay, Mr. Salisbury; 
 
 Bishop Juxon, Mr. Fowler ; Gen. Fairfax, Mr. Kemble ; Col. 
 
 Ireton, Mr. Crump ; Col. Tomlinson, Mr. Hughes ; 
 
 The Part of Oliver Cromwell, Mr. Vaughan ; 
 
 Servant, Mr. Butler ; 
 
 James, Duke of York (afterwards King of England), 
 
 Master J. Kemble ; 
 
 Duke of Gloucester (King Charles's younger son), 
 
 Miss Fanny Kemble ; 
 
 Sergeant Bradshaw (Judge of the pretended High Court of Justice), 
 
 Mr. Burton. 
 
 The Young Princess Elizabeth, Miss Kemble ; 
 Lady Fairfax, Mrs. Kemble ; 
 The Part of the Queen, Mrs. Vaughan. - 
 Singing between the Acts by Mrs. Fowler and Miss Kemble. 
 
 To which will be added, a Comedy called 
 
 THE MINOR. 
 
 And on Saturday next, the 14th instant, will be again presented 
 the above Tragedy, with a Farce that will be expressed in the bills 
 
 of the day. 
 
 %* The days of Performance are Mondays, Thursdays, and 
 
 Saturdays. 
 
 On another occasion Mr. Kemble's company of 
 comedians was to give a celebrated comedy, called 
 ' The Tempest; or, the Enchanted Island, with all the 
 scenery, machinery, music, monsters, and the decora- 
 tions proper to be given, entirely new." All the
 
 Roger Kembles Company. 23 
 
 characters were divided among the family, including' 
 Mr. Siddons, Ariel, the chief spirit, being per- 
 formed by Miss Kemble. Shakspeare was always a 
 favourite with the strollers. At other times the lieg-es 
 of Worcester read the following deprecatory pro- 
 gramme : — 
 
 MR. KEMBLE, 
 
 With humble submission to the ladies and gentlemen of Wolver- 
 hampton and the town in general, proposes entertaining them 
 on Wednesday evening, 8th instant, at the Town Hall, with a 
 
 Concert of Vocal and Instrumental Music, 
 
 (Divided into Three Parts). 
 
 Between the several Parts of the Concert (for the amusement of the 
 town and further improvement of polite literature), will be 
 continued the Histrionic Academy, with specimens of the 
 various modes of elocution by the Inhabitants of the Town, for 
 their diversion, without fee, gain, hire, or reward. 
 
 This performance must evidently have been given 
 during the days of histrionic persecution, when 
 Nero-like mayors were hunting down the unhappy 
 comedians. The public were piteously entreated not 
 to pay any money, and assured they could not be 
 admitted on such terms, but must procure their tickets 
 gratis at Mr. Latham's (who also sold tooth-powder). 
 The performance concluded with Love in a Village, 
 where the names of the performers are set out in the
 
 24 The Kembles. 
 
 most mysterious way, but we still recognise that of 
 
 the great actress : — 
 
 LOVE IN A VILLAGE. 
 
 Sir William Meadows, by Mr. K — mb — le. 
 Young Meadows, by Mr. S — dd — ns. 
 Eosetta, by Miss K — mb — le. 
 Madge, by Mrs. K — mb — le. 
 Housemaid, by Miss F. K — mb — le. 
 
 It may be presumed that the gentlemen of the town 
 who contributed to the elocutionary exhibition, were 
 expected to furnish something towards expenses. 
 The future bride of Mr. Siddons was then onlv 
 
 90 
 
 twelve years old, and her brother ten. This would 
 seem to have been the amount of their juvenile play- 
 ing. In the November following, John was sent to 
 Sedgely Park, near Wolverhampton, a Catholic semi- 
 nary, afterwards better known. It was chiefly devoted 
 to the education of priests, and such scholars as went 
 with this view were received upon " the foundation," 
 or at least had only to contribute a small pension. 
 There can be no doubt but that he was intended for 
 the priesthood, and indeed it was only on such terms 
 that the stroller's son could have secured so expensive 
 an education. Canon Husenbeth has discovered a 
 little entry in one of the college books, which seems 
 to be the only memorial of the future actor's stay : —
 
 Roger Kembles Company. 25 
 
 " John and (sic) Philip Kemble came Nov. 3, 1767, and brought 4 
 suits of clothes, 12 shirts, 12 pairs of stockings, G pairs of shoes, 4 
 hats, 2 " Daily Companions," a Half Manual, knives, forks, spoons, 
 " ^Esop's Fables," combs, 1 brush, 8 handkerchiefs, 8 nightcaps. 
 " Jack abiit," July 28, 1771." 
 
 He remained there four years, and departed to begin 
 his regular divinity course at the English College at 
 Douai, there being no place in England where a 
 priest could make his studies. There too he must 
 have been entered on the foundation, which abroad is 
 called a "bourse."
 
 26 The Kembles. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 MISS SARAH KEMBLE's MARRIAGE. 
 
 Tl/TEANWHILE Sarah, thus brought up with such 
 advantages as Wolverhampton and circuit towns 
 of its class offered, was being taught music, and en- 
 couraged to read Milton and the poets. Her father 
 had already noticed her fine powers of elocution, and, 
 Mr. Campbell tells us, wished them to be cultivated, 
 merely as a part of her education, and with no view 
 to the stage. This seems highly improbable, as it 
 would be only in human nature that he should wish to 
 turn such gifts to profit. A common soldier 
 billeted at the Wolverhampton Inn had been puz- 
 zling and delighting its frequenters with his acute 
 remarks and extraordinary knowledge, and Roger 
 Kemble was so attracted as to engage him to become 
 bis daughter's tutor. This turned out to be the 
 grotesque adventurer Combe, of Dr. Syntax memory, 
 perhaps the best type of Grub Street the world can 
 point to. His straits having driven him to enlist, he
 
 Miss Sarah Kembles Marriage. 27 
 
 became the hero of a public-house, and the landlord 
 found it his interest to please a private who could 
 read Horace. Money was subscribed to buy his 
 discharge, and Roger Kenible, convivial always, gave 
 him a benefit, the eccentric promising a speech in 
 which he would disclose who he was ; but he only said 
 that " he was their most obedient humble servant," 
 and left them. It does not speak much for the sense 
 of the jovial Roger to have selected such a preceptor 
 for his daughter ; but Mrs. Kenible, with more 
 sagacity, declined to ratify the appointment.* The 
 violent dislike of this man for the favourite actress 
 and her gifts, when she was in the height of pros- 
 
 * Mrs. Siddons later Avrote down for Mr. Campbell an idle story 
 about her going to sleep on the evening before a pic-nic with the 
 book of Common Prayer in her arms, open at the page of the 
 prayer for fine weather. She had set her heart on going, and a new 
 pink dress had been ordered. When she awoke in the morning it 
 was raining, and she found that she had mistaken the page, which 
 was that of the prayer for rain. She put the matter right, went to 
 sleep, and awoke again to find, says Mr. Campbell, " the morning as 
 pink and beautiful as her dress." ' This showed," he writes gravely, 
 "her confidence in the efficacy of prayer, or rather of the Prayer Book." 
 But the poet's life of Siddons is full of strange statements of this 
 sort, which read almost like burlesque, and recal passages in Mur- 
 phy's " Garrick." Not less amusing is the "Quarterly Review's" 
 solemn refutation of the truth of this little story — viz., that the 
 prayers for rain and for fine weather are on the same page of the 
 book ! This could hardly be the case in every edition.
 
 28 The Kembles. 
 
 perity, was long after remarked by Mr. Rogers, 
 who was not sufficiently acquainted with his history 
 to know the reason. This Combe would then relate, 
 we may suppose maliciously, how he remembered her 
 as a girl, standing at the wing of a country theatre, 
 beating a snuffers against a candlestick to represent 
 the sound of a windmill, in some rude pantomime. 
 
 The young girl attracted great admiration, and was 
 indeed an extraordinary " beauty." Neighbouring 
 squires of condition paid her great attention ; but 
 their homage was prudently tolerated, while her affec- 
 tions were given to one in her own station. This was 
 an actor of the name of Siddons, who came from Bir- 
 mingham, where he had been brought up to business. 
 He was good-looking, could play harlequin or Hamlet, 
 and soon made an impression on his manager's 
 daughter. The father was quite passive in the matter, 
 though disapproving ; and the mother, after some time, 
 gave a grudging consent. But a Mr. Evans, a neigh- 
 bouring squire, with three hundred a year, appeared 
 on the scene, enslaved by Miss Kemble's coquettish 
 singing of " Robin, sweet Robin," and the prospects 
 of so splendid a match made the parents at once 
 revoke their consent. The daughter now showed 
 signs of inconstancy, or at least declined to oppose
 
 Miss Sarah Kembles Marriage. 29 
 
 her parents, nor would she elope, as her lowly ad- 
 mirer proposed. He was then summarily dismissed 
 from the company, but was allowed the compliment 
 of a farewell benefit, which he took advantage of in 
 so mean and discreditable a way that it seems incre- 
 dible how any girl of spirit or self-respect could have 
 forgiven his behaviour. The Brecon audience had 
 taken great interest in this love affair, and the actor 
 actually confided his treatment to them from the 
 stage in some " derry down" doggrel : — 
 
 " Ye ladies of Brecon, whose hearts ever feel 
 For wrongs like to this I'm about to reveal ; 
 Excuse the first product, nor pass unregarded 
 The complaints of poor Colin, a lover discarded." 
 
 He then unfolded to them the stages of his attach- 
 ment : — 
 
 " Yet still on his Phyllis his hopes were all placed, 
 That her vows were so firm they could ne'er be effac'd ; 
 But soon she convinced him 'twas all a mere joke, 
 For duty rose up, and her vows were all broke. 
 
 " Dear ladies, avoid one indelible stain, 
 Excuse me, I beg, if my verse is too plain ; 
 But a jilt is the devil, as has long been confess'd, 
 Which a heart like poor Colin's must ever detest. 
 
 " Now your pardon he begs, as your pity he might, 
 But here 'tis confess'd you have shown it to-night ; 
 For his merits, tho' small, you have amply rewarded, 
 To accept the poor thanks of a lover discarded."
 
 SO Tlie Kembles. 
 
 This gross piece of familiarity was in itself a proof 
 of the state of the strolling community, and showed 
 how its followers deserved the contempt that pursued 
 them. Equally merited was the hearty boxing of his 
 ears which awaited him at the wings from the angry 
 mother of the young lady." 
 
 On his dismissal Miss Sarah was sent away to a 
 Mrs. Greathead in Warwickshire, or " placed under 
 the protection" of that lady, as Mr. Campbell says in 
 his odd way. It was often repeated afterwards that 
 this " dependent capacity" was that of maid to Mrs. 
 Greathead. " This circumstance," he says, " is at va- 
 riance with a rumour often repeated, I have no doubt 
 with a charitable wish to make her early days appear 
 as vulgar as possible — namely, that she went as 
 nurserymaid into the house at Guy's Cliff. Families 
 rarely present their nursemaid with copies of Milton's 
 poetry ; and besides, there were at that time no 
 children to be nursed in the Greathead family. Her 
 station with them was humble but not servile." Yet 
 this is no more than over-refining, though we may 
 be indulgent to the good-natured zeal of so warm a 
 friend. As one of the family, he admits, informed 
 him that she came to them " in a dependent capacity," 
 it might have been as well to have told the whole
 
 Miss Sarah Kemhle's Marriage. 31 
 
 truth. The fact is she was lady's-maid to Mrs. 
 Greathead. The Duchess of Ancaster told Mr. 
 Geneste she well remembered Lady Mary Greathead 
 once bringing this attractive attendant with her on a 
 visit, who, it was remarked, delighted in spouting 
 fragments of plays for the entertainment of the ser- 
 vants' hall ; and that Lord Robert Bertie was so fond 
 of listening and admiring her declamation, that Lady 
 Mary had to beg of him to desist, and " not encourage 
 the girl to go on the stage." Further, young Great- 
 head told Miss Wynn, the " lady of quality," whose 
 agreeable diary had been recently published, that he 
 had often heard Mrs. Siddons read Macbeth " when 
 she was his mother's maid." All the more triumph 
 to the great artiste who was to raise herself from such 
 a situation. 
 
 It is easy to see that the reason of this banishment 
 was the young girl's refusal to give up the actor and 
 accept the squire, and it was perhaps her own fashion 
 of punishing the parents by refusing to follow their 
 inclination, as they refused to sanction hers. As in all 
 such struggles, the parents, with most apparent power, 
 are always the weakest, and in the end have to give 
 way. The young girl proved constant and forgiving. 
 Mr. Siddons saw her several times in the " dependent
 
 32 The Kembles. 
 
 situation," a reluctant toleration was wrung from 
 the father, and at last, on Nov. 26, 1773, they were 
 married at Trinity Church, Coventry. This runaway 
 match was to be one of the few bits of colour in the 
 sober grey tissue of her life. 
 
 At this time we can quite understand what was 
 the special charm of acting that so attracted pro- 
 vincial audiences. It was found in parts where she 
 could indulge in simple, piteous grief, and, with her 
 youth and beauty, affect the audience. A little 
 picture, long after drawn by herself very graphically, 
 proves this, and at the same time shows what a 
 genuine and powerful instinct was working in her, 
 giving assurance of those great principles which were 
 to raise her to such a height. Here is the scene of 
 her first acquaintance with Lady Macbeth. 
 
 " It was my custom to study my characters at 
 night, when all the domestic cares and business of the 
 day were over. On the night preceding that in which 
 I was to appear in this part for the first time, I shut 
 myself up as usual, when all the family were retired, 
 and commenced my study of Lady Macbeth. As the 
 character is very short, I thought I should soon 
 accomplish it. Being then only twenty years of age, 
 I believed, as many others do believe, that little
 
 Miss Sarah Kembles Marriage. 33 
 
 more was necessary than to get the words into my 
 head, for the necessity of discrimination, and the 
 development of character, at that time of my life, had 
 scarcely entered into my imagination. But to pro- 
 ceed. I went on with tolerable composure, in the 
 silence of the night (a night I never can forget), till I 
 came to the assassination scene, when the horrors of 
 the scene rose to a degree that made it impossible for 
 me to get farther. I snatched up my candle, and 
 hurried out of the room in a paroxysm of terror. My 
 dress was of silk, and the rustling of it, as I ascended 
 the stairs to go to bed, seemed to my panic-struck 
 fancy like the movement of a spectre pursuing me. 
 At last I reached my chamber, where 1 found my 
 husband fast asleep. I clapt my candlestick down 
 upon the table, without the power of putting the 
 candle out, and I threw myself on my bed, without 
 daring to stay even to take oif my clothes. At peep 
 of day I rose to resume my task ; but so little did I 
 know of my part when I appeared in it at night, 
 that my shame and confusion cured me of procrasti- 
 nating my business for the remainder of my life." 
 
 Mr. Siddons was later described as " a fair and very 
 handsome man, sedate and graceful in his manner." 
 He was remarkable for being quick in study, like his 
 
 vol. i. 3
 
 34 The Kembles. 
 
 brother-in-law, Kemble, and could master the longest 
 part known between any two nights. He seems to 
 have been an unpretending mediocre player, though 
 indeed his wife's extraordinary superiority must have 
 extinguished even such gifts as he had. Both now 
 devoted themselves to the stage. They passed on to 
 Wolverhampton, where a mayor was now in office 
 who became the scourge of the strollers. He inter- 
 dicted all performances. The King's Head Yard 
 was closed to them, the magistrate proclaiming con- 
 temptuously, that he would suffer "neither player, 
 puppy, nor monkey" to exhibit in the town. This inter- 
 dict was after a great struggle taken off, when no 
 less than three rival bands invaded the town, and 
 when Roger's attraction, at the Christmas of 1773, 
 were such sound dramas as The West Indian and The 
 Padlock. Charlotte Freeport and Leonora were an- 
 nounced to be played by Roger's clever daughter, 
 whose name was given, for the first time it is be- 
 lieved, as Mrs. Siddons, at a farewell " Bespeak" from 
 her friends and patrons at Wolverhampton. An 
 address written by herself, and spoken on this 
 occasion, was lately found among the papers of a 
 lady at Wolverhampton.
 
 Miss Sarah Kembles Marriage. 35 
 
 " Ladies and Gentlemen, — My spouse and I, 
 Have had a squabble, and I'll tell you why — 
 He said I must appear ; nay, vowed 'twas right, 
 To give you thanks for favours shown to-night. 
 
 " He still insisted ; and to win consent, 
 Strove to o'ercome me with a compliment ; 
 Told me that I the favourite here had reigned, 
 While he, but small, or no applause had gained . . . 
 
 " Pen me some lines where I may talk and swagger, 
 Of poisons, murders, done by bowl or dagger. 
 Or let me, with my brogue and action ready, 
 Give them a brush, my dear, of Widow Brady." 
 
 She then returned them her hearty thanks for past 
 favours, and concluded in the almost unvarying form 
 of histrionic acknowledgment : — 
 
 " First for a father, who on this fair ground, 
 Has met with friendship seldom to be found. 
 May th'' All-good Power your every virtue nourish — 
 Health, wealth, and trade in Wolverhampton flourish /" 
 
 These last lines are delightful for their bathos. But 
 this familiarity of address has always special charms 
 for the player, and in the early part of her life at least, 
 Mrs. Siddons was a little too fond of confiding to 
 her audience little particulars about her family. 
 
 In the year following they found themselves at 
 Cheltenham, then beginning to be a fashionable water- 
 ing-place. One morning some of the " people of 
 
 3—2
 
 36 The Kembles. 
 
 quality" went to the theatre to ask the name of the 
 play fixed for the evening, and were highly enter- 
 tained when informed that Venice Preserved was the 
 piece selected. They counted on what is really a 
 genuine and exquisite treat — a tragic piece murdered 
 into burlesque. Their anticipations were carried 
 behind the scenes, and told maliciously to Sarah Sid- 
 dons, who was to play Belvidera. The thought of this 
 organized scoffing made her wretched. The play began. 
 It was known that in the boxes of the little theatre were 
 seated the " Hon. Miss Boyle, only daughter of Lord 
 Duugarvan, a most accomplished woman," with Lord 
 Ailesbury, then Lord Bruce, and other persons of rank. 
 She went through her task very nervously, and when 
 she heard some suppressed sounds — like titters — she 
 was ready to sink. On the next day her husband was 
 accosted in the street by Lord Ailesbury, who told the 
 delighted actor that they were all enchanted, and that 
 the ladies of the party were actually suffering headaches 
 from the fits of crying caused by his wife's acting. 
 He rushed home with the news. Then Miss Boyle 
 came to call on her at her lodgings, and from that 
 moment became her warm friend.* She made many 
 
 * Miss Boyle " married," says Campbell, " Mr. O'Neil, of
 
 Miss Sarah Kembles Marriage. 37 
 
 new dresses for her with her own hands, and "enriched 
 Mrs. Siddons' wardrobe" with many of her own. 
 
 Meanwhile John Kemble was concluding his eccle- 
 siastical studies at Douai. By this time he had dis- 
 covered that he had no vocation for the priesthood. 
 He had pursued his course diligently, and long after, 
 when he had found his fame, would show friends his 
 copy of Alban Butler's " Lives of the Saints," which 
 had been part of his studies. He also surprised them 
 by delivering speeches in that scholastic Latin which 
 is used in theological classes. Scraps from the fathers 
 too still clung to his memory. Those who had been 
 with him at college — among whom was Dr. Milner, 
 late vicar apostolic in England, and perhaps the 
 best ecclesiastical scholar it has turned out — reported 
 how much his power of declamation was admired ; 
 and his professors no doubt lamented that a fine 
 preacher was now to be lost to the Church. Once he 
 generously took on himself an "imposition" of two 
 books of Homer that were to be got by heart by the 
 whole class, and amazed the master by repeating 
 some fifteen hundred lines. 
 
 Shane's Castle, in Ireland." He dwells in an awe-stricken manner 
 on this simple call, which he says should not be called patronage, 
 "too cold a word for what was friendship." 
 
 : 2.'547
 
 38 The Kembles. 
 
 It was remembered also with pride how, when 
 Kemble had to deliver an oration at one of the public 
 exhibitions of the College, all the professors and 
 scholars poured in. He was fond, too, of practising 
 scenes for plays with his friends — a study diligently 
 encouraged at all Catholic colleges — and was con- 
 sidered to excel in Brutus and Cato. So too, the 
 "Death of the French King ;" his "Latin Eclogue" was 
 considered to excel all others — possibly no very high 
 criterion of merit, considering the classical solemnities 
 usually composed on such occasions.* "Was it some 
 secret turning to the stage, it may be asked, that 
 caused him to abandon the sacred calling proposed to 
 him? Considering what his genius proved to be, 
 this no doubt was the case, though his taste was 
 not of the overpowering, irresistible sort which drove 
 Garrick into the profession. It was more likely a re- 
 pugnance to the state of life appointed for him ; but 
 his acting always was marked by a semi-ecclesias- 
 tical flavour, a measured clerical deliberation, which 
 came of his old Douai training. 
 
 * These facts are given in a very intelligent letter written from 
 Dublin during his engagement there, and which had evidently 
 been communicated on authority. It is to be found in the 
 "Gentleman's Magazine," for 178 — .
 
 Miss Sarah Kemble s Marriage. 39 
 
 He left the place after nearly six years' residence, 
 and landed at Bristol — Lee Lewes tells us — near the 
 Christmas of 1775. He set off in search of his family, 
 from whom he was likely to receive but a doubtful 
 reception. One of the many rambling accounts of 
 this stage of his life tells how on landing; he went to 
 Brecknock, where he found his father and the com- 
 pany. The former declined to receive him ; and the 
 charity of the corps made up a small subscription for 
 him, to which Boger was with difficulty prevailed on 
 to add a guinea.* He then set off to join " Crump 
 and Chamberlain's company," who were at Wolver- 
 hampton. On his road he fell in with a jovial mem- 
 ber of the profession, " Tom Shatford," who asked him 
 to supper, and offered to be his fellow traveller. On 
 Christmas-day they found themselves at an inn with- 
 out a penny, and unable to proceed further. On this 
 emergency it was agreed that two letters should be 
 written, one in Latin to the parson (for which Kemble 
 was no doubt responsible), the other in English to a 
 lawyer in the neighbourhood ; and it was expected that 
 the sense of peace and good- will reigning on the earth 
 
 * J. A. Williams, " The Life of Kemble." The author was 
 very familiar with the stage and stage-players, though his account 
 is written in a vulgar clap-trap style.
 
 40 The Kembles. 
 
 that day would soften the receivers' hearts and induce 
 them to send money. The adventurers were successful. 
 They reached Wolverhampton, hut while Shatford was 
 received, Kemhle was declined. Lee Lewes states that 
 then hearing that Mrs. Siddons was at Liverpool, 
 Kemhle set off to look for her at that town. It is said 
 that he found her there with her two children : a little 
 hoy, Henry, who had been horn on Oct. 4, 1774, and 
 a daughter, born on Nov. 5, only a few weeks before. 
 But as this was only a few days before her appear- 
 ance at Drury Lane, it is not likely that she would 
 have remained at such a distance from London and at 
 so critical a moment. It seems most probable, how- 
 ever, that he was accepted by Crump and Chamber- 
 lain after a delay. These entrepreneurs, it is to be 
 noticed, were spoken of with some respect in the pro- 
 fession, and seem to have been the " Eichardsons" of 
 the day. Mr. Crump was described as bearish and 
 tyrannical in his manners, Chamberlain as very sly 
 and cunning ; and they bore the nicknames of " Fox 
 and Bruin." Under such patrons Kemhle made his 
 first appearance as "Theodosius," on the 8th of January, 
 177G — so the tradition runs, though accuracy under 
 such conditions is not to be expected. His sister was 
 just then preparing for the character of " Epicene" on
 
 Miss Sarah Kemble 1 s Marriage. 41 
 
 the boards of Drury Lane. He is described as not having 
 been very successful ; and the Wolverhampton critics 
 preferred him in his next attempt — Bajazet — a tem- 
 pestuous raving part, but which has always had a sort of 
 fascination for tragedians. But at this time his preten- 
 sions were modest, as will be seen by the following fact. 
 Among the actors who performed Charles I. with the 
 juvenile Kembles, will be found one Jones, a sort of 
 " handy" fellow who enjoyed Garrick's patronage. He 
 took leading characters on the circuit, and was popular. 
 Kemble, feeling his way, and ready to use every aid 
 to help himself on, would put in the bills that he 
 would play the particular character " after the manner 
 of Mr. Jones ! " * This would not have been an 
 agreeable reminiscence for the great Kemble. But 
 his general relations with his managers soon became 
 intolerable, and he was said to have abandoned the 
 corps, leaving some doggerel chalked up on the door 
 of the barn which served for theatre : — 
 
 " I fly, to shun impending ruin, 
 And leave the fox to fight with Bruin." 
 
 His life had now perforce to take the complexion of 
 that of his companions. He had no means of his 
 
 * J. A. Williams.
 
 42 The Kembles. 
 
 own ; and the stroller's son must have suffered in a 
 great degree the traditional privations of the craft. 
 The profession delighted in repeating stories, how 
 his landlady impounded his shirt, &c., and Sir 
 Walter Scott deals thus pleasingly with these impal- 
 pable legends : — 
 
 " Mr. Boaden," he says, " is too grave to relate any 
 of the minor misfortunes and hardships which his 
 hero was subjected to in his novitiate, and repels with 
 some asperity an account of Kemble and his com- 
 panion breaking into a gentleman's orchard near Glou- 
 cester. ' Eigdumfunnidos' (Kelty ) hints at our friend's 
 having banqueted on turnips and peas in the open 
 fields for want of better commons. There are gripes 
 and indigestion in the very thought of the uncooked 
 pulse." 
 
 Sometimes when reduced to straits, he appeared in 
 odd situations ; and one of the stories of the pro- 
 fession was, that he had taken up the character of a 
 Methodist preacher.* This may have been a mere 
 
 * This is repeated by Lee Lewes and Kelly, and Sir Walter 
 Scott seems to give credit to it. There was a certain huniour and 
 love of frolic in Kemble, only known to his private friends, and 
 which those who gave him the grim nickname of " Black Jack " 
 could not have suspected.
 
 Miss Sarah Kembles Marriage. 43 
 
 frolic ; or perhaps was an exaggerated account of one 
 of those moral readings which he was accustomed to 
 give. But it seems certain that, like his strolling 
 brethren, he had to serve a sore apprenticeship in 
 shifts and devices for securing a livelihood, or dis- 
 charging obligations. Thus it was told that he con- 
 trived to be turned out of lodgings, the rent of which 
 he could not pay, for whipping a top over his sick 
 landlord's room — " an act of such unfeeling barbarity," 
 says Mr. Boaden in his own grave way, "as no pecu- 
 niary distress could extenuate." About every great 
 actor and actress are circulated such idle legends. 
 Lewis, the actor, told his friend Tom Taylor, how 
 when on a " starring " expedition among the little 
 country theatres, he was greatly struck by a young 
 man who was acting Lovewell in the Clandestine 
 Marriage in a very ridiculous dress, but which his 
 correct gentlemanly playing made the spectator forget. 
 He found that this was a Mr. John Kemble. A com- 
 panion of Kemble's in these adventures was one 
 Carlton, who exhibited tricks of legerdemain. When 
 lecturing once at Worcester, he was said to have been 
 arrested at the suit of a tailor, but was released through 
 the assistance of his sister, Mrs. Siddons ; her aid, too, 
 rescued him from the Slough of Despond, and trans-
 
 44 The Kembles. 
 
 ferred him to a more reputable " walk," for she intro- 
 duced him to Mr. Younger, then manager of the Liver- 
 pool Theatre. This was about the year 1778 : so that 
 now more cheerful prospects were before him. Yet this 
 rude discipline must have been useful, and where there 
 was anything like self-restraint and principle, must 
 have developed qualities valuable for working his way 
 through life.
 
 Mrs. Siddons* London Engagement. 45 
 
 CHAPTER IY. 
 
 
 
 MRS. SIDDONS' LONDON ENGAGEMENT. 
 
 NE night at the Cheltenham Theatre a little inci- 
 
 dent took place, which recals one of those graphic 
 scenes which the pencil of Charles Dickens sketched 
 so delightfully in his "Nickleby." Those Hogarth- 
 like pictures of country theatres, actors, and their 
 proceedings could be illustrated from a hundred 
 books of memoirs. He drew them from his own obser- 
 vation, but the same incidents were going on a hun- 
 dred years before. Not the least amusing was the 
 picture of the excitement when news was brought 
 round that "there was a London manager in the boxes !" 
 Thus sitting in the boxes of the Cheltenham Theatre 
 was seen one night — not, indeed, a London manager — 
 but the deputy of one ; no other than Mr. King, 
 whose admirable playing of Lord Ogleby was famous 
 over the two kingdoms. No doubt the players went 
 through all their resources, desperately challenging 
 the attention of the London actor, for Mr. King was
 
 46 The Kembles. 
 
 in Mr. Garrick's company, and the idea of Drury 
 Lane, prosperous, magnificent, well conducted, and 
 directed by such a spirit, filled every actor's heart 
 with awe. Mrs. Siddons, fortunately for herself, 
 knew nothing of this stranger's presence, yet it was 
 she whom he had come to see. Some of Lord 
 Bruce's family had good-naturedly praised her to 
 Garrick, and he had sent down this aide-de-camp to 
 make a report. The play was the Fair Penitent, and 
 King must have been impressed, for he reported 
 warmly and favourably. A little later, Garrick sent 
 to offer her an engagement at five pounds a week. 
 She had joined Younger's company, then playing at 
 Liverpool, and she accepted it at once ; and she owned 
 long afterwards that she was certain, now the opening 
 was offered to her, that her success was to be as 
 great as it in reality proved to be. With a different 
 manager she would have made no complaint ; but it 
 was the fashion to reckon stinginess in him what 
 was moderation in others. A recruit from the 
 "circuit" — not even from the Bath Theatre, which 
 was at the head of English provincial theatres — might 
 be fairly well content with half of what was given to 
 such tried and trained soldiers as Mrs. Yates and Miss 
 Younge. We may conceive the hope and excitement
 
 Mrs. Siddons London Engagement. 47 
 
 with which the pair set forth for London. She was 
 scarcely strong ; her eldest daughter, and second child, 
 having recently been born, on November 5, 1775. 
 
 Garrick seems to have been delighted with her 
 beauty and elegance, and, as it were, appointed her to 
 be his favourite ; he lavished encouragement on her, 
 which she mistook for praises. It might seem strange 
 that he should think of engaging a new actress when 
 he was now at his last season, when he was de- 
 clining Miss Pope's services, and was supported by 
 such fine players as Mrs. Yates, Mrs. Abington, and 
 Miss Younge. It seems probable that, distracted by 
 the worry given him by these three ladies, he had 
 thought the best way of securing peace for his last 
 season, was to engage a young and handsome 
 actress of whose powers he had heard such glowing 
 descriptions. 
 
 When she arrived, she found Drury Lane in 
 possesssion of these three haughty, jealous, and 
 quarrelsome women, who were all but breaking the 
 heart of their manager with their ceaseless complaints 
 and insolence. Mrs. Yates presumed on her long and 
 classical service ; Mrs. Abington, a bold free woman, 
 on the favour of the public, her vivacious gifts 
 and real talent ; Miss Younge, an actress of less merit
 
 48 The Kembles. 
 
 than either, had more pretension, bnt was still a fine 
 player. The position of a young and beautiful girl, 
 just twenty, timorous and lady-like, among these 
 histrionic viragoes was enough to chill any heart. 
 But nothing could exceed the manager's generous 
 patronage and protection. He let it be understood 
 that she was his protegee. He would hand her from 
 the green-room nnd put her in the place of honour 
 beside him. There the homage paid to him was almost 
 regal, and the amount of " fulsome adulation," as she 
 called it, that was offered to him, was incredible. All 
 the more honour to that fine temper which could 
 receive it placidly, and not be in the least disturbed. 
 He sent her into the boxes to watch his own per- 
 formances, at a time when Cabinet Ministers were 
 imploring places and had to be refused. He made the 
 ladies of his corps almost burst with fury and jealousy, 
 because he chose her to represent Venus, and when 
 the angry women tried to get before her on the stage 
 and prevent the audience from seeing the new god- 
 dess, the good-natured Garrick took care to bring her 
 well down to the front. And yet the return for this 
 generous partiality was a rancorous and bitter charge 
 of jealousy and malevolence nursed for years, and set 
 down deliberately in the bitterest terms. If there was
 
 Mrs. Siddons' London Engagement. 49 
 
 any truth in the charge, so magnanimous a mind ought 
 to have disdained to dwell on a trifling injury, which 
 her own magnificent success had long caused to be 
 forgotten. The resentful terms of this protest seem 
 as fresh as if the offence had been just given. Even 
 her friends had the effrontery to say that the great 
 actor was jealous of a raw country actress. It was 
 a safe charge to make, as it was a favourite one with 
 the town. She too seems to insinuate the same thing. 
 He praised, flattered her, gave her promises; then 
 crushed her by putting her into unsuitable, obscure 
 parts, and finally, after promising to recommend her 
 to his successors, caused her dismissal by depreciating 
 her. He was always, she said, objecting to her appear- 
 ing in a prominent character, on the ground that the 
 " rival actresses would poison her ;" yet she was 
 engaged, on her own showing, for the special object 
 of mortifying those ladies. But this was not to be 
 her first appearance at the footlights. Oxarrick had 
 revived one of his successful spectacular pieces called 
 The Jubilee, and which consisted of a long procession 
 of all the Shakspearian characters, set off with music 
 and scenery. This was a different thing from the 
 pompous galas of our day, and must have been a very 
 interesting show, for the finest players each took a 
 vol. l. 4
 
 50 The Kembles. 
 
 character and gave their conception of it by dress and 
 expression. In this successful piece, Mrs. Siddons 
 was allotted the complimentary part of Venus, and, 
 with little Thomas Dibdin for her Cupid, the great 
 actress walked round with the rest. It is characteristic 
 of her that she should be collected enough to keep 
 him smiling by whispered promises of bon-bons. 
 
 At last the momentous day came round. A para- 
 graph in one of the papers had prepared the public 
 for a young lady whose playing had met with great 
 applause in the country. The night was that of 
 Friday, December 29th, 1775, at a sort of holiday time, 
 which must account for the audience being described as 
 " numerous and splendid." There was some curiosity 
 also to see the Merchant of Venice, for in those curious 
 days classical plays were favourites, and people could 
 wait until what they liked was underlined. Here is 
 a copy of the bill that was fluttering in the hands of 
 the splendid and numerous audience : 
 
 DRURY LANE. 
 
 {Not acted these two years.) 
 
 By His Majesty's Company, at the Theatre Royal, in Drury Lane, 
 
 this day will be performed, 
 
 The Merchant of Venice. 
 
 Shyloch, Mr. King. Antonio, Mr. Reddish. 
 Grattano, Mr. Podd. Lorenzo (with songs), Mr. Vernon,
 
 Mrs. Siddom London, Engagement. 51 
 
 Duke, Mr. Bramby. Launcelot (first time), Mr. Parsons. 
 
 Gobbo, Mr. Waldron. Salanio, Mr. Fawcett. 
 
 Salarino, Mr. Farren. Tubal, Mr. Messink. 
 
 Bassanio, Mr. Bensley. 
 
 Jessica (with a song), Miss Jarratt. 
 
 Nerissa, Mrs. Davies. 
 
 Portia, by a Young Lady (being her first appearance). 
 
 Act III. — A Dance called the Merry Peasants : 
 Mons. Fontaine, Mr. Sutton, &c. 
 
 When the moment came for her to appear she was 
 quite overwhelmed, and ready to sink on the ground. 
 That most terrible of all known debuts for a woman — 
 the coming forth into that vast arena; the dusky 
 amphitheatre of faces all rising in misty rows above each 
 other ; the multiplied and converging gaze — must leave 
 a feeling as of something almost awful. The audience 
 only saw a frail, delicate-looking but pretty creature 
 tottering towards them rather than walking ; her feet 
 and eyes wandering, while a very ugly dress, a faded 
 salmon-coloured " sack-back," made her awkwardness 
 even greater. Her voice showed signs of nervousness, 
 and at the close of every sentence it dropped into a 
 hurried whisper : no one could distinctly make out what 
 she was saying. King, who had gone down to report on 
 her, of course carried the burden of the piece through. 
 The criticism of the pit amounted to this, that she 
 
 4—3
 
 52 The Kembles. 
 
 was a pretty, awkward, and interesting creature, 
 " frightfully " dressed. Towards the trial scene she 
 grew more collected, and delivered her famous speech 
 with great elocutionary propriety, but still with such 
 a thin, faint voice that much of it was lost. But for 
 the interest of her figure and face, it would have been 
 pronounced a failure. Mrs. Siddons herself admitted 
 as much by protesting against the unfairness of such 
 a part being chosen for her. 
 
 The criticisms in the next day's papers must have 
 chilled all her hopes. The Gazetteer was severe but 
 just. The part indeed, it admitted, was only suited, 
 even in the hands of an accomplished actress, for a 
 display of elocution. It was therefore impossible to 
 judge fairly of the lady who appeared last night ; but 
 from the specimen given, little more than mediocrity 
 was to be expected. Her face and figure were certainly 
 agreeable, but nothing at all striking. But with her 
 voice was found special fault; for there was "a vulgarity 
 in her tones." In short, " she was ill calculated to 
 sustain that line in a theatre she has at first been held 
 forth in." This sentence really explains her position : 
 too much had been expected, and the judicious tact of 
 Garrick had seen her crudeness. This was a fair 
 critique enough, considering that it was of an obscure
 
 Mrs. Siddons London Engagement. 53 
 
 girl of whom it had been whispered that she was to 
 dethrone the reigning queens. 
 
 The Morning Post, directed by Parson Bate, a 
 bruising, duelling clergyman, and a special friend of 
 Grarrick's, came heartily to the rescue. Its praise was 
 too partial. " A young lady," it said, " whose name we 
 understand to be Siddons," had appeared last night. 
 " Allowing for her great natural diffidence, we see no 
 unpromising presage of her future excellence. We think 
 it one of the most respectable first essays we ever saw 
 in either Theatre Eoyal. Her figure is a very fine 
 one ; her features are beautifully expressive ; her action 
 is graceful and easy, and her whole deportment that of 
 a gentlewoman ; but her forte seems to be that of 
 enforcing the beauties of her author by an emphatic 
 though easy art, almost peculiar to herself. Her fears 
 last night so far prevented her doing justice to her 
 powers, but at times her voice was rather low." 
 
 In conclusion, he prophesied for her the conventional 
 " great eminence in her profession." Grarrick was 
 indeed bringing out a play of Mr. Bate's, still the 
 praise was almost too hearty. But Mr. Woodfall, in 
 the Morning Chronicle, and perhaps the best judge of 
 all, was the most severe. Though on friendly terms, 
 Garrick and he had had bickerings. It " understood "
 
 54 The Kembles. 
 
 that the new Portia had been the heroine of one of those 
 petty parties of travelling comedians which wandered 
 over the country. But even the mighty Roscius had 
 once joined one at Ipswich. It owned that she had a fine 
 stage figure ; her features were expressive ; she was 
 uncommonly graceful ; in short, she bid fair to be an 
 ornament to the stage. But her voice was deficient in 
 variety of tone and clearness. This, however, might 
 be the effect of a cold or nervousness. She certainly 
 delivered her words with great good sense and per- 
 spicuity. "Every allowance made, we advise her to 
 throw more fire and spirit into her performance. She 
 cannot be too early informed, that on the stage nothing 
 is so barren of either profit or fame as a cold correctness" 
 Putting these judgments together, this brings the very 
 figure of the debutante before us. They seem on the 
 whole fair and temperate. 
 
 She represented the character a few nights later, on 
 January the 3rd, but her name was not given in the 
 bills. She was now gaining courage, and succeeded 
 better. A friendly letter was allowed to appear in 
 Woodfall's paper, calling attention to the improve- 
 ment, though complaining that she did not exert 
 her full force. But she was presently to have another 
 chance. Garrick was bringing out an abridgment,
 
 Mrs. Siddons' London Engagement. 55 
 
 by Colman, of Ben Jonson's Ejriccene, and it would 
 seem that by the day of performance that he could 
 hardly make up his mind whether the new actress, or 
 a gentleman of his old corps, should play it. At 
 least we find in the newspapers that appeared that 
 morning the part cast with different names ; he deter- 
 mined, however, that she should appear — again a 
 fresh mistake, as the part is a very awkward one, and 
 of all things would require experience. In a few 
 days the part was resigned by her and given to 
 another. It is doubtful whether it should be played 
 by a man or a woman. Critics complained of the con- 
 fusion, when Mrs. Siddons, disguised in the piece as a 
 woman, revealed herself at the end as a boy !* It was 
 a second failure, was almost certain to be so, and it 
 was foolish to have attempted such a character. The 
 Chronicle said bluntly, that even when she recovered her 
 speech she was " entirely destitute of the natural fire." 
 But the loyal Post insisted that " she acquired great 
 applause in the part." 
 
 * Such bewilderment often occurs in our modern burlesques. 
 There is a precisely similar instance in Mr. Gilbert's Princess.
 
 56 The Kembles. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 FAILURE. 
 
 rjlHE new actress was certainly unfortunate in the 
 parts chosen for her. Here was now the first 
 of February, 1776, come round, for which the Kev. Mr. 
 Bate's opera was fixed— one of the most dangerous 
 and critical experiments, as Garrick well knew ; but 
 Bate had served him, and he was determined to 
 carry his piece through. When it is considered that 
 the pen of this gentleman was as vigorous as his fist, 
 that he had fought many duels, " thrashed " men who 
 had offended him, and whom he had libelled, at Vaux- 
 hall or Banelagh, it may be imagined that this was 
 scarcely the piece to be received with unmixed appro- 
 bation. Everything was done for it: the dresses 
 were handsome, and Loutherbourg's scenery, repre- 
 senting a lodge-gate, and an avenue of trees through 
 which the sun shone, with a lawn scene, was pro- 
 nounced to have far exceeded anything ever attempted 
 on the English stage. The piece was called The
 
 Failure. 57 
 
 Blackamoor Washed White, and turned on the notion 
 of a young lover who had been forbidden the house 
 by a "testy" old father, disguising himself and his 
 friends as negroes, and thus gaining admittance. 
 
 The first night passed over pretty smoothly, but with 
 some confusion. Mrs. Siddons played Julia, a con- 
 ventional heroine, and on the second night was pro- 
 nounced by the Chronicle to have done better than on 
 the first. But on the fourth night, when the " row" 
 began, a number of prize-fighters, supposed to be 
 " friends " of the decorous clergyman, burst into the 
 pit, and striking out right and left, restored a sort of 
 order. On the next night both parties mustered in force, 
 the clergyman being determined to revenge this insult. 
 The scene defied description. Officers in the boxes 
 fought with gentlemen from the pit and galleries. The 
 ladies were driven from the boxes, and had to give up 
 their places to eager combatants. At length Grarrick 
 came forward to ask the pleasure of the unruly mob, 
 when an orange was flung at him. In everything 
 done by this accomplished man there was a certain 
 tact. Mr. Ivemble, as we shall see later, would have 
 made solemn and inopportune invocations to the gal- 
 leries ; but what did this abridgment of all that was 
 pleasant in man say ? " My situation as manager is
 
 58 The Kembles. 
 
 extremely critical; I wish to please the public, and at the 
 same time protect the author's property. The opinion 
 of the audience shall be complied with, as soon as I can 
 gather it. But suffer me to say this : my theatrical life 
 will be short, and I wish to end it in peace." Could 
 there be a more delicate or a more practical appeal ? 
 Prodigious confusion followed. King then came for- 
 ward to read a paper for the author, which an- 
 nounced the final withdrawal of the piece. A lighted 
 candle was flung at him. At last, near midnight, 
 amid a terrific uproar, Garrick came forward once 
 more. They were not inclined to listen, until a gen- 
 tleman called out, " Pay some respect to Mr. Garrick !" 
 He then stated that the author had gone away, and 
 taken his piece with him ; that " he himself would 
 gladly wait on them till six o'clock in the morning if 
 they pleased. What other piece would they choose ?" 
 Thus disarmed, the rioters dispersed. To the last, 
 Garrick showed that he had a true respect — not 
 the respect of mere platitudes — for his audience, 
 which brought in return a respect for the real 
 drama. 
 
 But what a situation for the new actress ! The 
 Chronicle fell on her with extraordinary severity ; 
 " All played well," it said, " except Mrs. Siddons, who,
 
 Failure. 59 
 
 having no comedy in her nature, rendered that ridicu- 
 lous which the author evidently intended to be pleasant." 
 No wonder that the memory of this first ordeal never 
 passed from her mind. Still, Garrick was determined 
 on giving her a fresh chance. A fortnight later she 
 appeared in a new character. On the 1 5th of February 
 Mrs. Cowley's Bunaway was brought out— one of 
 those pleasant, flowing comedies which are not so 
 much " sparkling" in particular passages as coloured 
 throughout by a general vein of gaiety ; they give 
 the idea of being written in prodigious spirits. Bead- 
 ing the mere story of such pieces, we say, " How 
 pleasant all this is 1" But here again she only obtained 
 a "young lady" part. It was quite evident that the 
 management thought her powers were not equal to 
 anything much higher, and had determined to keep 
 her in the " line of character" where a pretty face 
 and quiet manner would be effective. It was curious 
 that they should have declined to recognise her high 
 tragedy gifts, and should have thus steadily put her 
 forward in light comedy. But in this walk she was 
 to receive a step in advance. Garrick was now reviv- 
 ing some of those substantial pieces in which he had 
 obtained his old triumphs ; and there is no doubt that 
 it was a high compliment to trust such a part as Mrs.
 
 60 The Kembles. 
 
 Strickland, in the fine old comedy of The Suspicious 
 Husband, to an actress of moderate powers. 
 
 There were others in the company who would have 
 played it far better, though at the same time the 
 agreeable Kanger would not suffer by having so 
 pretty and elegant a creature to support him. The 
 papers were now loud in their praises of Grarrick and 
 of Miss Younge's vivacious Jacintha, the Post saying 
 good-naturedly that Mrs. Siddons " was by no means 
 inferior ;" but the other journals passed her over in 
 complete silence. A lady of Bath recalled her coming 
 on with Miss Younge in this piece, when there was 
 some applause, which the latter very naturally 
 assumed was for herself. The lady confessed she was 
 affected by Mrs. Siddons' pathetic style of playing ; 
 but those near her in the pit laughed at the notion. 
 
 Richard the Third followed, which was one of 
 Garrick's last performances, and he here gave her an 
 opening in a tragic part — Lady Anne — a selection 
 that was indeed an honour. He was exceedingly 
 nervous, and yet he ran this fresh risk. On this 
 occasion the great actor surpassed himself. It was 
 admitted to be a performance almost awful for its 
 savage intensity. The fire of his eyes struck terror 
 into the young actress. She forgot his important
 
 Failure. 61 
 
 direction — that she should keep her hack to the stage, 
 so that his face might be presented to the audience — 
 and received such a look of rebuke, that she thought 
 she must have fainted on the spot. It is impossible not 
 to feel sympathy for this poor young creature, whom 
 the fates seemed to exert all their ingenuity in 
 harassing. No wonder the critics passed her over 
 this time altogether, except one, who pronounced 
 that she was " lamentable !" This was her last 
 appearance. It would almost seem that the public 
 fancied there was an attempt to force her upon them, 
 and resented it with at least coldness. 
 
 The explanation of the whole would seem to be 
 this. The Kembles were all cold, but had that confi- 
 dence in their own gifts which is nearly always 
 found in real genius. She came accordingly, expect- 
 ing to carry the town, as it were, by a coup de main. 
 It was unfortunate that she should have been put 
 into comedy parts, and she never was a comedian. 
 Thus she acted, more or less, a Iravers, with a correct 
 caution, and possibly a proud sensitiveness which she 
 could not conceal. It is wonderful how delicate an 
 instrument is an audience, and how it reflects back 
 the tone of the player, and we might see this failure 
 of sympathy fairly illustrated in a very gifted descen-
 
 62 The Kembles. 
 
 dant of hers, who, with great abilities and great 
 earnestness, has never succeeded in touching her 
 audience. 
 
 The memory of this unhappy season never passed 
 from her mind. The player, from the conditions of 
 his life, is the most blinded creature in the world to 
 all that is connected with his own performance. He 
 will not accept his defeat. There is jealousy, con- 
 spiracy, a thousand things to account for that. The 
 real truth in the little controversy was, that Mrs. 
 Siddons failed. She did not answer to the extravagant 
 panegyrics sent up from the country. The experienced 
 eye of Garrick saw the weakness and uncertainty 
 which conies from want of training, which might 
 pass in a small country theatre, but in a great house 
 like his, would lead at best to feebleness and inde- 
 finiteness. He may have indeed wished by her suc- 
 cesses to control his rebellious actresses ; but when he 
 saw her deficiencies, he owned that the failure would 
 only make them more intolerable. This seems a 
 natural and reasonable explanation, and this it was 
 that kindly and wisely made him advise her to 
 select for her debut some safe, moderate part, where 
 she could trust herself; and the Merchant, which had 
 not been played for two years, was to be revived
 
 Failure. 63 
 
 expressly to bring her out. There is one little fact, 
 however, that clears him triumphantly. A short time 
 before Mrs. Siddons came to the theatre, a Mrs. King 
 had been engaged from a country theatre, an ordinary 
 but spirited actress ; and here again it was given out 
 that Garrick wished, by her agency, to mortify the 
 rebellious ladies of his corps. She at once took a 
 good position, and was received cordially. Yet 
 Garrick did not grow jealous of her ; he saw her 
 ability, and she was given free range of some of the 
 most leading parts. Mrs. Siddons never forgave Gar- 
 rick for the chance he deprived her of; and yet 
 he unconsciously served her.* Had she come forward 
 in that great house in some pretentious tragedy v her 
 health impaired, her voice weak, her nervousness 
 excessive, the failure might have been so disastrous as 
 to have hopelessly compromised all future success. 
 
 Now, fairly relieved from the stage, and having dis- 
 posed of his theatre, Garrick did not forget her 
 interests. He assured her husband that he would 
 
 * Her sensitiveness is almost amusing. " I of course thought 
 him not only an oracle, but my friend ; and, in consequence of his 
 advice, Portia in the Merchant of Venice was fixed on for my 
 debut : a character in which it was not likely that I should make 
 any great sensation, and I was therefore merely tolerated.''' 1
 
 64 The Kembles. 
 
 procure her an engagement with the new managers, 
 and bade him leave the matter in his hands. He had 
 many claims from his old and faithful company for 
 their good offices ; but it is obvious these could not go 
 beyond a recommendation. Even if he had engaged 
 for as much as he is represented to have done, it is 
 strange that Mrs. Siddons would not herself have 
 spoken to him on the subject, or appealed directly to 
 the new manager. She actually left town after the 
 season, assuming that the matter was perfectly settled. 
 She then went to Birmingham, where she had accepted 
 an engagement for the summer ; and thus her disas- 
 trous London engagement terminated, though she 
 might look forward to renewing the attempt next 
 season under more favourable auspices. 
 
 In the country her failure could not have much af- 
 fected her interest; for she returned to the country with 
 some sort of prestige, as having played with the great 
 Garrick. She took with her the hope that the new 
 manager would open to her fairer chances than the 
 jealousy of Roscius had allowed her. At Birmingham 
 she was given all the leading characters without 
 dispute ; and Henderson, who acted with her, was so 
 struck with her talents that he wrote to Palmer of 
 the Bath Theatre, urging him to secure her at once.
 
 Failure. 65 
 
 Henderson's friends considered that lie too had been 
 sacrificed to Mr. Garrick's unworthy jealousy; so, 
 no doubt, the lady and gentleman often cordially 
 agreed in their opinion of this common enemy. After 
 a summer of hard work she was about returning to 
 town, when she received a cold official letter from 
 Drury Lane, announcing that the managers had no 
 occasion for her services. 
 
 This terrible blow nearly killed her. The grief, 
 disappointment, the thought of her children, the 
 mortification — so it seemed to her — utterly crushed 
 her, who was little more than a girl in years and dis- 
 position. Then it was that the treachery of Mr. 
 Garrick was revealed; and this was but the comple- 
 ment of his previous treatment of her. There is 
 something very pathetic in the way she recals, long 
 after, her wretched situation: when she spoke of 
 her " helpless babes," for whose sakes she gallantly 
 and despairingly attempted to rouse herself, though 
 for a time it was thought she was hurrying into a 
 decline. " My endeavours," she says, " were blest 
 with success, in spite of the degradation I had suffered 
 in being banished from Drury Lane as a worthless candi- 
 date for fame and fortune." 
 
 These are genuine words, though conceived in a 
 vol. i. 5
 
 66 The Kembles. 
 
 morbid spirit. She wrote them in the con 
 of her later overwhelming success, which 
 brook the notion that her genius had not a 
 deserved recognition. Degradation there 
 though it might be mortifying to have it 1 
 the provinces, that " she had been dism 
 Drury Lane." So far from keeping his pi 
 affirmed that Garrick had depreciated her to the new 
 managers. But who was it that could have told her 
 this story ? The shifty and versatile Sheridan, 
 who was naturally anxious to clear himself from the 
 imputation of a want of judgment. Grarrick could 
 not have praised her highly, for her performance 
 did not warrant such f>raise. The truth was, the 
 managers were viewing the undertaking in a com- 
 mercial sense, having paid a large sum for it, and 
 they naturally thought that an undecided, rather 
 tame young lady, who claimed to be a tragedienne of 
 the first quality, but who had failed in comedy, 
 would not be of much service to their theatre. Mrs. 
 Abington indeed warned them they were making 
 a mistake, but they could not afford to be specu- 
 lative. 
 
 Filled with this gallant purpose, she set herself at 
 once to dismiss the past. Early the following year,
 
 Failure. 6 7 
 
 in 1777, she found herself at Manchester, and made 
 a great impression. She was now restored to her 
 own line of characters, which were more melodramatic 
 than Shakspearian. These were such parts as 
 Euphrasia, Alicia, and Matilda in Douglas. She tried 
 Lady Townly, and even Hamlet. Her " genteel" 
 manners and composed ladylike behaviour contrasted 
 in an extraordinary degree with the bearing of the 
 average actress of the provincial theatres, and from 
 this time she began to form a circle of steady and 
 fashionable friends. In those days this was a great 
 object of the player's ambition, and in nearly all stage 
 memoirs any stray intimacy with lord or baronet is 
 recorded with unusual pride. In Mrs. Siddons* 
 instance it was only fitting homage to the brave battle 
 she was fighting, and to her private character. Already 
 the clouds were beginning to break, and now Mr. 
 Wilkinson, perhaps the most important country ma- 
 nager in England, had offered her an engagement 
 at his York theatre, which she readily accepted.
 
 68 The Kemlles. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 ON "the circuit." 
 
 A T the beginning of this history we had some 
 glimpses of the very lowest class of the profession, 
 who were, in truth, no better than vagrants, having 
 " no settlement," not leaving " scot and lot," and over 
 whose shrinking figures was always stretched the 
 strong arm of the law. Between the barn of these 
 unhappy professionals and the London patent theatres, 
 a second order of playhouse interposed, which was 
 safe from legal persecution, and, in some instances, of 
 a most respectable sort. These were the theatres 
 of the principal provincial capitals — Bath, as we 
 mentioned, stood at their head; York, Hull, Man- 
 chester, Hereford, Liverpool, Worcester, and many 
 more came after in degree, and were all well sup- 
 ported. In those days, towns like York were really 
 capitals. The county families came in for the season, 
 brought out their daughters there, and only the rich 
 and important noblemen with their families could
 
 On " the Circuit^ 09 
 
 afford a costly journey to town. Even some ten or 
 fifteen years before, Mr. Shandy deplored the foolish 
 migration of which such symptoms were then show- 
 ing themselves, and proposed having couriers at every 
 important outlet to stop the flitting families, and 
 detain them in their native county. Some of these 
 places were tolerably well conducted; but the most 
 respectable were those managed by Tate Wilkinson, 
 a shrewd and enterprising actor, who was lessee of 
 houses at York, Hull, Liverpool, and other places, 
 had built one at Leeds, and often made highly 
 creditable attempts at elaborate scenery and dresses. 
 The history of this player was a curious one. He 
 had worked his way from the ranks of the hangers- 
 on about a stage-door, and, through some gifts of 
 mimicry, and a vast deal of impudence, had become a 
 favourite with the galleries. He had made himself 
 useful in small ways to men like Foote and Garrick, 
 and when he found his hold on them failing, had 
 made it strong again by the inconvenience and 
 awkwardness they felt would ensue from the enmity 
 of such a creature.* As he grew old, his smartness 
 
 * See, in illustration of this, the scene in his Memoirs, where he 
 took off Foote, in reluctant obedience to the call of the audience, 
 the actor himself being present.
 
 70 The Kembles. 
 
 and shrewdness turned to the object of making money, 
 and his connexion with the theatres, his acquaintance 
 with all the leading players, his travels and vicissitudes, 
 gave him advantages for the post of country manager 
 which few others have ever possessed. His Memoirs 
 make perhaps one of the most extraordinary books ever 
 written ; they are singularly graphic and natural, and 
 actually copy in type the garrulous ramblings of an 
 old man. A margin being allowed for his prejudices and 
 exaggeration, he is really correct in the main, and his 
 chief value is in reproducing, unconscious of the effect, 
 striking bits of character in men like Grarrick and 
 Foote. His own vanity and mean motives he exhibits 
 in the same delightfully unconscious fashion, and this it 
 is that makes his book a welcome contribution to the 
 study of human character. In his managerial life he 
 was good-humoured and popular, and as bombastic as 
 Mr. Crummies himself. The intimate connexion he 
 and his family were to have with the Kemble family 
 warrants this notice of him. Mrs. Siddons came to 
 serve under this director, at York, from Easter until 
 Whitsuntide, 1777 — a Miss Glassington having been 
 her predecessor in leading parts. But the new actress 
 soon eclipsed all competitors, even though there was 
 a rival theatre in the place. Her manager says he
 
 On "the Circuit:' 71 
 
 never recollected any one becoming sucli a favourite 
 at York as she was during that short space of time. 
 " All lifted up their eyes with astonishment that such 
 a voice and such a judgment should have been neg- 
 lected by a London audience." She played the 
 Grecian Daughter, Murphy's " melandroso " piece. — 
 " I had the honour of being her old father," says Wil- 
 kinson, complacently — but she seemed so worn, and 
 in such wretched health, that he was wondering how 
 she ever got through the part. She gained even 
 popularity. Mr. Swan, the great local censor, though 
 known to be terrible and fierce, was "foremost in 
 lavish praise." But then, " it was well known that he 
 indeed was ever guided by fashion and consequence." 
 Rosalind, Isabella, Alicia, Indiana, Horatia, Aspasia, 
 were all presented, true specimens, as we may guess 
 from the very names, of persecuted and ever-de- 
 claiming heroines ; with in comedy, Lady Townly, 
 Lady Alton, and, strange to say, Widow Brady, in 
 The Irish Widow ! Her whole attitude, her figure, 
 when she fell dying in Asjiasia, was greatly admired 
 by the York critics ; it was thought " so elegant." 
 The manager fondly clung to the hope that he would 
 secure her as a permanent member of his company. 
 His'chief dependence lay on the finery which he had
 
 72 The Kembles. 
 
 provided for her Lady Alton, which was a most 
 "elegant full sack-back, all over silver trimmings," 
 and with which she was so pleased, that she used to 
 say she would like to take it on to Manchester. No 
 doubt it was as ugly as that other fatal " sack-back^' 
 which had lately so displeased her London critics. 
 All the time she used to say she liked the country ; 
 that her treatment in London had been so cruel she 
 would never play there again. On Saturday, May 1 7, 
 she acted Semiramis for her benefit, and the York 
 season closed. Palmer, of the Bath Theatre, had not 
 forgotten Henderson's strong recommendation, and 
 finding at last an opening, he concluded an en- 
 gagement with her. 
 
 Now, after a long interval, reappears her brother 
 John, set free from the stroller's corps. When Wil- 
 kinson lost the sister, he was not indisposed to try 
 what talent there might be in her brother. The 
 York company happened to be playing at Wakefield, 
 October, 1778, and there, during an extra week which 
 ended disastrously, he made his appearance as Captain 
 Plume in the Recruiting Officer. They presently moved 
 on to Hull, where, on October 30, he was allowed to 
 declaim as Macbeth. This was followed by Archer, 
 which Wilkinson recollected was not unlike his slater
 
 On " the Circuit:' 73 
 
 stately manner of giving comedy. But his grave, 
 careful, collected style of playing was attracting 
 attention, and his decorous manner, supported by his 
 superior education, was making friends for him. At 
 Hull he had his benefit night, for which he con- 
 tributed an original drama of his own on the subject of 
 Belisarius. It is amazing what a taste there was for 
 these classical plays, the characters in which are about 
 as stiff as waxwork figures. The company next moved 
 on to York. 
 
 But at that city, Mr. Cumins was in " the leading 
 business," a loud-lunged vigorous declaimer who 
 played Hamlet and kindred characters. It may be 
 scarcely fair to depreciate him ; for there is recorded 
 evidence of his powers in the fact that at the con- 
 clusion of his delineation of Charles I. a young girl in 
 the boxes dropped down dead from agitation. And yet 
 this painful incident expresses what seems now a lost 
 art. As Mr. Boaden says, in those days all eyes were 
 upon the actor, his face, his movements : his training, 
 even among mere journeymen, aimed at expressing a 
 story with all his powers. In the country theatre pre- 
 tentious scenery was not missed, as indeed it should 
 not be. This feeling is what has gone from us. As 
 the curtain draws up our eyes run eagerly to the
 
 74 The Kembles. 
 
 showy scenery, passing by the insignificant figures in 
 front. Audiences were then brought to see a phantom 
 world, physical and moral, all in the actor's form. 
 When Kemble took Mr. Cumins' part of Hamlet 
 there was some jealousy, and when the manager told 
 his servant to go and see the new actor in this charac- 
 ter, he objected : " You see, sir, it is Mr. Cumins' 
 part." Kemble's first appearance at York was in 
 Orestes, on Jan. 19, 1779; his second, in Ranger; 
 his third, in Edward the Black Prince ; while for his 
 benefit he once more chose his own Belisarius. 
 On the benefit of Mrs. Hunter, he presented her with 
 another little piece of his own, called The Female 
 Officer. It was on this occasion that Kemble asked 
 the officer on duty for the loan of some soldiers to set 
 off the play, and was refused. He then applied 
 to Lord Percy, the commanding officer, "who at once 
 condescended to interest himself," Mr. Boaden tells us ; 
 in plain terms, permitted the men to form part of the 
 stage army.* "It is a curious circumstance," goes on his 
 
 * "After the performance of the evening," says Boaden, "Lord 
 Percy took Mr. Kemble home to sup with him. I learn from a 
 most accurate and excellent friend of his through life, that Kemble 
 did not then first become known to his lordship." This awe of the 
 nobility is very diverting.
 
 On "the Circuit." 75 
 
 biographer, " that his early love of a more perfect 
 exhibition of the drama should have been the fortunate 
 cause of his intimacy with the late Duke of Northum- 
 berland " — a rather valet-like way of stating that 
 the recollection of this trifling service, many years later, 
 inclined Kemble to oblige the Duke in a matter 
 quite as trifling, while the latter's respect for Kemble's 
 public character, still later, prompted him to make the 
 actor a really munificent present. 
 
 The incidents of country theatres have a great deal 
 of colour and dramatic life. Kemble was now to be 
 exposed to one of those humility incidents which used 
 then to give the player a rude reminder of his low caste. 
 The manager had indeed his patents and licences, yet 
 if the audience took offence, he was still treated like 
 the merest tumbler or mountebank.* The scene that 
 follows shows how dependent the country manager 
 was on his " kind patrons," the sheriff sending forty 
 
 * As happened at Wakefield to an actor in the bar of the Bull 
 Inn, where an officer ordered the waiter to " turn out that player." 
 The latter refused to go ; and at night the officers got up a riot at 
 the theatre, and insisted on an apology. They required the manager, 
 threatening him with the House of Correction, to dismiss him. He 
 refused. His house was deserted and shut up. The old York 
 Theatre was situated in Blake Street, and was built in 1765 by 
 Baker, who later became a partner of Wilkinson's. The only play- 
 house before that year was a room in the Minster Yard.
 
 76 The Kembles. 
 
 guineas on his night, seats being kept for the gentle- 
 men of the grand jury, &c. A Mrs. Mason was taking 
 her benefit in the play of Zenobia, supported by Mr. 
 Kemble in Teribazus. One of the York ladies of 
 fashion, who was credited with some wit and power 
 of satire, occupied the stage-box of the little theatre, 
 where she received parties of militia officers during the 
 evening. The poor actress was not of the first class, 
 and at every tragic burst, the lady and military party 
 broke out in screams of laughter. This ill-bred pro- 
 ceeding is not unknown to our own generation ; but 
 in a small theatre the effect was specially offensive and 
 wounding. The lady had openly professed her dislike 
 of Mr. Kemble's style ; she was the " loud " or " fast " 
 personage of the place, and when the two were in the 
 agonies of theatrical death, fresh screams of amuse- 
 ment issued from the side box. All Kemble did was 
 to give her a look of contempt, which only produced 
 fresh laughter from the party. At last he stopped 
 abruptly. The house calling on him to go on, he said 
 he would do so when the lady had finished her con- 
 versation, which " the tragedy was only inter- 
 rupting." This skilful hit produced an effect, and 
 overcome with confusion, the lady was hissed out of 
 the theatre.
 
 On " the Circuit:' 77 
 
 Her friends, the militia officers, instantly took her 
 part, and the next day called on the manager, at her 
 desire, to obtain satisfaction, and the actor's dismissal. 
 The former honestly defended his player, urging that 
 he was a gentleman by education and training, and 
 that he could not be asked to make any submission. 
 With this awkward compliment to his own profession, 
 he introduced the offender, who boldly faced the 
 militia gentry, and declined to make any amende 
 whatsoever. At the theatre that night the officers 
 saluted him with a loud call for an apology : the rest 
 of the audience took his side, and encouraged him 
 with shonts of " No apology." He commenced 
 to explain how he had been treated, when the 
 officers bade him hold his tongue, " stop his 
 impudence," and ask pardon without further 
 parley. With a natural and haughty scorn, which 
 he later introduced into Coriolanus, he exclaimed, 
 " Ask pardon ? Never ! ' and walked off the 
 stage. 
 
 Night after night the confusion was renewed, until 
 at last General St. Leger and Dr. Burgh, two of his 
 friends, intervened and secured him a fair hearing, 
 when he pleaded his cause with such address, that 
 he was boisterously acquitted. Such were the
 
 78 The Kembles 
 
 disgraceful scenes to which the actor was then 
 exposed.* 
 
 This woman, who could not be called a lady, was 
 not cured by this public mortification. Some years 
 later, when Michael Kelly was playing, she inter- 
 rupted him in the same vulgar way, bursting into 
 screams of laughter, and saying loud enough to be 
 heard over the house, " Why, the fellow has got a 
 watch." The spirited actor came forward at once, 
 addressed her, " Yes, madam, one of the best in 
 England," and gave her a severe rebuke, which 
 brought down the hisses of the house and forced her 
 to retire in confusion. 
 
 No one could have worked harder than he did during 
 all this probation, and it will be seen that he had 
 the laudable ambition to make himself as conspicuous 
 by his good breeding and cultivation, as by his play- 
 ing. He wrote prologues for the benefit of local 
 institutions, complimentary verses, plays — in short, 
 
 * Kemble was, after all, only paying the penalty for the 
 indecent behaviour of members of his own profession. Only a 
 short time before, a Mrs. Montague, on these very boards, had 
 defied her audience, who wished her to read a part ; and when 
 they shouted, " Off, off !" flung her book into the pit with a 
 " Curse you all !"
 
 On " the Circuit:' 79 
 
 began to be known and sought as a man of reading 
 and education. There had lately joined the company 
 Mr. and Mrs. Inchbald — the latter a charming 
 woman — the mere description of whose face and 
 character excites an interest. There was a kind of 
 soft tenderness about her which accounted for the 
 passionate affection of her husband. Her gifts were 
 extraordinary : she united humour, delicate touches 
 of character, fair critical judgment, and an art of 
 story-telling that is akin to Goldsmith's, with sur- 
 prising refinement that pervades all her efforts. Her 
 husband died suddenly and left her a widow. Kemble 
 had been their intimate friend, and his devotion had 
 been so conspicuous, that it was confidently expected 
 he would seize the opportunity to offer himself. The 
 lady was of the same religion as he was, and there 
 might have been many advantages from such a union. 
 It is probable that his cautious disposition was not 
 inclined to hamper his career by taking on him fresh 
 responsibilities. But he satisfied his feelings by 
 writing a Latin inscription for Mr. Inchbald's tomb, 
 and addressed a blank verse ode to his memory.* 
 
 * The following specimen of Mr. Kemble's poetical powers seems 
 to justify that buying up all the copies of his Fugitive Poems 
 which he could find : —
 
 80 The Kembles. 
 
 He also played for the widow's benefit, who herself 
 presently came forward for her own benefit in the 
 seemingly appropriate part of Hector's widow, 
 Andromache. This incurable propensity of players 
 for taking the audience into confidence often leads 
 them into such indecorous exhibitions. Another of 
 his literary attempts was an alteration of the Comedy 
 of Errors, under the title of Oh, It's Impossible ! in 
 which he turned the two Dromios into negroes ! 
 During his later majestic Shakspearian idolatry it 
 would have been unlucky for him had any one 
 
 PKOLOGUE TO THE FOUNDLING, 
 
 Acted at York for the Benefit of the Lunatic Asylum. 
 
 " From the mild regions of her native sky, 
 O'er Britain's isle sweet pity cast her eye. 
 She cast — and sorrow heaved her melting breast, 
 As to her view pale sickness stood confest. 
 
 " Daughter of hell, a direr fiend than war, 
 With hasty stride plague rushes from afar ; 
 Her savage pleasure grows on spreading death, 
 And parent nations orphaned by her breath. 
 
 " The love lorn virgin, wandering through the gloom 
 Of yew-bound churchyards and the mouldy tomb, 
 Sung to the moon of Margaret's grimly ghost, 
 Of Henry's broken vows, and Emma lost. 
 Here pity wept — and from her tears arose 
 A kind asylum for the mad one's woes."
 
 On "the Circuit 81 
 
 thought of reviving this gross indiscretion, which 
 speaks an extraordinary deficiency of taste or even 
 intelligence. This lapse was in a measure redeemed 
 by his giving some entertainments of an elocutionary 
 sort; and one evening in 1780, at Leeds, he gave a 
 regular Beading and a lecture, which he entitled An 
 Attic Evening Entertainment, with selections from 
 Shakspeare, Sterne, Collins, and the Scriptures, so as 
 to excite the admiration of Mr. Cornelius Swan, the 
 great York critic. This gentleman was quite a cha- 
 racter. He it was who " discovered" Mrs. Jordan, 
 and the manager gives a picture of him sitting by her 
 bedside, with an old red cloak of Mrs. Bland's 
 wrapped round him, giving her lessons. " Beally I 
 don't exceed," he said, " when with truth I declare 
 she acts it nearly as well as I could myself." But 
 this praise of Kemble, which is found in the York 
 Register of this date, is certainly from his 
 pen : — 
 
 " With all his faults we cannot but consider Mr. 
 Kemble as a phenomenon in the theatrical world. 
 His Hamlet is on the whole a most masterly per- 
 formance. After this, his best characters indubitably 
 are the Boman Actor, Bireno, and Demetrius. They 
 are unexcejptionably inimitable. In delivering odes, 
 
 vol. i. 6
 
 82 The Kembles. 
 
 Sterne's stories, &c, he is happier than any person 
 in our recollection." 
 
 Near the end of the performance — and readers of 
 our own day follow the modest precedent — came little 
 pieces of his own, as " Night — Elegy on Mr. Inch- 
 bald, Mr. Kemble." On another occasion, at York, he 
 gave a selected entertainment, entitled Humour and 
 Passion, which was an olio, with " a defence of the 
 stage by Paris the Eoman Actor. Paris the 
 Eoman Actor, Mr. Kemble." By July, 1781, he had 
 found his way with the company to Edinburgh, 
 where he played Puff, and afterwards returned to 
 York. I pass over little unimportant incidents ; but 
 he had thus three years of hard work and of good use- 
 ful training in a very tolerable school. Already his 
 steadiness and diligence were bearing fruit : he was 
 beginning to be heard of as a safe, sound, effective 
 actor; and now Mr. Daly, the manager of the 
 Theatre Eoyal, Smock Alley, has sent to engage him 
 for the Dublin season at the " star" salary of five 
 pounds a week. He must have hailed this transla- 
 tion with delight. The Irish audiences were critical 
 but enthusiastic, and if they approved heartily, that 
 passport was sure to throw wide open the doors of 
 the London houses. 

 
 TJie Bath Theatre. 83 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 THE BATH THEATRE. 
 
 f~PHE Bath Theatre, as we have seen, held the 
 highest place in the English stage out of London. 
 The handsome city was as gay as it was handsome, 
 with a sort of rococo dignity, kept up hy such anti- 
 quated machinery as masters of ceremonies, assembly 
 rooms, and a rigorous exclusiveness. The theatre was, 
 in the hackneyed phrase of the day, "an elegant and 
 commodious structure," situate in Orchard Street. It 
 had just been remodelled and decorated, the pro- 
 scenium was adorned with pillars of the Ionic and Doric 
 orders, while its ornaments, said an admiring descrip- 
 tion, " were expressive of, and bore analogy to the 
 amusement of the place." There was a handsome 
 crushroom, and the days of performance were Tuesdays, 
 Thursdays, and Saturdays. Mr. Palmer was the well- 
 known manager. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons had to pla} r with Dimond as the jetttte 
 premier, and occasionally with Henderson, who had 
 
 C— 2
 
 84 The Kembles. 
 
 been dubbed the " Bath Boscius," and who had been 
 thrust into an absurd rivalry with Garrick. Mrs. 
 Siddons' eyes had not been yet opened by her failure at 
 Drury Lane ; and the first pieces in which she presented 
 herself to the Bath audiences were Lady Townly and 
 Mrs. Candour, two characters from comedy. Even in 
 this matter she complained of unfair treatment, and 
 that she was not allowed full scope in so unsuitable a 
 department, the regular "leading lady" being, as of 
 right, entitled to the best comedy characters. Mrs. 
 Piozzi owned that Mrs. Siddons did not shine ; but 
 that her Mrs. Candour was good, she threw such sig- 
 nificance into her face. Even here the disabilities 
 attendant on failure pursued her for a while, for the 
 manager was at first not very eager in her favour. 
 Thursdays were the nights of the cotillon balls, which 
 always emptied the theatre ; and for a time she was put 
 forward — no doubt owing to the claims of the lead- 
 ing ladies — on these unattractive occasions. But gra- 
 dually her powers began to be discovered, and she, 
 in her turn, began to draw away spectators from 
 the cotillon balls. The engagement began in October, 
 1778, and lasted for some four years. Her salary 
 was three pounds a week, not a very liberal 
 amount, but respectable, considering her modest
 
 The Bath Theatre. 85 
 
 claims and the amount allowed at other theatres. 
 During this time she laboured with a resolution that 
 was almost heroic, making friends everywhere, con- 
 scientiously striving to please her public, and im- 
 proving herself by study and practice. The manager 
 was also proprietor of a theatre at Bristol ; and 
 after a hard morning's rehearsal at Bath she had to 
 set off, and drive to this town to play for the night, 
 to return the next day and play some heavy and 
 fatiguing part at Bath. But she was gradually making 
 way. Her wonderful performance of tragedies began 
 to bring those pieces into fashion. The Mourning 
 Bride, Juliet, the Queen in Hamlet, Jane Shore, 
 Isabella, with a whole round of such characters, 
 raised her more and more into notice. She still 
 looked back resentfully on Londcm, and affected to 
 never think of returning there. Her family was now 
 increasing ; another daughter had been born. But her 
 friends were mustering in strength, and she was now 
 found to be a growing attraction at the theatre. 
 " When I recollect all this labour of mind and body," 
 she says, " I wonder that I had strength and courage 
 to support it, interrupted as I was by the cares of a 
 mother, and by the childish sports of my little ones, 
 who were often most unwillingly hushed to silence
 
 86 The Kembles. 
 
 for interrupting their mother's studies." Here too, in 
 January, 1780, she brought out a sister of hers, Miss 
 Fanny Kemble. Her own benefit was in the follow- 
 ing month, when she gave Jane Shore, and, on account 
 of the crowd, laid out the whole pit into stalls, reserv- 
 ing a few front rows in the gallery " for the gentle- 
 men of the pit." She " entreated their indulgence for 
 this liberty," and made the most humble apologies. 
 No manager or artist would dream of apologizing 
 now. The pit frequenters have been ruthlessly driven 
 away out of the house into the dark caverns under the 
 boxes, to the great prejudice of all good acting. Those 
 who have ejected these sturdy appreciators are too 
 genteel to indulge in that hearty encouragement 
 which gave such a spirit to the old acting. The 
 voices too travel away and are lost in these gloomy 
 excavations, whence neither play of expression nor 
 the effect of the scene can be witnessed. One of 
 these benefits produced to her 146/. — a very handsome 
 sum. Her husband acted becomingly; though a Mrs. 
 Summers, of the company, who played as her " con- 
 fidante " in tragedies, said he was a bad actor, but an 
 excellent judge, always drilling her, and very cross at 
 any failure. 
 
 More than a year before her actual engagement in
 
 The Bath Theatre. 87 
 
 town, some negotiations had been set on foot through 
 Mr. Linley, who had lived in Bath. And in 1781 her 
 friend Dr. Whalley, one of the votaries of a wearisome 
 muse then in fashion, who celebrated every occasion 
 with feeble rhymes, announced a congratulatory poem 
 on " Mrs. Siddcms being engaged at Drury Lane." 
 But this was quite premature, and the actress herself 
 was indifferent, thinking only of the hearty and delicate 
 patronage of her friends, always kindly and gracefully 
 rendered. As when Mr. Pigott presented her with 
 sixty guineas, "in order," he said, " to secure tickets to 
 a society of gentlemen, who supposed it proper to 
 do it thus early, knowing the demand for them would 
 be so great by-and-by." "Was it not elegant?" she asks. 
 The glimpses of Bath society in which she moved, 
 and which we find in Dr. Whalley 's collection of 
 letters, are highly characteristic. There we see Miss 
 Seward, intervening from a distance, with Dellacrus- 
 can raptures over some poor verses, her heart "vibrat- 
 ing to every sentence of your last charming letter," 
 and wishing in vain to " avoid this dull delay in the 
 communication of its responsive ideas." This was the 
 keynote. Every one was at this time concerned for 
 the play of "our friend Benignus," a Mr. Pratt of 
 the place, which they were trying to bring out ; and
 
 88 The Kembles. 
 
 no one was more hearty than Mrs. Siddons, whom he 
 later was to treat with signal ingratitude. All 
 through her Bath career she seems to have been 
 cherished with singular affection, and her letters to 
 her friends give a very engaging portrait of a young 
 and pretty woman, full of spirit and ingenuousness, 
 and a gentle confidence, which is always sure to 
 attract. " I cannot express," she wrote to her friend 
 Dr. Whalley, from Bristol, " how much I am honoured 
 by your friendship, therefore you must not expect 
 words, but as much gratitude as can inhabit the 
 bosom of a human being. I hope, with a fervency 
 unusual upon such occasions, that you will not be dis- 
 appointed in your expectations of me to-night ; but 
 sorry am I to say I have often observed, that I have 
 performed worst when I most ardently wished to do 
 better than ever. Strange perverseness ! And this 
 leads me to observe {as I believe I may have done before), 
 that those who act mechanically are sure to be in some 
 sort right, ivhilc we who trust to nature {if we do not 
 happen to be in the humour, which, however, Heaven 
 be praised, seldom happens) are dull as anything can 
 be imagined, because we cannot feign. But I hope 
 Mrs. Whalley will remember that it was your com- 
 mendations which she heard, and judge of your praises
 
 TJie Bath Theatre. 89 
 
 by the benevolent heart from which they proceed, 
 more than as standards of my deserving. Luckily I 
 have been able to procure places in the front row of 
 the next to the stage-box, on the left hand of you as 
 you go in. These I hope will please you." Her letters 
 of thirty years later are as warm and affectionate. 
 
 At last whispers of this Bath star began to reach 
 London. Mr. Henderson, whose good report had 
 recommended her to the Bath management, was to do 
 nearly the same good office for her in London. He 
 spoke of her there with the most unconcealed admira- 
 tion, and trumpeted her praises heartily. She had 
 acted Beatrice to his Benedick, and he was delighted 
 with her performance.* Old Sheridan too, her firm 
 admirer and encourager, no doubt sang her praises to 
 his son. 
 
 The managers of " Drury Lane," in their search for 
 novelty, were not disinclined to try an experiment 
 which could do them no harm — and in the summer of 
 1782 made her the formal offer of an engagement. 
 She received it curiously : " After my former dis- 
 
 * Mr. Campbell says "that he pronounced that she was an 
 actress who never had an equal, and never would have a superior." 
 But he forgot that these were the very words used by Mrs. Porter 
 in praise of the young Garrick.
 
 90 Tlie Kembles. 
 
 missal from thence it may be imagined that this was 
 to me a triumphant moment." This was a specimen 
 of the old rather undignified pique or vexation, and 
 the triumph was pardonable enough. Strange to say, 
 the manager of the Bath house was quite careless as 
 to keeping this attraction ; and Boaden heard that, 
 when this offer came, she was so indifferent to the 
 prospect, and perhaps so timorous as to the result, 
 that she was willing to remain among her beloved 
 friends, if only a slight increase was made in her salary. 
 Palmer was not very eager, and delayed until it was 
 too late. She would have even been content to bind 
 herself for a term of } r ears on very modest terms. 
 Towards the end of May, 1782, it was known that 
 she was leaving, and she took her farewell benefit. 
 There was something a little undignified in the 
 fashion in which she chose to appeal to the sympa- 
 thies of her friends. It was announced in the bills 
 that she would play The Distressed Mother, and that 
 after the piece she would deliver a poetical address, 
 written by herself, in the course of which she would 
 produce to the audience Three Reasons for her quit- 
 ting the theatre. There was much speculation and 
 gossip, even among the actors, as to what she could 
 mean. But she kept it all a secret till the proper
 
 The Bath Theatre. 91 
 
 moment. At the close of the play she came forward 
 and recited the following lines, which are pleasing 
 and natural, and contrast favourably with " occasional 
 addresses " of our own time : — 
 
 " Have I not raised some expectation here ? — 
 Wrote by herself? — What! authoress and player? — 
 True, we have heard her, — thus I guess'd you'd say, 
 With decency recite another's lay ; 
 But never heard, nor ever could we dream 
 Herself had sipp'd the Heliconian stream. 
 Perhaps you farther said — Excuse me, pray, 
 For thus supposing all that you might say, 
 What will she treat of in this same address ? 
 Is it to show her learning ? — Can you guess ? 
 Here let me answer — No : far different views 
 Possess'd my soul, and fired my virgin Muse ; 
 'Twas honest gratitude, at whose request 
 Shamed be the heart that will not do its best. 
 The time draws nigh when I must bid adieu 
 To this delightful spot — nay, ev'n to you — 
 To you, whose fost'ring kindness rear'd my name, 
 Overlooked my faults, but magnified my fame. 
 How shall I bear the parting ? Well I know 
 Anticipation here is daily woe. 
 Oh ! could kind Fortune, where I next am thrown, 
 Bestow but half the candour you have shown, 
 Envy, overcome, will hurl her pointless dart, 
 And critic (jail be shed without its smart ; 
 The numerous doubts and fears I entertain, 
 Be idle all — as all possess'd in vain. — 
 But to my promise. If I thus am bless'd, 
 In friendship link'd, beyond my worth caress'd, —
 
 92 The Kembles. 
 
 Why don't I here, you'll say, content remain, 
 Nor seek uncertainties for certain gain ? 
 What can compensate for the risks you run, 
 And what your reasons ? — Surely you have none. 
 To argue here would but your time abuse : 
 I keep my word — my reasons I produce. 
 
 Here she went to the wing and brought forward her 
 three children, with the result, as of course, of 
 prodigious dramatic effect. 
 
 " These are the moles that bear me from your side, 
 Where I was rooted — where I could have died. 
 Stand forth, ye elves, and plead your mother's cause : 
 Ye little magnets, whose soft influence draws 
 Me from a point where every gentle breeze 
 Wafted my bark to happiness and ease — 
 Sends me adventurous on a larger main, 
 In hopes that you may profit by my gain. 
 Have I been hasty ? — am I then to blame ? 
 Answer, all ye who own a parent's name ! 
 Thus have I tired you with an untaught Muse, 
 Who for your favour still most humbly sues, 
 That you, for classic learning, will receive 
 My soul's best wishes, which I freely give — 
 For polished periods round, and touched with art, — 
 The fervent offering of my grateful heart." 
 
 She concluded the evening by playing Nell, in The 
 Devil to Pay* This was her last appearance. She 
 
 * It was not surprising that this proceeding led to some ridicule. 
 A couple of months later two actresses of the company announced 
 that for their benefit " they would produce reasons for their con- 
 tinuing on the Bristol stage."
 
 TJie Bath Tlieatre. 93 
 
 was heartily grieved to leave these good people. She 
 had now four months to prepare herself, but she 
 devoted them to hard work at the country theatres. 
 A kind friend, who had admired and compassionated 
 her struggles, and was enthusiastic as to her gifts, was 
 already busy in town, spreading eager praises of her 
 talents in fashionable society. 
 
 Towards the end of August she set out on a little 
 professional tour, having finally left Bath ; and reached 
 Weymouth, working her way slowly on to London. 
 One letter which she wrote to her friends the 
 Whalleys, giving an account of her adventures, is so 
 lively and graphic, so characteristic, that it is worth 
 while inserting in this place. 
 
 " You will be pleased to hear/' she says, " that 
 Mrs. Carr was very civil to me, gave me a comfortable 
 bed, and I slept very well. We were five of us in 
 the machine, all females but one, a youth of about 
 sixteen, and the most civilized being you can conceive, 
 a native of Bristol too. 
 
 " One of the ladies was, I believe verily, a little 
 insane, her dress was the most peculiar, and manner 
 the most offensive, I ever remember to have met with ; 
 her person was taller and more thin than you can 
 imagine, her hair raven black, drawn as tight as
 
 94 The Kembles. 
 
 possible over her cushion before and behind, and at 
 the top of her head was placed a solitary fly-cap of 
 the last century, composed of materials of about 
 twenty sorts, and as cffrty as the ground ; her neck, 
 which was a thin scrag of a quarter of a yard long, 
 and the colour of a walnut, she wore uncovered for 
 the solace of all beholders ; her Circassian was an olive- 
 coloured cotton of three several sorts, about two 
 breadths wide in the skirt, and tied up exactly in 
 the middle in one place only. She had a black 
 petticoat, spotted with red, and over that a very thin 
 white muslin one, with a long black gauze apron, and 
 without the least hoop. I never in my life saw so 
 odd an appearance, and my opinion was not singular, 
 for wherever we stopped, she inspired either mirth or 
 amazement, but was quite innocent of it herself. On 
 taking her seat amongst us at Bristol, she flew into a 
 violent passion on seeing one of the windows down. 
 I said I would put it up if she pleased ; ' To be sure/ 
 said she, 'I have no ambition to catch my death.' 
 No sooner had she done with me, but she began to 
 scold the woman who sat opposite to her for touching 
 her foot : ' You have not been used to riding in a 
 coach, I fancy, good woman.' She met in this lady 
 a little more spirit than she had found in me, and we
 
 The Bath Theatre. 95 
 
 were obliged to her for keeping this unhappy woman 
 in tolerable order the remainder of the day. Bless 
 me ! I had almost forgot to tell you that I was 
 desired to make tea at breakfast. Vain were my 
 endeavours to please this strange creature ; she had 
 desired to have her tea in a basin, and I followed her 
 directions as near as it was possible in the making 
 her tea, but she had no sooner tasted it than she 
 bounced to the window and threw it out, declaring 
 she had never met with such a set of awkward, 
 ill-bred people ; what could be expected in a stage- 
 coach, indeed? She snatched the canister from me, 
 poured a great quantity into the basin, with sugar, 
 cream, and water, and drank it all together. 
 
 " Did you ever hear of anything so strange ? 
 When we sat down to dinner, she seemed terrified to 
 death lest anybody should eat but herself. The 
 remaining part of our journey was made almost 
 intolerable by her fretfulness ; one minute she was 
 screaming out lest the coachman should overturn us ; 
 she was sure he would, because she would not give him 
 anything for neglecting to keep her trunk dry ; and, 
 though it was immoderately hot, we were obliged very 
 often to sit with the windows up, for she had been 
 told that the air was pestilential after sunset, and
 
 96 The Kembles. 
 
 that, however other people liked it, she did not choose 
 to hazard her life by sitting with the windows open. 
 All were disposed, for the sake of peace, to let her 
 have her own way, except the person whom we were 
 really obliged to for quieting her every now and then. 
 She had been handsome, but was now, I suppose, 
 sixty years old. I pity her temper, and am sorry for 
 her situation, which I have set down as that of a 
 disappointed old maid. 
 
 " At about seven o'clock we arrived at Dorchester ; 
 on my stepping out of the coach a gentleman very 
 civilly gave me his hand — who should it be but 
 Mr. Siddons, who was come on purpose to meet me ? 
 He was very well, and the same night I had the 
 pleasure of seeing my dear boy more benefited by the 
 sea than can be conceived. He desires me to thank 
 Mr. Whalley for the fruit, which he enjoyed very 
 much. We have got a most deplorable lodging, and 
 the water and the bread are intolerable, ' but travellers 
 must be content.' Mr. Whalley was so good as to 
 be interested about my bathing — is there any thing I 
 could refuse to do at his or your request ? I intend 
 to bathe to-morrow morning, cost what pain it will. 
 I expected to have found more company here. 
 
 " I went to Dorchester yesterday to dine with
 
 The Bath Theatre. 97 
 
 Mr. Beach, who is on a visit to a relation, and 
 has been laid up with the gout, but is recovering very- 
 fast. He longs to see Langford, and I am anxious to 
 have him see it. I suppose Mr. Whalley has heard 
 when Mr. Pratt comes ; pray present the kindest 
 wishes of Mr. Siddons, little Harry, and myself; his 
 little girl has returned to school. I hope Mr. 
 Whalley will do me the favour to choose the ribbon 
 for my watch-string. I should like it as near the 
 colour of little dear Paphy's ear as possible. I did 
 not very well comprehend what Lady Mary (Ivnollys) 
 said about the buckles. Will you please to give her 
 my respectful compliments, and say I beg her pardon 
 for having deferred speaking to her on that subject to 
 so awkward a time, but hope my illness the last day 
 I had the honour of seeing her ladyship will be my 
 excuse. I hope I shall be favoured with a line from 
 you, and that her ladyship will explain herself more 
 fully then. Harry Jias just puzzled me very much. 
 When going to eat some filberts after dinner, I told 
 him you desired I would not eat them ; ' but,' says 
 he, f what would you have done if Mr. Whalley had 
 desired you would ? ' I was at a stand for a little 
 while, and at last he found a means to save me from 
 my embarrassment, by saying : 'but you know Mr. 
 vol. i. 7
 
 98 The Kembles. 
 
 Whalley would not desire you to eat them, if he 
 thought they would hurt you.' ' Very true, Harry,' 
 says I ; so it ended there. 
 
 " I look forward with inexpressible delight to our 
 snug parties, and I have the pleasure to inform you 
 that I shall not go to London this winter. Mr. 
 Linley thinks my making a partial appearance will 
 neither benefit myself nor the proprietors. Mrs. 
 Crawford threatens to leave them very often, he says, 
 but supposes she knows her own interest better. I 
 should suppose she has a very good fortune, and 
 I should be vastly obliged to her if she would go 
 and live very comfortably upon it. I'll give her 
 leave to stay and be of as much service to my good 
 and dear friend's tragedy as she possibly can, and 
 then let her retire as soon as she pleases. I hope I 
 shall not tire you ; Mr. Siddons is afraid I shall, and 
 in compliance to him (who, with me, returns his 
 grateful acknowledgments for all your kindnesses), 
 I conclude with, I hope, an unnecessary assurance, 
 that I am ever your grateful and affectionate servant, 
 S. Siddons." 
 
 "P.S. — Please to present our joint compliments to 
 Mr. Whalley, Mrs. Whalley, and Miss Squire, and, 
 in short, the whole circle, not forgetting Mrs. Eeeves,
 
 The Bath Theatre. 99 
 
 to whom I am much obliged. In an especial manner, 
 I beg to be remembered to the cruel beauty, Sappho. 
 She knows her power, and therefore treats me like 
 a little tyrant. Adieu ! Cfod for ever bless you and 
 yours. The beach here is the most beautiful I 
 ever saw." * 
 
 It was thus evident that though she broke her 
 connexion with Bath, the London managers were still 
 tolerably indifferent about her coming. She met 
 them with an indifference quite as marked. Her 
 heart already was turning back to her friends with 
 whom she had been so happy. Such moderation, 
 such control, is rarely seen in the profession united 
 with such genius. 
 
 Here was a new chance and probation for the 
 actress, with a whispering at her heart that she 
 would yet reverse that harsh judgment, now seven 
 years old. She would do this in spite of that " envy's 
 dart and critic's gall," on which she still dwelt, and to 
 which she still imputed her failure. 
 
 * Memoirs of Dr. Whalley. 
 
 7—2
 
 100 The Kembles. 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 A NIGHT OF TRIUMPH. 
 
 rFHE contrast between the state of Drury Lane 
 Theatre when Mrs. Siddons returned to it, and 
 its old wealth and even splendour of talent when 
 Garrick withdrew slowly up the stage and took his 
 last longing look at the finest and most affectionate 
 audience ever seen within its walls, was almost 
 extraordinary. Its old strength had quite fallen 
 away. The hills now exhibited such names as 
 Parsons, Aicken, Barrymore, Dodd, Moody, and Mrs, 
 Bulkeley. Gentleman Smith and Palmer remained, 
 and King was stage-manager. But Abington and 
 Yates — veterans now — with Miss Younge, belonged 
 no longer to the company. No more striking proof 
 of the reckless incapacity of Sheridan could have been 
 furnished than these fatal desertions. The feature of 
 Garrick's fine masterly management had been that 
 the good stock of plays were to be always kept in 
 readiness, each finely mounted with the same almost
 
 A Night of Triumph. 101 
 
 unvarying cast. This gave a solidity and permanence 
 to his administration ; the plays and players became as 
 it were fixed. Now all was fitful and temporary. 
 Sheridan had just received the resignation of Mrs. 
 Abington — one of the best of what was called the 
 Garrick school ; but he little dreamed what compensa- 
 tion was in store for him. It seems strange indeed how 
 opportunely the great genius arises, exactly as the 
 old attraction begins to flag. At such a nicely chosen 
 moment came Garrick, to be succeeded by Kemble 
 and Siddons, who, in their turn, were to give place 
 to Kean and Miss O'Neil, with Macready to 
 follow. Our own degenerate times have indeed failed 
 to keep up the succession ; but it is not too dreamy a 
 theory to suppose that in the ranks of the British 
 nation stands some undiscovered Garrick or Siddons, 
 who, if great plays full of situation and vehement 
 emotion came into fashion, would emerge and be 
 brought to the front. At least this is certain, that 
 no great actor, were such in existence, could have a 
 chance of making an impression through the agency 
 of the plays now popular. We shall now see how 
 fortunate the new heroine was to be. 
 
 The ingenious Brinsley was not above those arts 
 whose development has since turned the management
 
 102 The Kembles. 
 
 of the stage into a sort of handicraft. All those 
 varieties of " puffs" on which he had been so merry 
 and witty in his own burlesque were diligently 
 scattered over the town, and were to be found in 
 every newspaper that he could control. The announce- 
 ment of her engagement was proclaimed at the foot 
 of the playbills for weeks. From these exertions 
 much no doubt was expected ; but neither he nor the 
 public was prepared for the tremendous success that 
 was to follow. 
 
 The great actress herself tells the story of her 
 hopes, fears, and final triumph, with a simplicity and 
 modesty that is almost touching. With the per- 
 suasion of such vast gifts, she deserved all honour 
 for her resignation and fortitude under what she 
 conceived to have been unmerited oppression. As 
 we have seen, for the sake of her children she set 
 herself with sheer drudgery to confute the unjust 
 verdict, and here was the moment at hand when 
 the public was to confirm or to reverse its previous 
 judgment. 
 
 Yet there were many reasons why she should 
 despond. Even her best friends were doubtful : they 
 believed, as she did herself, that her voice could not 
 fill the great London house. But she was wonder-
 
 A Night of Triumph. 103 
 
 fully encouraged. Old Sheridan, still alive, was full 
 of the kindest interest in her. He it was that 
 strongly urged the choice of Isabella, and the issue 
 proved his sagacity. During the whole fortnight 
 that she was in town preparing for the piece she was 
 almost in a nervous fever. "No wonder," she says ; "for 
 my own fate and that of my little family hung upon 
 it. I had quitted Bath, where all my efforts had been 
 successful, and I feared lest a second failure in London 
 might influence the public mind greatly to my pre- 
 judice in the event of my return from Drury Lane 
 disgraced as I had formerly been." These are genuine 
 words ; and there is still the old bitterness mingled 
 with a certain pathos. Presently the rehearsals com- 
 menced. She herself gives the most graphic picture 
 of the days that intervened. " Who can imagine my 
 terror ?" she writes. " I feared to utter a sound 
 above an audible whisper, but by degrees enthusiasm 
 cheered me into a forgetfulness of my fears, and I un- 
 consciously threw out my voice, which failed not to 
 be heard in the remotest part of the house, by a 
 friend who kindly undertook to ascertain the happy 
 circumstance. The countenances, no less than tears 
 and flattering encouragements of my companions, em- 
 boldened me more and more ; and the second rehearsal
 
 104 The Kembles. 
 
 was even more affecting than the first. Mr. King, 
 who was then manager, was loud in his applauses. 
 This second rehearsal took place on the Sth of 
 October, 1782, and on the evening of that day I was 
 seized with a nervous hoarseness, which made me 
 extremely wretched ; for I dreaded being obliged to 
 defer my appearance on the 10th, longing, as I most 
 earnestly did, at least to know the worst. I went to 
 bed therefore in a state of dreadful suspense. 
 Awaking the next morning, however, though out of 
 restless, unrefreshing sleep, I found, upon speak- 
 ing to my husband, that my voice was very much 
 clearer. This of course was a great comfort to me ; 
 and moreover the sun, which had been completely 
 obscured for many days, shone brightly through my 
 curtains. I hailed it, though tearfully yet thank- 
 fully, as a happy omen ; and even now I am not 
 ashamed of this (as it may perhaps be called) childish 
 superstition. On the morning of the 10th my voice 
 was, most happily, perfectly restored ; and again ' The 
 blessed -sun shone brightly on me! On this eventful day 
 my father arrived to comfort me, and to be a witness 
 of my trial. He accompanied me to my dressing- 
 room at the theatre. There he left me ; and I, in 
 one of what I call my desperate tranquillities, which
 
 A Night of Triumph. 105 
 
 usually impress me under terrific circumstances, there" 
 completed my dress, to the astonishment of my at- 
 tendants, without uttering one word, though often 
 sighing most profoundly." 
 
 But at one of the rehearsals an incident occurred 
 which, though trifling enough, must have afforded her 
 infinite encouragement. Her little boy, who was to be 
 her little child in the piece, was so affected by her 
 acting that he took the whole for reality, and burst 
 into the most passionate floods of tears, thinking he 
 was about to lose his mamma. This satisfactory 
 proof of effect deeply impressed the actors and ma- 
 nagers, and Sheridan had the story conveyed to 
 friendly newspapers. 
 
 Isabella, the play chosen, is a fine though pon- 
 derous drama, full of gusts of passion, and the very 
 deepest tragedy ; and certainly, for any one gifted 
 with the tragic powers of tenderness, grief, rage, 
 nothing better could have been chosen. For our day 
 it would be considered almost too lugubrious : yet in 
 pieces of the kind, however disagreeable, there is a 
 terrible reality and interest which fascinates. Every- 
 thing was favourable. There was a vast house, 
 crammed to the roof : an extraordinary excitement 
 and curiosity. The best actors remaining of the best
 
 106 The Kembles, 
 
 school were to play with her — Smith, Palmer, 
 Parren, and Packer. She had even the consoling 
 support of old Roger Kemble, the old manager of 
 strollers, who was utterly unnerved by the trial that 
 was before his daughter. Though she had been 
 acting now for years, her nervousness was only 
 natural : it was a very different thing from the small 
 Bath Theatre and its friendly audience. As she found 
 herself on the stage she felt, she said, " the awful 
 consciousness that one is the sole object of attention 
 to that immense space, lined as it were with human 
 intellect from top to bottom, and all around, — it may 
 be imagined, but can never be described, and by me 
 can never be forgotten ! ' : 
 
 She had no need to be apprehensive. It was one 
 continued triumph. As the pathetic piece moved on 
 there was that one centre figure taking enthralling 
 possession of the audience. The tenderness and ex- 
 quisite sweetness of her tones went to every heart, 
 the agony of suffering and grief thrilled all present. 
 At times she had all men's eyes suffused with tears, 
 and many women in actual hysterics. Towards the 
 last act there was scarcely a speech of hers but what 
 was interrupted by tumultuous and passionate bursts 
 of applause, until the whole house seemed swept
 
 A Night of Triumph. 107 
 
 away in transport. From that moment her success 
 was assured in the most triumphant way. 
 
 Her own quiet and grateful description of the scene 
 that followed is characteristic, and shows that she 
 deserved such a triumph. 
 
 " I reached my own quiet fireside, on retiring from 
 the scene of reiterated shouts and plaudits. I was 
 half dead; and my joy and thankfulness were of too 
 solemn and overpowering a nature to admit of words, 
 or even tears. My father, my husband, and myself, 
 sat down to a frugal neat supper, in a silence unin- 
 terrupted, except by exclamations of gladness from 
 Mr. Siddons. My father enjoyed his refreshments; 
 but occasionally stopped short, and, laying down his 
 knife and fork, lifting up his venerable face, and 
 throwing back his silver hair, gave way to tears of 
 happiness. We soon parted for the night; and I, 
 worn out with continually broken rest and laborious 
 exertion, after an hour's retrospection (who can con- 
 ceive the intenseness of that reverie?) fell into a 
 sweet and profound sleep, which lasted to the middle 
 of the next day. I arose alert in mind and body." 
 
 And yet this was the incompetent, uncertain, 
 shrinking postulant who had all but failed in that 
 very spot ! But she had had seven years' hard train-
 
 108 The Kembles. 
 
 ing since : the fatality of a mistaken choice of 
 characters was absent ; so also was absent the restraint 
 from the good-natnred but patronizing instruction of 
 Grarrick ; and the worse restraint of a band of fine 
 actresses, justly proud of their own gifts, and intoler- 
 ably jealous of interference. All these fatal con- 
 ditions were now away; she stood alone, and, almost 
 before appearing, had been admitted to a commanding 
 position.
 
 London Homage. 109 
 
 CHAPTEK IX. 
 
 LONDON HOMAGE. 
 
 f\N the next day the journals overflowed with her 
 praises. They could hardly find words rap- 
 turous enough to do her justice. The clubs were in 
 a commotion, as though some exciting event had 
 taken place on the night before. All critics now 
 bore testimony to the unspeakable tenderness of the 
 performance. " She wore her sorrows and agonies 
 with such a natural simplicity," said the Morning 
 Chronicle, " that she arrested all attention." From the 
 first moment she had this hold on her audience. 
 Every one too was struck by her noble appearance, 
 her graceful form, and fine eyes, the profile so classi- 
 cal, ■ so grand, elegant, and striking.' " We join in 
 the general joy," were the curious words, but which 
 were no more than the truth, and only expressed the 
 public feeling. The Post was curt and blunt, and 
 while alluding to the unseemly purring that heralded 
 her coming, admitted that she had triumphed over
 
 110 The Kembles. 
 
 even this disadvantage, and was a great actress 
 indeed. She had besides shown a thorough acquain- 
 tance with the stage. Some little blemishes, however, 
 were pointed out — a sudden and inharmonious 
 raising of the voice at emotional passages. The ex- 
 hibition of grief was found a little monotonous, and 
 showed itself in the same modes and shapes, whereas 
 it should develope gradually, intermit, and be marked 
 by breaks of joy and surprise, or a faltering gloom. 
 Then again her passionate struggles were too " brisk 
 and fluttering ;" in tragic sorrows like hers, they 
 should be slow and deliberate. There were not 
 enough " pauses." The critic who objected to that 
 harsh raising of her voice, owned fairly enough that 
 this came of the advice of her friends, who had 
 warned her against the cause of her former failure, 
 namely, speaking too low. But these were mere 
 specks ; it had been a magnificent, tender, heart- 
 rending performance. We can count perhaps but three 
 of these dazzling first nights upon the English stage, 
 and all were at Drury Lane ; the first being Garrick's, 
 in 1741 ; the second Mrs. Siddons', in 1782 ; and the 
 third Edmund Kean's, in 1814. All these were of 
 the same brilliant and tumultuous character. 
 
 But it may be fairly asked, is this the picture our
 
 London Homage. Ill 
 
 generation looks back to, that of a tender melting 
 grief, exciting the most heartfelt pity and sympathy ? 
 Is not the popnlar image more that of a majestic 
 and solemn grief, an awe-inspiring misery, which 
 affects and harrows up? We might fancy that we 
 were here reading an account of Mrs. Cibber's tender 
 playing. The truth is, her brother's example, and 
 almost proverbial solemnity, with her own softness in 
 the same direction, began to assert their influence as 
 she grew older; in fact, a long course of acting has 
 always the effect of producing mannerism and stagi- 
 ness. She also, as she grew "full" and matronly, 
 began to abandon these simply tender characters, and 
 found more effect in Roman ones. So that the tradi- 
 tions of those who have seen her would reach chiefly 
 to this later division of her life, when they would 
 recal only her characters of dignity and majestic 
 grief. 
 
 She did not forget her dear friends at Bath ; an 
 eager and excited letter was despatched to tell them 
 the great news. " My dear, dear friend," she wrote to 
 Dr. Whalley, " the trying moment is passed, and I am 
 crowned with a success which far exceeds even my 
 hopes. God be praised ! I am extremely hurried, being 
 obliged to dine at Linley's ; have been at the rehearsal
 
 112 The KembJes. 
 
 of a new tragedy in prose, a most affecting play, in 
 which I have a part I like very much. I believe my 
 next character will be Zara in the Mourning Bride. 
 My friend Pratt was, I believe in my soul, as much 
 agitated, and is as much rejoiced as myself. As I 
 know it will give you pleasure, I venture to assure 
 you I never in my life heard such peals of applause. 
 I thought they would not have suffered Mr. Packer 
 to end the play. Oh, how I wished for you last 
 night, to share a joy which was too much for me to 
 bear alone ! My poor husband was so agitated that 
 he durst not venture near the house. I enclose an 
 epilogue which my good friend wrote for me, but 
 which I could not, from excessive fatigue of mind and 
 body, speak. Never, never let me forget his good- 
 ness to me. I have suffered tortures for the unblest 
 these three days and nights past, and believe I am 
 not in perfect possession of myself at present ; there- 
 fore excuse, my dear Mr. Whalley,'the incorrectness of 
 this scrawl, and accept it as the first tribute of love 
 (after the decisive moment) from your ever grateful 
 and truly affectionate, S. Sidoons." It would be 
 curious to put this letter beside the first one which 
 described Garrick's success, and was sent down to 
 Lichfield. The strain of delight is exactly similar.
 
 London Homage. 113 
 
 She had now hardly a moment to spare from re- 
 hearsals and study. 
 
 On the next night of performance the effect was 
 still more perfect. The very lobbies were lined with 
 ladies and noblemen of the highest fashion : with Lady 
 Shelburne, Lord North the politician, Lady Essex, 
 and many more. Mr. Sheridan was to be seen with 
 the Linley family, weeping in his box. Palmer, who 
 acted Biron, did respectably : but his dress was in- 
 effective — his coat and breeches, it was said, look- 
 ing as if made out of an old blue window-curtain. 
 Already she was meeting the obsequiousness that greets 
 success ; and instead of being led up a steep flight 
 of stairs to a poor dressing-room, she was brought 
 into a large one on the stage floor, which she found 
 had been Garrick's. This discovery seemed a good 
 omen ; it gave her a new exultation. She looked in 
 the very glass which " had so often reflected the face 
 and form of that unequalled genius." But she had 
 no need of such inspiration. The nervousness and 
 excitement of the first night had passed away. A 
 steady improvement was noticed in every successive 
 performance. Even the critics remarked complacently 
 that she had adopted all their hints. Night after 
 nio-ht " ran " the play ; night after night the house 
 
 vol. i. 8
 
 114 The Kembles. 
 
 was crammed. The papers were filled with para- 
 graphs about Mrs. Siddons, her dress, and her move- 
 ments, and with rumours that her salary was to be 
 raised from 10/. to something more worthy of such 
 attractions. Dressmakers thought it important to 
 establish a claim in the papers of having made her 
 dress. In this tide of delightful homage one voice ot 
 importance, the peculiar " yelp " as it were of Horace 
 Walpole — it was scarcely a snarl — was raised in pro- 
 test. She was all the mode, he said. He was ques- 
 tioned, of course — did he not think her the finest 
 actress he had ever seen ? He answered, " By no 
 means." She had indeed a good figure and face, 
 though her nose and chin were scarcely modelled 
 after the true classic standard. He noted too that 
 her hair was red, or at least had the look of redness, 
 through the use of powder of that colour. She had a 
 clear good voice ; but still it wanted modulation and 
 variety, and a natural familiarity. He remarked also, 
 what some of the critics had found fault with, that the 
 motion of her arms was " not genteel " — no doubt 
 alluding to a fashion she had of throwing them behind 
 her back suddenly, which seemed awkward to some, 
 and original to others. Finally, he dismissed her 
 with the faint praise that she did no more than
 
 London Homage. 115 
 
 instruction or good sense might do. A great deal of 
 this depreciation came of course from his practice of 
 dissenting from the public fashion of furores, and pre- 
 cisely after the same principle, " he could see nothing" 
 in Garrick's playing. It was enough that the town 
 was " horn mad " after any one or anything to insure 
 his protest. 
 
 The Bath dilettanti were at this time much con- 
 cerned for their dramatist, Pratt ; later indeed they 
 were to have a dramatic milkworaan, whose play they 
 forced on the local stage. Miss Weston, of that town, 
 rejoiced in " the divine Melpomene's popularity, but 
 poor Benignus, what a hard fate ! ' : His piece had got 
 as far as the door of Drury Lane ; but they would 
 not allow the actress to take part in it. " I 
 cannot help thinking she might and ought to do him 
 this service." She had already sacrificed herself to a 
 dull piece, called The Fatal Interview, which had 
 really done her reputation injury. She herself was 
 writing to her dear friends at Bath, telling them all 
 her plans and prospects, in the same frank fashion. 
 
 "Just at this moment are you, my dear sir," she wrote 
 from No. 149, Strand, on November 20," sitting down to 
 supper, and ' every guest's a friend.' Oh ! that I were 
 with you but for one half hour. ' Oh ! God forbid ! ' 
 
 8-2
 
 116 The Kembles. 
 
 says my dear Mrs. Wkalley; 'for lie would talk so 
 loud and so fast, that he would throw himself into a 
 fever, and die of unsatisfied curiosity into the "bargain.' 
 Do I flatter myself, my dear sir ? Oh no ! you have 
 both done me the honour to assure me that you love 
 me, and I would not forego the blessed idea for the 
 world. Your letter to poor Pratty is lying on the 
 table by me, and I am selfish enough to grudge it him 
 from the bottom of my heart, and yet I will not ; for 
 just now, poor soul, he wants much comfort, therefore 
 let him take it, and God bless him with it ! You have 
 heard of the laurel which the gentlemen of the bar 
 have adorned my brows with, no doubt. It is indeed 
 an honour I could not have hoped to arrive at ; but (in 
 the sincerity of truth I speak it) not half so grateful 
 to my soul as that sweet wreath with which your 
 friendly hand encircled my humble head. I wish, for 
 your honour more than my own, the subject was more 
 worthy of your commendations ; but indeed your 
 esteem confers a value wherever it is placed. I hope 
 you don't forget, my dear sir, that you are to give me 
 your picture. 
 
 " I did receive all your letters, and thank you for 
 them a thousand times : one line of them is worth all 
 the acclamations of ten thousand shouting theatres.
 
 London Homage. 117 
 
 The Fatal Interview lias been played three times, 
 and is quite done with : it was the dullest of all re- 
 presentations. Pratty's Epilogue was vastly applauded 
 indeed. I shall take care how I get into such another 
 play ; but I fancy the managers will take care of that 
 too. They wont let me play in Pratty's comedy." 
 This was a happy deliverance. No one was ever so 
 pestered by taxes in this shape. 
 
 One of the most characteristic tributes to her excel- 
 lence is to find the fade refinements of a romantic "blue" 
 like Miss Seward, swept away like so many cobwebs by 
 the tremendous powers of the actress. On her road to 
 town the poetess was writing, " Oh, pardon this dis- 
 obedience to the kind solicitude that charms me. . . . 
 the congeniality of our sentiments assures me you have 
 discovered that souls are created in classes," 8fc. " It 
 was impossible then that the wreath of amity should 
 not fade," &c, with more in the same strain. But 
 when she got to town the spell of an honest enthusiasm 
 and delight began to work. 
 
 " My dear friends," she wrote, " I arrived here at 
 five. Think of my mortification ! Mrs. Siddons in 
 Belvidera to-night, as is supposed for the last time 
 before she lies in. I asked Mrs. Barrow if it would 
 be impossible to get into the pit. * heaven ! ' said
 
 118 The Kembles. 
 
 she, f impossible in any part of the house ! ' Mrs. B. 
 is, I find, in the petit-souper circle ; so the dear plays, 
 oratorios, &c, will be a little too much for my wishes, 
 out of question. Adieu ! adieu ! that Sophia were 
 to be of our party in the pleasant week to which I 
 look forward ! " 
 
 And again, in genuine excitement she wrote : 
 " From the -midst of hurries, which even surpass my 
 formidable dread of their excess, let me snatch a few 
 minutes to send my beloved and excelling friend a few 
 hasty and grateful lines by the most glorious of her 
 sex. Powers which surpass every idea I had formed 
 of their possibility, press so forcibly upon my recollec- 
 tion, that my pen has more than once stood still upon 
 my paper, transfixed by the consciousness how poor 
 and inadequate are all words to paint my Siddonian 
 idolatry. Every attempt fruitless to procure boxes, I 
 saw her for the first time, at the hazard of my life, by 
 struggling through the terrible, fierce, maddening 
 crowd into the pit. She only could have recompensed 
 the terrors and dangers of the attempt ; and the re- 
 compense was full ! She far outstrips that ideal per- 
 fection which, through life, I have vainly searched for 
 in the theatre. Her energy, her pathos, her majestic 
 scorn, is inspired by the same sensibility and nobleness
 
 London Homage. 119 
 
 of soul which produces all the varied expressions of 
 these passions in Giovanni's singing, and casts the 
 Yates, the Crawfords, and the Youngs to the same 
 immeasurable distance, at which he throws every other 
 singer in the world. I have seen her in Jane Shore 
 and in Calista — conceive with what rapture, for it 
 is impossible to describe it. I am as devoted to her as 
 yourself, and my affection keeps pace with my astonish- 
 ment and delight ; for I have conversed with her, hung 
 upon every word which fell from that charming lip ; 
 but I never felt myself so awed in my life. The most 
 awkward embarrassment was the consequence." 
 
 The "laurel' 1 with which the barristers adorned 
 her " brows " was a most substantial, and at the 
 same time graceful, compliment. One hundred barris- 
 ters subscribed a guinea each for her benefit, and sent 
 it to her by Mr. Fielding and Mr. Pigott. She ac- 
 knowledged it modestly and gratefully, speaking of her 
 " poor abilities," and calling it the " most shining cir- 
 cumstance of her life." Actors of the present time may 
 look back wistfully to this gratifying shape of compli- 
 ment ; to the " gold tickets " on benefit nights. Miss 
 Seward describes her battle for places with humour. 
 
 " Fortune favours the spirited. No box to be pro- 
 cured for Venice Preserved. I prevailed with my
 
 120 The Kembles. 
 
 little Jessica to wliirl down to the playhouse, and, 
 under the protection of her brother, to wait in the 
 lobby for the chance of giving-up places. The 
 romance of the hope was finely scouted by Mr. Barugh 
 and others; but I persisted, and we ventured. A 
 gentleman of Mrs. B.'s train accidentally popped us, 
 before the play began, into places a man was keeping 
 in the fifth row of the front boxes, on our promise of 
 retiring if they were claimed before the first act was 
 over, after which we should, by the rule of the house, 
 have a right to keep them. Oh ! even when the 
 siren spoke, with all her graces and melting tones, I 
 wished to have the speech over, so ardently did I long 
 for the moment when possession for the night might 
 become secure. Our stars fought for us, the act was 
 over, the box-keeper retired with a shilling reward for 
 not bustling us, and in a second the people who had 
 taken the places claimed them ! Vain was their claim; 
 our beaux asserted our right to keep them, and keep 
 them we did. But time flies, and words could but 
 feebly shadow forth the yearnings of my soul that 
 night ; my tears flowed in full and ceaseless streams. 
 Her superhuman powers have been so strictly just to 
 every character she has represented, that I find it 
 impossible to pronounce in which she is greatest ; yet
 
 London Homage. 121 
 
 if some friend was to say to me, I am only to see Mrs. 
 Siddons in one character, and if tins friend was a being 
 capable of discerning and strongly feeling all her 
 excellences, and was to leave to me the choice of the 
 character, I should say Calista, because, though less 
 soul-harrowing than Belvidera, it exhibits such a 
 conflicting and sublime variety of passions." 
 
 After eight nights of Isabella it was time that a 
 change should be made, and the new actress appeared 
 in Murphy's Grecian Daughter, a stilted ponderous 
 play, but with a good substantial basis for tragic 
 powers to work on. Here again was a fresh success. 
 The character was seen to be different, and though 
 oppressed with gloom, was marked by a certain heroic 
 exultation which made it distinct. Not long before 
 Barry had touched all hearts with his Evander, and 
 with all its blemishes, it was a touching and pathetic 
 piece, and did not deserve the strange description 
 applied to it by one of the papers, an "abortion of 
 Melpomene." 
 
 Then followed Jane Shore, which threw some 
 of the audience into hysterics violent as ever 
 Whitefield excited. Calista, Belvidera, and Zara, 
 characters all in the same "line," and therefore 
 likely to produce an impression of monotony, followed.
 
 122 The Kembles. 
 
 And it is a great testimony to her genius, that not 
 so much as a hint of such an effect was ever even 
 whispered. In Euphrasia Mrs. Yates, at the other 
 house, deliberately challenged the town to decide 
 between them ; but even were the older actress's 
 merits greater, it was folly in her to have the matter 
 decided at such a time of enthusiasm. Mrs. Siddons 
 might now indeed smile as she thought of the time 
 when this lady and her companions tried to stand 
 before her in The Jubilee. 
 
 Yet she was not in the least " overset " by all this 
 applause, which would have "turned "many an actress's 
 head. In the flush of these triumphs she might be 
 excused for addressing the public in a letter which 
 showed how elated she was by her success. 
 
 " Mrs. Siddons would not have remained so long 
 without expressing the high sense she had of the 
 great honours done her at her late benefit, but that 
 after repeated trials she could not find words adequate 
 to her feelings, and she must at present be content with 
 the plain language of a grateful mind — that her heart 
 thanks all her benefactors for the distinguished, and 
 she fears, too partial encouragement which they 
 bestowed on this occasion. She is told that the 
 splendid appearance on that night, and the emolu-
 
 London Homage. 123 
 
 ments arising from it, exceed anything ever recorded 
 on a similar account in the annals of the English 
 stage ; but she has not the vanity to imagine that 
 this arose from any superiority over many of her 
 predecessors, or some of her contemporaries. She 
 attributes it wholly to that liberality of sentiment 
 which distinguishes the inhabitants of this great 
 metropolis from those of any other in the world. 
 They know her story — they know that for many 
 years, by a strange fatality, she was confined to move 
 in a narrow sphere, in which the rewards attendant 
 on her labours were proportionally small. With a 
 generosity unexampled, they proposed at once to 
 balance the account, and pay off the arrears due, 
 according to the rate, the too partial rate, at which 
 they valued her talents. She knows the danger 
 arising from extraordinary and unmerited favours, 
 and will carefully guard against any approach of 
 pride, too often their attendant. Happy shall she 
 esteem herself, if by the utmost assiduity, and con- 
 stant exertion of her poor abilities, she shall be able 
 to lessen, though hopeless ever to discharge, the vast 
 debt she owes the public." 
 
 The managers were eager to favour one who was 
 restoring the fortunes of their house so marvellously,
 
 124 The Kembles. 
 
 and allowed her two benefits during her first season, 
 giving her up besides their own six reserved boxes, 
 and not charging the expenses of the house. This 
 was really equivalent to a present in money of about 
 250/. But they might well afford to be generous. 
 The second benefit brought her 650/. So that, 
 calculating roughly, her profits during that first 
 season must have brought her about 1500/. This 
 was a change from the slender pittance earned at Bath 
 and Bristol, and earned in so toilsome a fashion. 
 
 Honours too and "patronage' 3 came to her 
 abundantly. The street before her lodgings in the 
 Strand was crowded with the coaches of the nobility 
 coming to call upon her. And from that time, 
 during the course of a long life, the friendship ot 
 titled people was always hers to an extraordinary 
 degree. The King and the Eoyal Family took the 
 deepest interest in her. She had hardly a moment 
 that she could call her own. 
 
 " Believe me, my dear sir," she wrote to Dr. 
 Whalley, "it is not want of inclination, but oppor- 
 tunity, that prevents my more frequent acknow- 
 ledgments ; but need I tell you this ? No ; you 
 generously judge of my heart by your own. I fear 
 I must have appeared very insensible, and therefore
 
 London Homage. 125 
 
 unworthy the honour Miss Seward has done me ; but 
 the perpetual round of business in which I am 
 engaged is incredible. Shall I trespass on your 
 goodness to say that I feel as I ought on that 
 occasion ? I believe I told you that the Queen had 
 graciously put my son down on her list for the 
 Charterhouse; and she has done me the honour to 
 stamp my reputation by her honoured approbation. 
 They have seen me in all my characters but Isabella, 
 which they have commanded for Monday next ; but 
 having seen me in Jane Shore last night, and judging 
 very humanely that too quick repetitions of such 
 exertions may injure my health, the King himself 
 most graciously sent to the managers, and said he 
 must deny himself the pleasure of seeing Isabella till 
 Tuesday. This is the second time he has distin- 
 guished me in this manner. You see a vast deal of 
 me in the papers, of my appointment at court, and 
 the like. All groundless : but I have the pleasure to 
 inform you that my success has exceeded even my 
 hopes. My sister is engaged, and is successful ; God 
 be praised for all his mercies ! You will think me an 
 egotist, I fear. I shall certainly be at Bath in the 
 Passion Week, if I am alive ; I count the hours till 
 then. I pray most fervently for the success of our
 
 126 Tlie Kembles. 
 
 friend's comedy ; it does not come out till Wednesday. 
 I never wished more for a splendid fortune than I do 
 on his account. Kemember me very kindly to all 
 my friends, and tell my dear Mrs. Whalley she is 
 in ' my heart's core, yea, in my heart of hearts.' I 
 am ever your grateful and affectionate S. Siddons." 
 
 She was sitting for her picture to Hamilton, and the 
 eagerness to see this dramatic though mournful 
 picture was incredible. The carriages blocked up 
 the street before the artist's house, and the fine ladies 
 found themselves melting into tears as they stood 
 before it. It is undoubtedly a touching and graceful 
 picture, and it is worth while contrasting it with 
 those more intellectual portraits of her by Reynolds 
 and Lawrence. Sadness and feeling are in every line 
 of this touching face. 
 
 In June this arduous first season had closed; 
 when for about eighty nights she had been wailing 
 and mourning and raging through all the gamut 
 of histrionic affliction. The wear and tear of such 
 exertion must be prodigious, and an actress may well 
 wish that her nerves were " made of cartropes." 
 But she was not going to rest, as would have been 
 judicious, but was starting on a laborious country 
 tour, after which she was to visit Dublin.
 
 Success at Dublin. 127 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 SUCCESS AT DUBLIN. 
 
 A T Dublin not yet had been forgotten the triumphs 
 of Garrick, now little more than five and thirty 
 years before, when his splendid playing with Woffing- 
 ton made a sort of fete or gala for the whole city. 
 But there was a brilliancy and vivacity about him, an 
 animation and versatility, which drew hearts as well 
 as intellects, and specially suited the Irish humour. 
 Even now it is impossible to pass by the alleys and 
 lanes which skirt the small fragment that remains of 
 Smock Alley Theatre without thinking of those 
 triumphant and glittering nights. 
 
 Kemble had now appeared, and the new actor's 
 success was not extraordinary. He was later admired, 
 and followed, and his lofty declamation brought 
 tragedies once more into fashion. It was pronounced 
 that he was a natural and original actor, which shows 
 that he had not settled into that deliberate solemnity 
 which was to be so characteristic of him. His
 
 128 The Kembles. 
 
 voice too was weak and thick, yet he was given full 
 credit for his skilful management, through which he 
 gave to it all the necessary variety. But an admirable 
 and intelligent criticism, which was sent over in a 
 letter from Dublin, seems to give a truthful picture of 
 all his excellences and blemishes.* " His tones," it 
 says, " are least of all adapted to the expression of 
 extreme tenderness or violent grief, though sometimes 
 they have reached both successfully ; but oftener the 
 former passion raises them into a sort of whine and 
 the latter sinks them into a smothered and inaudible 
 murmur. There is hardly any such thing as speaking 
 accurately of his deportment. In the same character 
 it shall be free and graceful one night, and the next 
 constrained and distorted. I cannot imagine the 
 cause of this disparity, but truth is truth ; and I 
 say of Mr. Kemble's action that it is as graceful and 
 ungraceful as any man's I ever saw in my life. His 
 countenance is most powerful ; the passions live in 
 his features. His under standing puts him in fidl 
 possession of his author s spirit, and often enables him 
 to give to scenes, especially ShaJcspeare's, a neio and 
 emphatical grace." 
 
 * See " Gentleman's Magazine," 1783.
 
 Success at Dublin. 129 
 
 His characters in comedy were put aside as of 
 very little moment. His best tragic characters were 
 considered to be Hamlet, and the Count of Narbonne ; 
 there he quite rose above himself. Specially excellent 
 were his Sir Giles, Demetrius, Beverley, Orestes, 
 Richard, Macbeth, and the Earl of Warwick. But in 
 truth he committed the error of being too promiscuous 
 in his choice, and diffused his talents over too vast a 
 range of parts.* Grarrick was far wiser. But Captain 
 Jephson's new and romantic play, TJie Count of 
 Narbonne, was in great favour with his countrymen, 
 and Kemble had to play it no less than thirty times 
 to his Dublin audience. 
 
 The, theatre at Smock Alley was one of the hand- 
 somest in the empire, and remarkable for what was 
 then a novelty, a drop scene, with a view of the 
 Houses of Parliament, instead of the conventional 
 green curtain. The manager, Daly, belonged to the 
 
 * What man could do justice to such a prodigious variety of 
 characters ? He played Hamlet, Earl of Essex, Earl of Warwick, 
 Iago, King Charles, Osman, Richard III., Leon, Alexander, Shylock, 
 Orestes, the Black Prince, Bajazet, Glenalvon, Philaster, Beverley, 
 Biron, Edgar, Juba, Philotas, Roman Actor, Othello, Mark Antony, 
 Horatio, Romeo, Osmyn, Jaffier, Macbeth, Sir Giles Overreach, 
 King John, Demetrius, Morcar, Oroonoko, Achmet, Henry V., 
 Sir G. Touchwood, Hastings, and the Count of Narbonne : no less 
 than thirty-eight characters ! 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 TJie Kembles. 
 
 race of Dublin managers, who were usually gentlemen 
 by birth, had lived adventurous lives, and had 
 had a liberal education. Such were always received 
 at Dublin Castle in virtue of their office ; while this 
 patronage elevated the stage, and gave it a prestige. 
 Mr. Daly had been a fellow commoner in Trinity 
 College ; and had effected a violent introduction 
 behind the scenes, bursting into Miss Pope's dressing- 
 room, at the head of a party of collegians. He was a 
 very handsome man, but was excitable and quarrel- 
 some, and was considered too eager to thrust his own 
 merits on the public* A local satirist thus described 
 
 him : — 
 
 " A Ranger tortured to a thousand shapes, 
 A Doricourt made up of bows and scrapes, 
 A Zaphna plundered of his native mien, 
 To shake incessant like a mandarin. 
 'Tis oft with indignation I behold 
 Thee, Daly, in thy great success grown bold : 
 In every play the foremost parts retain, 
 To please thyself, while others feel the pain." 
 
 He was married to a good actress, Miss Barsanti, 
 
 * His friend O'Keefe gives a good sketch of him at The Castle 
 of Andalusia in London, which the manager had just produced 
 at Dublin. He could hardly restrain himself, and was every 
 moment starting up with the interruption, " That's not the way 
 ray fellow did that :" "I made my fellow do it in quite a different 
 fashion."
 
 Success at Dublin. 131 
 
 whose name is familiar to readers of theatrical 
 memoirs. 
 
 .By this gentleman Kemble was treated liberally, 
 and received the highest salary of the house — viz., 
 five pounds a week, which was the same Mrs. 
 Siddons had received at Drury Lane. The new actor 
 made his debut on November 2, 1781, a short time 
 after the theatre opened. His playing was greatly 
 admired, and he produced a still greater effect on the 
 second night. But the perverse choice of the 
 manager had nearly shipwrecked all his prospects j 
 for he was put into a genteel comedy part, in the 
 Belle s Stratagem. The audience, who came full of an 
 eager curiosity, went away disappointed, and perhaps 
 disgusted. Alexander the Great, however, helped to 
 restore his prestige, and the new play of The Count 
 of Narbonne, by Captain Jephson, as we have seen, 
 caused a perfect furore. That clever and agreeable 
 Castle equerry, whose company was much sought, and 
 whose plays had been patronized by Mr. Grarrick, was 
 delighted with this interpretation, and attended all 
 the rehearsals. He introduced Kemble to his own 
 intimate " set," to Mr. Tighe, Courtenay, and others. 
 In that jovial Irish society Kemble was least likely of 
 all men to lose his composure, though he could be 
 
 9—2
 
 132 The Kembles. 
 
 convivial enough. In the cast of the characters was 
 a Miss Francis, who then attracted little notice, but 
 who was later to be celebrated as the vivacious Mrs. 
 Jordan. Early in the following year arrived Miss 
 Younge, who had " created the part " in Jephson's 
 play, as the phrase runs, at London ; and with such 
 assistance the acting at Smock Alley became doubly 
 attractive. The two artists played a round of 
 tragedies together, and at the close of the season 
 started for Cork. But the recollection of Barry and 
 Mossop was still fresh, and the new player was 
 received but coldly. 
 
 Now appeared the veteran Mrs. Crawford, who 
 confused her admirers by her frequent changes of 
 name, once being Mrs. Dancer, then Mrs. Barry, and 
 finally Mrs. Crawford. The old magical days had 
 long since passed away, when with her " silver- 
 tongued" husband she enchanted all the town. She 
 was decayed, even ridiculous from this third marriage 
 with a young man, and was actually preparing herself 
 for a contest with the great new actress who had 
 dethroned her and so many others. Her failing 
 powers could do little to keep up the attraction of 
 the rival Dublin house, and joining Kemble they both 
 played in some of the old and stilted pieces. He had
 
 Success at Dublin. 133 
 
 thus every advantage, and it was no wonder tliat he 
 made a deep impression. He appeared in Limerick, then 
 returned to Dublin to open the new season of 1783. 
 Digges, another veteran, with Mrs. Inchbald, were 
 now of the company. Again a fresh incident was to 
 favour him, and the news of the extraordinary success 
 of his sister in London naturally added to his 
 prestige.* 
 
 Daly, the manager, seems to have disliked both 
 brother and sister. We can quite conceive how little 
 their characters would have suited. Very soon it was 
 known that Kemble had passed through the ordeal 
 which was de rigueur in a country where an affirma- 
 tive answer was expected from every " man of ho- 
 nour" to the question, "Had he ever blazed?" A 
 quarrel took place between the manager and 
 the actor: the former, who was playing Doricourt, 
 finding fault with Kemble's want of spirit in Sir 
 George Touchwood, and which interfered with the 
 effect of his character. From what we know of 
 Kemble's style of comedy, it may be imagined that 
 there were reasonable grounds for the expostulation. 
 
 * Mr. Boaden was told that at a dinner in the Castle, Lord 
 Inchiquin gave as a toast " the matchless Mrs. Siddons," and sent 
 her brother a ring containing her miniature, set in diamonds.
 
 134 The Kembles. 
 
 Kemble resented this characteristically. He went 
 away, changed his dress, and refused to appear until 
 the manager had asked his pardon for the affront. Such 
 a demand to an Irish gentleman could meet with 
 but one reply, and a duel took place, but with no 
 fatal result. There was a cold air of superiority in 
 both the great Kembles — a calm, resolute adherence to 
 their own interests, which was distasteful to the free, 
 careless, open-hearted company he was now among. 
 We may be sure too there was no possibility of 
 " gaining a point" with either. It is certainly not a 
 little remarkable that a woman of such powers should 
 have invariably failed to impress favourably her 
 various managers. Garrick had been lukewarm, 
 though just, in his dealings towards her ; Palmer 
 did not care to retain her ; Sheridan, as will be seen, 
 after his first raptures, was not cordial ; and the two 
 Irish managers exhibited a marked dislike towards 
 her that could scarcely be kept from an open quarrel. 
 There must have been here a want of tact, a coldness 
 *" or haughtiness in her nature, that repelled. 
 
 Daly had gone over specially to engage her at the 
 close of her first brilliant season, and though she was 
 pressed with many provincial offers she determined 
 to postpone all to the importance of an appearance
 
 Success at Dublin. 135 
 
 in the Irish capital. She started in July with a small 
 party, consisting of Brereton. her husband, and 
 her sister. She herself tells the story of their adven- 
 tures in a letter to her friend Whalley with much 
 animation. 
 
 ' I thank you a thousand and a thousand times," 
 she wrote from Dublin on July 14th, "for your 
 dear letter ; but you don't mention having heard 
 from me since you left England. We rejoice most 
 sincerely that you are arrived without any material 
 accident, without any dangerous ones I mean, for to 
 be sure some of them were very materially entertain- 
 ing. Oh, how I laugh whenever the drowsy adven- 
 ture comes across my imagination, for ' more was 
 meant than met the ear.' I am sure I would have 
 given the world to have seen my dear Mrs. Whalley 
 upon the little old tub. How happy you are in your 
 descriptions ! So she was very well ; then very 
 jocular she must be. I think her conversation, 
 thus enthroned and thus surrounded, must have been 
 the highest treat in all the world. Some parts of 
 your tour must have been enchanting. How good it 
 was of you to wish me a partaker of your pastoral 
 dinner ! Be assured, my dear, dear friends, no one 
 can thank you more sincerely, or be more sensible of
 
 136 The Kembles. 
 
 the honour of your regard, though many may deserve 
 it better. What a comfortable thing to meet with 
 such agreeable people ! But society and converse 
 like yours and my dear Mrs. Whalley's must very 
 soon make savages agreeable. How did poor little 
 Paphy bear it ? Did she remonstrate in her usual 
 melting tones ? I am sure she was very glad to be 
 at rest, which does not happen in a carriage, I re- 
 member, for any length of time. I can conceive 
 nothing so provoking or ridiculous as the Frenchman's 
 politeness, and poor Vincent's perplexity. You will 
 have heard, long ere this reaches you, that our sweet 
 D. is safely delivered of a very fine girl, which I 
 know will give you no small pleasure. Now for 
 myself. Our journey was delightful ; the roads 
 through Wales present you with mountains unsur- 
 mountable, the grandest and the most beautiful 
 prospects to be conceived; but I want your pen to 
 describe them. 
 
 " We got very safe to Holyhead, and then I felt as 
 if some great event was going to take place, having 
 never been on sea. I was awed, but not terrified; 
 feeling myself in the hands of a great and powerful 
 God, ' whose mercy is over all His works.' The sea 
 was particularly rough ; we were lifted mountains
 
 Success at Dublin. 137 
 
 high, and sank again as low in an instant. Good 
 God ! how tremendous, how wonderful ! A pleasing 
 terror took hold on me, which it is impossible to 
 describe, and I never felt the majesty of the Divine 
 Creator so fully before. I was dreadfully sick, and 
 so were my poor sister and Mr. Brereton. Mr. 
 Siddons was pretty well ; and here, my dear friend, 
 let me give you a little wholesome advice; allways 
 (you see I have forgot to spell) go to bed the instant 
 you go on board, for by lying horizontally, and 
 keeping very quiet, you cheat the sea of half its in- 
 fluence. "We arrived in Dublin the lGth of June, 
 half-past twelve at night. There is not a tavern or 
 a house of any kind in this capital city of a rising 
 kingdom, as they call themselves, that will take a 
 woman in ; and do you know I was obliged, after 
 being shut up in the Custom-house officer's room, 
 to have the things examined, which room was more 
 like a dungeon than anything else — after staying 
 here above an hour and a half, I tell you I was 
 obliged, sick and weary as I was, to wander about 
 the streets on foot (for the coaches and chairs were 
 all gone off the stands) till almost two o'clock in the 
 morning, raining too as if heaven and earth were 
 coming together. A pretty beginning ! thought I ;
 
 138 TJie Kembles. 
 
 but these people are a thousand years behind us in 
 every respect. At length Mr. Brereton, whose father 
 had provided a bed for him on his arrival, ventured 
 to say he would insist on having a bed for us at the 
 house where he was to sleep. Well, we got to this 
 place, and the lady of the house vouchsafed, after 
 many times telling us that she never took in 
 ladies, to say we should sleep there that night. 
 I never was so weary and so disgusted in my life. 
 
 " The city of Dublin is a sink of filthiness ; the 
 noisome smells, and the multitudes of shocking and 
 most miserable objects, made me resolve never to 
 stir out but to my business. I like not the people 
 either; they are all ostentation and insincerity, and 
 in their ideas of finery very like the French, but not 
 so cleanly ; and they not only speak but think 
 coarsely. This is in confidence ; therefore, your 
 fingers on your lips, I pray. They are tenacious of 
 their country to a degree of folly that is very laughable, 
 and would call me the blackest of ingrates were they 
 to know my sentiments of them. I have got a 
 thousand pounds among them this summer. I 
 alwa} r s acknowledge myself obliged to them, but I 
 cannot love them. I know but one among them 
 that can in any degree atone for the barbarism of the
 
 Success at Dublin. 139 
 
 rest, who thinks there are other means of expressing 
 esteem besides forcing people to eat and to drink, the 
 doing which to a most offensive degree they call Irish 
 hospitality. I long to be at home, sitting quietly 
 in the little snug parlour, where I had last the plea- 
 sure, or rather the pain, of seeing you that night. 
 For the first time in my life I wished not to see you. 
 I dreaded it, and with reason. I knew (which was 
 the case) I should not recover that cruel farewell for 
 several days. Oh ! my dear friend, do the pleasures 
 of life compensate for the pangs ? I think not. 
 Some people place the whole happiness of life in the 
 pleasures of imagination, in building castles ; for my 
 part, I am not one that build very magnificent 
 ones — nay, I don't build any castles, but cottages 
 without end. May the great Disposer of all events 
 but permit me to spend the evening of my toilsome 
 bustling day in a cottage, where I may sometimes 
 have the converse and society, which will make me 
 more worthy those imperishable habitations which 
 are prepared for the spirits of just men made perfect ! 
 Yes, let me take up my rest in this world near my 
 beloved Langford. You know this has been my 
 castle any time these four years, and I am making a 
 little snug party. Mr. Nott and my dear sister I
 
 140 TheKembles. 
 
 have secured, and make no doubt of gaining a few 
 others. Is not this a delightful scheme? 
 
 " I have played for one charity since I have been 
 here (I am now at Cork, I should tell you), and am 
 to play for another to-morrow — your favourite Zara, 
 in the Mourning Bride. I am extremely happy that 
 you like your little companion so well.* I have sat 
 to a young man in this place, who has made a small 
 full-length of me in Isabella, upon the first entrance ot 
 Biron. You will think this an arduous undertaking, 
 but he has succeeded to admiration. I think it more 
 like me than any I have ever yet seen. I am sure 
 you would be delighted with it. I never was so well 
 in my life as I have been in Ireland ; but, God 
 be praised, I shall set out for dear England next 
 Tuesday. 
 
 " This letter has been begun this month, and finished 
 by a line or two at a time, so you'll find it a fine scrawl ; 
 and I am still so mere a matter-of-fact body, as to 
 despair of giving you the least entertainment. I can 
 boast no other claim to the honour and happiness oi 
 your correspondence than a very sincere affection for 
 you both, joined with the most perfect esteem for 
 
 * Mrs. Siddons refers here to the miniature of herself, the 
 engraving of which is given.
 
 Success at Dublin. 141 
 
 your most amiable qualities, and great talent. Say 
 all that's kind for us to my dear Mrs. W., and believe 
 me, ever your most affectionate S. Siddons." 
 
 " Cork, August 29th. 
 " I lioj)e you will give me the pleasure of hearing 
 from you soon." 
 
 " London, October 7th, 1783. 
 
 " For God's sake, my dear friends, pray for my 
 memory. I had forgot to pay the postage, as you 
 kindly desired, and this poor letter has been wander- 
 ing about the world ever since I left Cork. It was 
 opened in Ireland, you see, so I must never show my 
 face there again. The King commands Isabella to- 
 morrow, and I play Jane Shore on Saturday. I have 
 affronted Mrs. Jackson by not being able to procure 
 her places. I am extremely sorry for it, as I had the 
 highest esteem for herself, and her friendship to you 
 had tied her close to my heart. I have done all I 
 could to reinstate myself in her favour, but in vain. 
 Poor Mr. Nott has been in great trouble ; he has lost 
 a brother lately that was more nearly allied than by 
 blood, and for whose loss he is inconsolable. He is 
 not in town, but I hope soon to see him. Adieu!
 
 142 The Kembles. 
 
 Mr. Siddons, &c, desire kindest wishes. The last 
 letter I wrote to you I was very near serving in the 
 same manner. Is it not a little alarming ? I fear I 
 shall he superannuated in a few years." 
 
 In this pleasant narrative it was evident that her 
 impression had heen not a little coloured by the in- 
 conveniences which had attended her first arrival. 
 Her remarks on the character of the people are severe, 
 and a little ungracious ; but whatever was their truth 
 at that time, she could hardly complain if the Irish 
 repaid her want of sympathy with a hostility that 
 reached across the Channel to Drury Lane. The 
 letter indeed reflected dissensions of the Dublin 
 Theatre, and her own quarrels with the manager and 
 the press. 
 
 She made her first appearance on the 21st of 
 June, 1783, in Isabella. The terms were handsome.* 
 The approaches were crowded before three o'clock; 
 and persons of the first condition offered guineas and 
 
 * There is some obscurity as to their exact amount. Mr. 
 Boaden stating she was to receive 600Z. for a limited number of 
 nights ; Lee Lewes affirming that she was to share the house, 
 after deducting sixty pounds expenses.
 
 Success at Dublin. 143 
 
 half-guineas to be admitted to the pit or gallery. The 
 criticisms were in a tone of perfect rapture over her 
 face, figure, and tones. 
 
 But at Crow Street Theatre Mrs. Crawford — in 
 her line an actress of extraordinary merit, whose 
 playing was founded on the finest traditions — soon 
 boldly challenged the rival who had so completely 
 dethroned her. No situation can be imagined 
 more mortifying than the abrupt deposition which 
 seems nearly always to be the fate reserved for 
 an old public favourite. A gradual change might be 
 looked for, and submitted to, as in the order of things ; 
 but the public nature cannot be expected to pay this 
 graceful homage to good feeling and decency. Such 
 sudden desertion is indeed evidence of bad taste ; for 
 even Mrs. Siddons, with all her genius, could not 
 have had the experience or the valuable teachings of 
 Garrick and his school which the older actress enjoyed. 
 It is infinitely to the credit and taste of the Irish that 
 after following the new artist, and doing her every 
 justice, they divided their approbation with their older 
 servant, and Mrs. Crawford, carrying on the contest with 
 wonderful spirit, found herself attended by " houses ' ; 
 that far exceeded her rival's. A writer in that curious 
 miscellany the "European Magazine," indeed states
 
 144 The Kembles. 
 
 that, after the first few nights her attractions began 
 to fail, in spite of the exertions of Mr. Daly, who was 
 deeply skilled in the arts of " puffing " and advertising. 
 It may be suspected that she offended her audience : 
 and a burlesque account of the performance had a pro- 
 digious circulation, was reprinted in England, and 
 heartily enjoyed by the profession. It was attributed 
 to Digges, whom she had offended and made her 
 bitter enemy. 
 
 " On Saturday Mrs. Siddons, about whom all the 
 world has been talking, exposed her beautiful adaman- 
 tine, soft, and comely person, for the first time, in the 
 Theatre Royal, Smock Alley. The house was crowded 
 with hundreds more than it could hold, with thou- 
 sands of admiring spectators that went away with- 
 out a sight. . . . She was nature itself — she was the 
 most exquisite work of art. . . . Several fainted, even 
 before the curtain drew up. . . . The fiddlers in the 
 orchestra blubbered like hungry children crying for 
 their bread and butter ; and when the bell rang for 
 music between the acts, the tears ran from the bassoon 
 player's eyes in such showers that they choked the 
 finger stops, and, making a spout of the instrument, 
 poured in such a torrent upon the first fiddler's book ; 
 but not seeing the overture was in two sharps, the
 
 Success at Dublin. 145 
 
 leader of the band actually played in two flats ; but 
 the sobs and sighs of the groaning audience, and the 
 noise of the corks drawn from the smelling-bottles, 
 prevented the mistake being discovered. . . . The 
 briny pond in the pit was three feet deep, and the 
 people that were obliged to stand upon the benches, 
 were in that position up to their ankles in tears. An 
 Act of Parliament against her playing will certainly 
 pass, for she has infected the volunteers, and they sit 
 reading The Fatal Marriage, crying and roaring all 
 the time. May the curses of an insulted nation 
 pursue the gentlemen of the College, the gentlemen of 
 the Bar, and the Peers and Peeresses that hissed her 
 on the second night. True it is that Mr. Garrick 
 never could make anything of her, and pronounced 
 her below mediocrity ; true it is the London audience 
 did not like her. But what of that ?" 
 
 This sort of ridicule would have been specially 
 offensive to one of her nature, and it helps to explain 
 her disagreeable impressions of the country, which 
 contrast strangely with her rapturous memories of her 
 " dear Edinburgh." This was her first season there ; 
 but she was to repeat her visits very frequently, 
 though on the whole, I think, they were not as 
 profitable as her other ventures. 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 The Kembles. 
 
 Another actress with whom Kemble played in 
 Dublin was Miss Philips, afterwards the beautiful 
 Mrs. Crouch. This young lady had come to Dublin 
 with a recommendation from no less a person than Dr. 
 Johnson. " The bringer of this letter," he wrote to 
 Windham, then secretary, " is the father of Miss 
 Philips, a singer, who comes to try her voice on the 
 stage at Dublin. Mr. Philips is one of my old 
 friends, and I am of opinion that neither he nor his 
 daughter will do anything that can disgrace their 
 benefactors." In the city she had prodigious success ; 
 her voice and beauty produced a furore. Mr. 
 Kemble paid her great attention ; and it was presently 
 given out that there was an engagement between them; 
 " but, I believe," says Mr. Boaden, cautiously, " Miss 
 Philips neither received nor desired any attentions 
 from Mr. Kemble but those of very zealous friend- 
 ship, perhaps a little romantic on his side." 
 
 Kemble when playing with her at Cork was able 
 to prove his " spirit " on a second occasion, and in 
 even a more satisfactory way than at first. Her 
 father was laid up with gout, and had asked Kemble 
 to attend her home from the theatre. A party of 
 disorderly militia officers, at the head of whom 
 was Lord Muskerry, insisted on escorting her 

 
 Success at Dublin. 147 
 
 home, and waited at her dressing-room door. She 
 sent to Kemble for protection, who, taking his 
 sword, said to them with much firmness and dignity, 
 that he had been requested by her father to take care 
 of Miss Philips ; and he hoped, that, as gentle- 
 men, they would not interfere with his trust, which 
 he was determined to carry out. He then asked 
 Miss Philips to come out, and rely on him. Further, 
 that he would meet any of the gentlemen in the 
 morning, and if they could prove him wrong, he 
 would apologize. The officers allowed them to pass, 
 but followed them, when one of the party, who 
 was tipsy, made a cut at Kemble, which a servant 
 girl courageously parried. The actor was quite cool, 
 and brought his charge home in safety. On the next 
 morning the commanding officer came to Mr. Philips 
 with his excuses, and assured him that apologies 
 should be made to the young lady. She herself, 
 however, good humouredly laughed the matter off, and 
 said that all that was necessary was that the gentle- 
 men should leave the theatre with the rest of the 
 audience, and let her return by herself. Mr. Kemble's 
 behaviour on the occasion was greatly extolled for its 
 spirit and dignity. Such an adventure ought to have 
 led to what is called " a warmer feeling " on his part 
 
 10—2
 
 148 The Kembles. 
 
 towards the heroine ; and it was universally agreed 
 that her protector would surely marry the heroine. 
 
 An actor named Bernard happened to be in 
 Ireland about this time, and describes pleasantly 
 the theatrical life of the day. A party was made 
 up under Daly's direction to proceed to the country 
 in the summer, consisting of the manager and his 
 future wife, Miss Barsanti, the two Kembles, Miss 
 Younge, Digges, Miss Phillips, and a lady who went 
 by the name of Mrs. Melmoth. She had been carried 
 off by Pratt, the Bath Dellacruscan, who had made 
 his advances under the romantic title of " Courtney 
 Melmoth." The adventures of the party were amusing. 
 Amid these quaint humours Keinble's figure is pro- 
 minent for dignity and good-nature ; and he is seen 
 helping distressed actors with " five guineas," with 
 valuable letters of introduction, and other aids. 
 
 Bernard tells of the jester of the party, one 
 Bowles, producing at dinner a skull, which he had 
 carried off from a churchyard, as a" property ' for 
 Hamlet. Kemble's shocked face and tone of voice is 
 well described. " Eeally — er — Mr. Bowles — if you 
 go on — er — in this way, it will be dangerous to travel 
 with you." Kemble was a member of one of the 
 Dublin Volunteer Corps.
 
 Kembles First Appearance in London. 149 
 
 CHAPTEE XL 
 
 KEMBLE's FIRST APPEARANCE IN LONDON. 
 
 |~T was curious that while the English stage, at the 
 time Kerable made his first appearance in London, 
 abounded in excellent comedians like Smith, Palmer, 
 King, Bensley, and Parsons, there should have been 
 left but one tragic actor of any pretension — namely, 
 Henderson. Even his powers seem to have been 
 overrated; he never touched the heart of the town. He 
 was a mannerist ; and the idea of his being a rival to 
 Garrick arose chiefly from the partisanship of the time. 
 As it was, his career was shortly to close, so that the 
 new actor, like his more fortunate sister, rose just in 
 time to fill what might have been an irretrievable 
 blank. Though here might arise the speculation 
 whether such a void might not, as it were, have 
 "forced," or developed, some actor of power and merit, 
 who without this pressure could not have made his 
 way to the front: thus in case there had been no 
 Kemble, whether Holman, for instance, might not
 
 150 The Kembles. 
 
 have been stimulated, encouraged, and petted into 
 excellence. A further speculation might be added : 
 whether Kemble himself, with some actor of genius 
 like Kean in the possession of the attention and 
 enthusiasm of the town, would have had the power of 
 making so deep an impression. We may be inclined 
 to believe that he would not, as the impression that 
 he did make at first was not of the brilliant and over- 
 whelming character which attended on his more gifted 
 sister. 
 
 It was curious that only a few days before his 
 appearance, his brother Stephen should have been 
 put forward in Othello at Co vent Garden. The 
 mean partisanship of the time affected to see in this 
 step an attempt to forestall or confuse the public judg- 
 ment ; and a vulgar story was circulated as to a 
 mistake having been actually committed in engaging 
 the wrong brother at Dublin.* Newspaper writing 
 at this time was full of this partisanship, and its criti- 
 cism was something to be dreaded, it was so unsparing. 
 There was besides a dreadful system of letter-writing 
 
 * It Avas said that the managers had even sent to engage " the 
 great" Mr. Kemble, and that the largest and tallest had been secured. 
 This story was authoritatively contradicted on the part of Mr 
 Harris, the manager of Covent Garden.
 
 Kembles First Appearance in London. 151 
 
 to the editor, which became a convenient vehicle, for 
 the grossest personality was used.* 
 
 All newspapers, however, did not open their columns 
 to such scoundrels. The Morning Chronicle was 
 directed by the severe but just Woodfall, who was to 
 be seen on the first night of a new play, in the front 
 row of the pit, looking on with a special austerity. 
 On such an occasion too was observed Twiss, later to 
 marry one of Kemble's sisters, and who was supposed 
 to write those critical letters to the editor in which his 
 future brother-in-law's merits were nicely and accu- 
 rately discussed. There was the Morning Posf, with the 
 muscular Parson Bate — theatre-goer, bruiser, duel- 
 list, dramatical critic — anything but the clergyman, 
 which he was by title at least. And there was also 
 the Public Advertiser, in which another eccentric 
 parson, Este, " wrote up ' his friends laboriously, 
 
 * While collecting materials for these volumes, I came by 
 accident on what perhaps is the most satisfactory proof yet offered 
 of Foote's innocence of the dreadful charge brought against him at 
 the close of his life. A fellow, who signed himself " Curtius," 
 disturbed Garrick's last hours by threatening to write some letters 
 to the papers, in which some mysterious charges were to be brought 
 against Garrick's character. Garrick was Aveak enough to try and 
 negotiate, but death saved him from further annoyance. The 
 signature of this ruffian, " Curtius," I find to be that of the very 
 Jackson who brought the charge against Foote.
 
 152 77*0 Kembles. 
 
 and sacrificed those he disliked. Then various critics 
 sometimes enlivened their occupation by bitter con- 
 flicts among themselves. Garrick bad Bate on bis 
 side, but could never be sure of Woodfall (he himself 
 was part proprietor of the St. James's Chronicle), 
 and Este became one of Kemble's partisans, and later 
 married him to Mrs. Brereton. But tbese powers, 
 waiting to be conciliated or made hostile, were not 
 likely to serve a debutant. 
 
 On the 30tb September, 1783, John Philip Kemble 
 made his first appearance in London, in Hamlet. The 
 cast of the piece was not very striking : Bensley, 
 Packer, Baddeley, Mrs. Hopkins, whose daughter 
 Kemble was to marry later, and Miss Field. Prom the 
 beginning to the end he was perfectly successful. His 
 singularly handsome figure and grace, his elegant 
 dress, his extraordinary likeness to his sister, reaching 
 even to the voice, "which a person with eyes shut would 
 mistake for hers ;" and his perfect self-possession and 
 deliberation, were what struck every critic. Then his 
 general reading of the part was new and original, 
 different from Garrick's or any other player's. He 
 threw a softness and tenderness over the character. 
 There was noticed also an extraordinary elaboration, 
 evidently the result of the most intellectual and
 
 Kemble's First Appearance in London. 153 
 
 careful study of the play, the greatest nicety in 
 elocution, new emphasis, and the most judicious 
 elocution. Woodfall owned that his relationship to his 
 sister was proved by ability as well as by blood; 
 but he found grave faults with the new actor, and for 
 a long time the papers were filled with minute 
 criticism. Like his sister, it was said he had learned 
 every variety of modulation, but there was a formality, 
 and air of the study. Like her, he appeared to have 
 studied every stage nicety that was likely to attract 
 the audience's attention or applause. " We never 
 saw a veteran," said the Herald, " make more use of 
 stage tricks than this young performer." They dift 
 not condemn this, but would have wished a little more 
 attention to nature. Woodfall complained that he 
 introduced too many new readings, almost laboriously. 
 It was curious that the same imperfection should have 
 been noticed in his voice that had imperilled the 
 success of his sister on her first appearance ; but 
 this was set down to his being accustomed to the 
 smaller Dublin house. Still in its softer inflection 
 it showed uncommon feeling. In the fencing scene 
 he exhibited too many bows and courtesies. Why, 
 it was asked, was the lesson to the players omitted, 
 unless, it was suggested, it was feared it would be
 
 154 The Kembles. 
 
 considered a pointed attack on too many players of the 
 day. The real explanation was a species of modesty, 
 very much out of* place. There were some indi- 
 cations too of that odd grotesque pronunciation, with 
 which the town was later to make merry. He spoke 
 of the " lee — tie pipe " and " strucken deer," but it 
 was noted that on his second performance many 
 blemishes that had been found fault with were 
 amended. The lesson to the players was reintroduced, 
 the bows were abated, his laying his head on Ophelia's 
 lap was omitted. Fault was also found with 
 a coxcombical leer which he put on at sarcastic 
 moments. In the famous soliloquy " To be, or not to 
 be," a depth of thought, an air of rumination was 
 wanting, and his style of walking was more like 
 that of a minuet dancer. 
 
 John Taylor was present with Philips, the father of 
 the beautiful Mrs. Crouch, and was struck with the 
 laboriously critical tone of the character. But the same 
 spectator owned that he never saw such a gradual 
 improvement as study and repetition brought to the 
 representation; an improvement owing in no slight 
 degree to the laborious exercise of having written out 
 the part no less than forty times. There was some- 
 thing in the character of this success, something so
 
 Kemhles First Appearance in London. 155 
 
 founded on care, study, and self-confidence, that he at 
 once assumed a position that was never to be dis- 
 turbed. Even the critics seemed to show a reserve in 
 dealing with him, for he had a calm and quiet 
 superiority which awed them. Yet it is impossible not 
 to see that this success was of a very different charac- 
 ter from that of his sister. She swept after her all 
 hearts, passions, sympathies ; he had gained admira- 
 tion and intellectual interest ; but as the interests 
 differed, so did the plays, and the advantage was 
 with her. Still, with this intellectuality running 
 through his acting, there was a softness and sensibility 
 akin to his sister's ; but this henceforth, from the 
 peculiar training that he adopted, was to be gradually 
 overlaid and stifled, save in a few of his grandest 
 parts. 
 
 During the season he followed up his Hamlet, 
 which he played twelve times, with Edward the Black 
 Prince, Eichard III., Sir Giles Overreach, Beverle}^ 
 King John, Shylock, and some small characters. 
 
 In the Gamester brother and sister first combined 
 their powers ; but here he was unlucky. Hers was 
 the centre figure. " He," as the critics said, " rendered 
 the husband extremely important and interesting." 
 But still his " tones " were very odd. Somehow it
 
 156 TJie Kembles. 
 
 would seem that such near relationship as brother 
 and sister, husband and wife, causes a loss of illusion ; 
 where a husband and wife, for instance, are playing 
 " distracted lovers " their real connexion will intrude, 
 and refute the distraction of the situation. 
 
 With her also he appeared in King John. The 
 King and Queen had expressed a wish to see the 
 gifted sister and clever brother in that play ; and this 
 patronage by the Court becomes quite a feature in 
 Mrs. Siddons' career. Though our theatres are 
 abundantly visited by members of the Royal Family, 
 this sort of countenance is very different from the 
 healthy and public approbation of a visit in state. 
 Such encouragement, directed in a marked manner to 
 the finest plays in the language, gave evidence not 
 only of interest but of taste, insured respect, and gave 
 dignity to the theatre itself. Now any vulgarity 
 called " burlesque " receives this cheap compliment. 
 
 To most of these characters the critics made the 
 one objection — he was a little too solemn, and 
 perhaps cold. He was diligently compared with 
 Henderson, who was playing at Covent Garden with 
 Miss Younge ; and at this stage of Kemble's life 
 there were characters in which Henderson might 
 have the advantage. But there was a more daring
 
 Kemble's First Appearance in London. 157 
 
 challenge given from that house ; and at last the 
 friends of the veteran Barry-Crawford persuaded her 
 to try and dispute the verdict of the town. The trial 
 was looked forward to with enjoyment by both friends 
 and enemies. Hostile papers announced gleefully 
 that Mrs. Crawford was shortly to " attack " Mrs. 
 Siddons, and that the latter had "declared to stand 
 the conflict." "It was ridiculous to suppose that Mrs. 
 Crawford was afraid to attempt Isabella." On the 
 13th of November she appeared in her great part 
 of Lady Randolph. There was something piteous in 
 this last rally ; for, after all, she had been one of the 
 great corps of actresses, and though now in her decay 
 was encouraged by the partiality of the Irish, and by 
 the hostility of newspaper scribes to her rival. The 
 house was crowded ; the play was mounted in ragged 
 fashion, the dresses not Scotch. They were scarcely 
 prepared, however, for such a spectacle of age : her voice 
 had become harsh and discordant ; still she had her 
 old stately and commanding air, and she produced 
 abundant tears. The hostile papers were delighted; 
 and one of them, with a strange malignity, stated that 
 a few nights before, with all the attractions of a royal 
 command night, the great Mrs. Siddons had drawn 
 only a poor house, whereas there was not a seat
 
 158 The Kembles. 
 
 vacant at Mrs. Crawford's performance. This calumny 
 was contradicted ; the fact being that Drury Lane 
 was crowded. But the great actress was coolly cal-. 
 culating her stroke ; with a cold deliberation she 
 selected the part which was considered her opponent's 
 cheval de bataille. When the comparison had to be 
 made, there were critics like Woodfall who admitted 
 there were passages, of sudden and energetic passion, 
 in which the new actress was inferior. It was also 
 soon found that each represented quite a different 
 school of interpretation, the " level ' : portions of the 
 play being hurried over, or given in neutral tones, 
 by Mrs Crawford, who reserved herself for sudden 
 bursts, as the occasion demanded ; whereas Mrs. 
 Siddons adopted the favourite Kemble principle, of 
 elaborating the utmost effect, whether of elocution or 
 feeling, out of almost every line. It might be fairly 
 urged that the former is the more dramatic principle of 
 the two; for in real life character does not impress itself 
 on every speech and incident, and on the stage such 
 alternations produce a powerful effect. It is quite 
 intelligible too, how this laborious elaboration brought 
 to excess, as it was by the Kemble family, at last 
 produced that stilted solemnity which later became 
 associated with their acting. The spirit of partisan-
 
 Kembles First Appearance in London. 159 
 
 ship was carried so far that there was actually found 
 a critic to write, that " Mrs. Siddons' head danced 
 upon wires like Judy in the puppet-show, or one of the 
 nodding China mandarins."* But the contest, if con- 
 test it were, came to a humiliating close. The old 
 actress chose for her benefit the Isabella in which Mrs. 
 Siddons had made such an impression ; but when the 
 night came the boxes were not taken, and the poor 
 actress fell sick from mortification. However, she 
 rallied once more. Just before she died, five years 
 later, she was entering into a confederacy with Mrs. 
 Yates to begin a combined campaign against the 
 reigning favourite. 
 
 The latter proceeded on her triumphant career, 
 and by coming forward in Measure for Measure early 
 showed that gravitation to Shakspeare which in great 
 actors is nearly irresistible. But after the tremendous 
 pictures of passion and sensibility she had been 
 giving, the character of Isabella must have disap- 
 pointed her admirers. Far more satisfactory was her 
 
 * Mr. Campbell was surprised that Boaden should have thought 
 that Mrs. Siddons looked to this contest with some nervous appre- 
 hensions. But there was surely something to dread, when the 
 efforts of the unscrupulous party were exalting Mrs. Crawford to 
 disparage her.
 
 160 Tlie Kembles. 
 
 second Shakspearian attempt, Constance, in King 
 John, which introduced her to the noble and classical 
 line of characters in which, as in Lady Macbeth and 
 Queen Katherine, her figure is best known to pos- 
 terity. Her Constance was received with some 
 coldness, Woodfall praising the passages where scorn 
 and anger were conspicuous, but putting her below 
 Mrs. Crawford where maternal grief and affection had 
 to be displayed. But it is evident that time and 
 study developed the character in her hands. 
 
 Her brother seemed to advance on his slow and 
 steady course, making every step sure. He certainly 
 received no extravagant encouragement from the town 
 or the critics. Like his sister, he was waiting for 
 some grand Shakspearian part to bring out his 
 powers. The critics were coldly respectful, parti- 
 cularly Woodfall. He bore this indifference for some 
 time ; but one morning the public was amazed to see 
 in the Chronicle an intemperate and offensive letter of 
 his, and which, on Woodfall's part, was wholly un- 
 merited. In this angry expostulation, he said he knew 
 how to distinguish " what you dignify with the name 
 of criticism," from what really deserved the name. 
 " Some of your remarks," he said, " where gathered 
 I don't now inquire, are good and liberal ; some are
 
 KembJes First Appearance in London. 161 
 
 nonsensical and studiously abusive." He thought it 
 proper to write this letter "under the exact notion 
 of a gentleman's despising the slander of a bully, yet 
 thinking it necessary to cane him for his impudence." 
 This indiscreet protest was received with dignity, the 
 editor merely announcing that he would not be 
 deterred by threats from doing his duty. But for 
 a long time to come the Chronicle passed over in 
 silence his most important performances. This was 
 one of the few false steps Kemble made in his life, 
 and no doubt he heartily repented it. 
 
 VOL. T. 11
 
 162 The Kembles. 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 SOCIAL HOMAGE. 
 
 A LL this time Mrs. Siddons' progress in the esti- 
 mation of friends and acquaintances was no less 
 remarkable. Every one was eager to know her, public 
 curiosity was unabated, and as she passed from the 
 stage-door, crowds always assembled to look at her, 
 and their comical remarks diverted her. In the 
 higher classes this eagerness passed the bounds of 
 decency; and a Scotch lady of high rank, with a 
 party of friends, who were mere strangers, actually 
 forced her way into the drawing-room, scarcely taking 
 the trouble to excuse herself. Mrs. Siddons gives 
 a very amusing account of an exhibition that was 
 made of her at Miss Monkton's (later the eccentric 
 Lady Cork), the same whom Johnson called " a goose," 
 and one of the blue-stocking sisterhood. The actress 
 had determined to decline all invitations to parties, 
 routs, &c, as she really wished to give herself up to 
 study, and to the duties of her family. Miss Monkton
 
 Social Homage. 1G3 
 
 insisted on her coming to her house on a Sunday 
 evening, assuring her that there would only be some 
 half a dozen friends to meet her. She had been fore- 
 warned that this lady pursued any "notorious" person ; 
 but was assured by Miss Monkton that she need have 
 no fears of meeting a crowd. " The appointed Sun- 
 day evening came. I went to her very nearly in 
 undress, at the early hour of eight, on account of my 
 little boy, whom she desired me to bring with me, 
 more for effect, I suspect, than for his beaux yeux. I 
 found with her, as I had been taught to expect, three 
 or four ladies of my acquaintance ; and the time 
 passed in agreeable conversation, till I had remained 
 much longer than I had apprehended. I was of course 
 preparing speedily to return home, when incessantly 
 repeated thunderings at the door, and the sudden 
 influx of such a throng of people as I had never 
 before seen collected in any private house, counteracted 
 every attempt that I could make for escape. I was 
 therefore obliged, in a state of indescribable mortifica- 
 tion, to sit quietly down, till I know not what hour 
 in the morning ; but for hours before my departure, 
 the room I sat in was so painfully crowded, that the 
 people absolutely stood on the chairs, round the walls, 
 that they might look over their neighbours' heads to 
 
 11—2
 
 164 TheKembles. 
 
 stare at me ; and if it had not been for the benevolent 
 politeness of Mr. Erskine, who had been acquainted 
 with my arrangement, I know not what weakness I 
 might have been surprised into, especially being tor- 
 mented, as I was, by the ridiculous interrogations of 
 some learned ladies, who were called blues, the meaning 
 of which title I did not at that time appreciate, much 
 less did I comprehend the meaning of the greater 
 part of their learned talk. These profound ladies, 
 however, furnished much amusement to the town for 
 many weeks after, nay, I believe I might say, for the 
 whole winter. Glad enough was I at length to find 
 myself at peace in my own bedchamber." It will be 
 noticed there is a quiet vein of comedy running 
 through her letters and sketches, which would incline 
 one to think that her powers of acting in this walk 
 have not been sufficiently valued j but the thick 
 folds of tragedy weighed heavier every year upon her 
 limbs.* 
 
 1 Cumberland, in his periodical, The Observe?; gives a picture of 
 this scene. Disguising the characters under the fantastic names then 
 the mode, it supplements the lady's description, but is not so viva- 
 cious. " I now joined a cluster of people, who had crowded round 
 an actress, who sat upon a sofa, leaning on her elbow in a pensive 
 attitude, and seemed to be counting the sticks of her fan, whilst they 
 were vieing with each other in the most extravagant encomiums.
 
 Social ITomage. 165 
 
 More agreeable were her associations with the 
 friendship of men like Eeynolds and Johnson. At 
 the great portrait painter's house she was often 
 to be found, his dinner-table being filled with guests 
 like Burke and Windham, and all the rank, talent, 
 and fashion of the age. It was then that he conceived 
 the idea of that fine picture of the actress as " The 
 Tragic Muse," which only a season ago excited uni- 
 versal admiration at the Winter Exhibition of the 
 Royal Academy. To stand before this noble work — 
 
 ' You was adorable last night in Belvidera,' says a pert young 
 parson with a high toupee. ' I sat in Lady Blubber's box ; and I can 
 assure you she, and her daughters too, wept most bitterly. But 
 then that charming mad scene — but, by my soul, it was a chef 
 (Twuvre ! Pray, madam, give me leave to ask you, was you 
 really in your senses V ' I strove to do it as well as I could,' 
 answered the actress. ' Do you intend to play comedy next 
 season ?' says a lady, stepping up to her with great eagerness. ' I 
 shall do as the manager bids me,' she replied. ' I should be 
 curious to know,' says an elderly lady, ' which part, madam, you 
 yourself esteem the best you play ?' ' I shall always endeavour to 
 make that which I am about the best.' An elegant and enchanting 
 young woman of fashion now took her turn of interrogating, and 
 with many apologies begged to be informed by her if she studied 
 those enchanting looks and attitudes before a glass. ' I never study 
 anything but my author.' ' Then you practise them at rehearsals,' 
 rejoined the questioner. ' I seldom rehearse at all !' ' She has 
 fine eyes,' says a tragic poet to an eminent painter. . . . Vanessa 
 now came up, and desiring leave to introduce a young muse to 
 Melpomene, presented a girl in a white frock, with a fillet of flowers
 
 166 The Kembles. 
 
 before its inspiration, grandeur, and dignity — makes 
 us feel irresistibly that it is almost the finest and 
 most satisfactory homage that has ever been paid 
 to the stage. As he gazes, the spectator feels a 
 sort of reverence, not only for the gifted woman it 
 represents, but for the profession she followed. The 
 artist, Northcote says, threw his whole soul into the 
 work, and never took so much pains. Its rich brown 
 tones are laid in the same key as those of Eembrandt, 
 but its chief charm has been characterized by Mr. 
 Tom Taylor with great felicity, who describes it, justly, 
 
 tied round her hair, which hung down her back in flowing curls. 
 The young muse made a low obeisance, and with the most unem- 
 barrassed voice and countenance, whilst the poor actress was covered 
 with blushes, and suffering torture from the eyes of all in the 
 room, broke forth as follows : — 
 
 ' thou, whom Nature's goodness calls her own, 
 Pride of the stage and favourite of the town !' " 
 
 Mrs. Siddons says this was an accurate description of what 
 occurred. Yet though she had abundant provocation, these rather 
 brusque replies were not likely to make her popular, and in dome 
 degree account for that prejudice that was presently to follow her. 
 There is yet a third account given by Miss Burney, where it is 
 amusing to find that Erskine, who seemed to the actress to be her 
 deliverer, was the chief offender, being the person that " talked 
 across her " of her own merits. The truth is, Mrs. Siddons was 
 rather " touchy " and impulsive, and always too vehement in fancy- 
 ing offence was meant.
 
 Social Homage. 167 
 
 as " the finest example of truly idealized portraiture, in 
 which we have at once an epitome of the sitter's distinc- 
 tion, calling, or achievement, and the loftiest expression 
 of which the real form and features are capable." In 
 short, it is earthly in the likeness, and yet spiritualized 
 by the touch of poetry. The general pose was sug- 
 gested by a work of Michael Angelo. Mrs. Siddons 
 gave what seemed to be two different accounts of the 
 origin of the attitude. When the painter invited her 
 to seat herself on her " undisputed throne," he was so 
 pleased, she said, with the position that he would not let 
 her alter it. On another occasion she told Mrs. Philips 
 that after she had been arranged in position, when 
 Sir Joshua was mixing his colours, that she turned 
 to look at a picture in the room, and this change had 
 been seized by the painter. Both amount to the 
 same thing, in giving her the credit of the sugges- 
 tion.* Between this work and one of the finest of 
 
 * She, it would seem, with some bad taste, told Sir Martin 
 Shee and Miss Fanshawe, that " he wanted to trick her out in all 
 the colours of the rainbow " as the Tragic Muse, and that but for 
 her interference he would have done so. Finally, at the last 
 sitting, Sir Joshua wished to add some colour to the face, and she 
 again interposed. This seems claiming rather too much credit in 
 the work, but it is characteristic of the practical mind of the 
 actress.
 
 168 The Kembles. 
 
 Titian's which faced it, De la Eoche could not decide. 
 Barry said it was the finest idealization in the world ; 
 and Lawrence, that it was the finest female portrait 
 ever painted. With a delicacy which she might have 
 reciprocated, he completed his noble work by in- 
 scribing his name on the hem of her garment. 
 
 The painter was an enthusiastic admirer of her 
 performances, and was highly gratified at her style of 
 dress ; a short waist instead of the long stiff stays, 
 her hair generally laid close in little curls and 
 braids, so as to display the shape of the head. At 
 the theatre he always sat in the orchestra, in a line 
 
 ' of famous men, Burke, Gibbon, Sheridan, Windham, 
 and Fox, down whose dark cheeks the tears were often 
 seen trickling. These eminent men would all find 
 their way to her dressing-room, to pay their respects. 
 Even the doubtful compliment of His Eoyal High- 
 ness the Prince of Wales's approbation was often 
 offered to her. The same precious testimonial had 
 been very recently bestowed on an actress at the same 
 house — the luckless Pcrdita Bobinson ; but to the 
 Muse of Tragedy he dared not make such profane 
 advances. Indeed, she was always her own guard, 
 and as was said of her later, one would as soon think 
 
 of making love to the Archbishop of Canterbury.
 
 Social Homage. 169 
 
 A more grateful shape of homage was the gentlemen 
 of Brookes's Club making up a handsome present, 
 which was brought to her by Lord Carlisle, who 
 reported that she was not at all manieree in the recep- 
 tion of it. This seemed to surprise Mr. Walpole ; but 
 affectation is the last thing one would have thought 
 of laying to her charge. 
 
 A place was waiting a connoisseur greater than any 
 of these, and there was always a chair ready at the 
 wing for Doctor Johnson, should his health permit him 
 to come. This was only a year before he died, and the 
 fine brave old man sent Mr. Windham to the actress 
 to beg that she would do him the honour of taking 
 tea with him at Bolt Court. Such compliments are 
 always welcome to the true artist. She, with her 
 brother and Windham, repaired up the narrow stairs 
 to the Doctor's room, and there being no chair at 
 hand for her to sit down — his books, we may suppose, 
 covering the floor and chairs — his tact furnished him 
 with a compliment that seems almost elegant, and 
 which held more truth than the average compliment. 
 " Madam," he said, with a smile, " you, who so often 
 occasion a want of seats to other people, will the 
 more easily excuse the want of one yourself." The 
 actress, however, forgot this speech, though it
 
 170 The Kembles. 
 
 remained in the recollection of her brother, who 
 perhaps repeated it to Mr. Boswell. Then, seating 
 himself beside her, the gates of his old theatrical 
 recollections were unlocked ; those days when he had 
 been a playgoer and critic, and had seen his friend 
 " Davy " act, and Mrs. Clive, and Mrs. Porter, and 
 Mrs. Pritchard. He dwelt specially on Garrick's 
 merits, in both tragedy and comedy, turned then to 
 the subject of Shakspeare's plays, and as she spoke of 
 acting Queen Eatherine, his favourite part, he ex- 
 pressed his wish to attend and see her. " But," said 
 he, "I am too deaf and too blind, and could see or 
 hear no farther ofT than the stage-box, and I have 
 little taste for making an exhibition of myself in 
 such a conspicuous situation." On this she proposed 
 the chair at the wing, when the Doctor was much 
 nattered, though the opportunity was never to come. 
 He was greatly pleased with her, and wrote to his 
 friend Mrs. Thrale, a little after what Goldsmith 
 would have called his " bow-wow " manner, that " she 
 had behaved with great modesty and propriety, and left 
 nothing behind her to be censured or despised." He 
 was also pleased to notice that she had not been 
 depraved by either mouey or praise 5 and looked for- 
 ward to seeing her again. Mrs. Siddons often
 
 Social Homage. 171 
 
 returned, when he always treated her with a scrupu- 
 lous and old-fashioned courtesy and ceremoniousness, 
 and on every occasion repeated the same formality, 
 conducting her to the head of the stairs, holding her 
 hand respectfully, and saying, with a how, "Dear 
 madam, I am your most humble servant." Though 
 it used to be the fashion to speak of this man as 
 uncouth, boorish, and bearish, there was more true 
 gallantry in him than in a score of Chesterfields. 
 
 She dwells with even more pleasure on the in- 
 telligent patronage of the Royal Family, which was 
 steady and genuine, and significant of a cultivated 
 interest. This encouragement was of the most liberal 
 and intellectual kind. The King was delighted with 
 her graceful action, but far more with her repose in 
 particular situations — a very intelligent criticism. 
 It was, he said, the fault of Grarrick, that he never 
 would keep still. " He was a great fidget." At her 
 performances he was often seen weeping, and the 
 Queen told her, in broken English, that the only 
 resource was to turn away from the stage ; the 
 acting was indeed " too disagreeable." She very soon 
 was complimented by being commanded to read at 
 the Palace ; and in her agreeable, natural way, which 
 makes us regret that she did not write her own life,
 
 172 The Kembles. 
 
 she tells us all her impressions of the scene. How- 
 awkward she felt in the costume w r hich was de rigueur 
 — the " sack," with hoop and treble ruffles — and 
 how, on her arrival, she was led into an ante-chamber, 
 where there were ladies of rank whom she knew, 
 while presently the Xing appeared, drawing one of 
 his little daughters in a " go-cart." This little 
 Princess was about three years old, and when the 
 actress said to one of the ladies that she longed to 
 kiss her, the child held out its hand to be kissed. 
 " So early," says Mrs. Siddons, " had she learnt this 
 lesson of royalty." During the course of the read- 
 ing the Queen noticed she was fatigued, and begged 
 she would take some refreshment in the next room — 
 a condescension which rather affected Mrs. Siddons, 
 but it was no more than could be expected from that 
 good Queen.* 
 
 The actress declined, and naively tells us the 
 reason : she was in terror of slipping on the polished 
 floor, as she had to walk backwards. Her Majesty 
 
 * Boaden was one of the old-fashioned loyalists, whose veneration 
 for King, Church, and State, is almost ludicrously illustrated in the 
 passages where he seems to apologize for the King visiting Drury 
 Lane. " Even the offensive jwlitics of the manager vanished before 
 the charms of the new sovereign of the stage." Mr. Campbell 
 copies this curious passage, and gives it as his own.
 
 Social Homage. 173 
 
 privately expressed much astonishment at seeing her 
 so collected, and was pleased to say that the actress 
 had conducted herself as though she had been used 
 to a court. But Mrs. Siddons was at least collected 
 on every occasion. " At any rate, I had frequently 
 personated queens," is her pleasant comment. 
 
 Her worldly prospects were now very favourable. 
 She had moved from the Strand to Gower Street. 
 She set up her carriage ; yet all that she received 
 from the theatre, which she crowded to the roof, 
 was something over twenty pounds a week. This 
 seemed a miserable fixed salary ; but she had besides 
 two clear benefits, one of which Mr. Boaden says 
 produced her 800/., and another 650/., while she 
 only played three nights in the week. On a rough 
 calculation this might bring her earnings at Drury 
 Lane to about 2000/., for the season of about seven 
 months. During the rest of the year she was able to 
 make as much again, and possibly more, by her 
 performances in the country. And here it was 
 impossible, without regret, to see her devoting time 
 that should have been allowed for restoring her 
 health and resting after her labours, to scouring all 
 the provinces, to seeking eagerly for engagements at 
 country theatres. This system she pursued for years.
 
 174 TJie Kembles. 
 
 It is enough to say that before her day it had 
 not been adopted by any artist of her rank. The 
 sagacious Garrick had always husbanded himself. 
 She used to complain bitterly of the exhaustion 
 consequent on these excursions ; and she was always 
 putting forward her children as excuses, much 
 as she had done when on the Bath boards ; so that 
 it actually became a jest with the newspapers " as 
 to those three children and a husband " which Mrs. 
 Siddons was obliged to support. Yet the truth was, 
 there was no occasion for this laborious gathering 
 in of money ; her income for London alone was 
 abundant, and certain to continue so ; but she could 
 not complain if the members of her own profession 
 looked with disfavour on this wholesale sweeping 
 of their meagre pastures. It was ruinous to the 
 steady business of the country stage. The star 
 system was wisely discouraged by the country ma- 
 nagers. At the Bath Theatre, for instance, no " star" 
 was allowed, as an experienced manager phrased it, 
 " to take all the cream for a short period, and leave 
 the skimmings for the manager and performers to 
 live upon." There a star would be engaged only on 
 the terms of remaining for the whole season. The 
 attraction became thus distributed over a great number
 
 Social Homage. 175 
 
 of nights ; whereas, if a star like Mrs. Siddons came 
 do wd, she gathered in for a few nights large sums, 
 and after her departure caused a wholesale desertion of 
 the house, from which the theatre took long to recover. 
 Some managers for a time attempt to decline these 
 dangerous auxiliaries, nearly as fatal to their ranks as 
 their elephants were to the Carthaginians.* But the 
 pressure of the surrounding gentry, and the tempta- 
 tion of a little ready money, was irresistible. To 
 this, and to the example of Mrs. Siddons, we owe 
 the perpetuation of the fatal star system, by reason of 
 which British audiences have been trained, not to 
 go and see a great play set off by a great actor or 
 actress, but the actor or actress alone, for whom some 
 little exercise in the way of a piece is written to 
 show off their gifts. Thus it is that every leading 
 player looks to his annual promenade through the 
 country, and counts the gains which it may bring 
 him at four or five times that of his London 
 engagement. 
 
 This laborious earning of money was likely, as re- 
 marked before, to make her unpopular in the profession. 
 
 * When Mrs. Crawford came to Bath and offered her services for 
 a few nights, the manager steadily refused them, and she remained 
 the whole season there without an engagement.
 
 176 The Kembles. 
 
 It was given out that she would rarely condescend 
 even to look on at the performance of other actors, 
 and that she was never seen to applaud them, though 
 this charge was perfectly false. Still it almost seems 
 as if she had not much sympathy with them. She 
 walked in a higher sphere. She mixed with the great 
 and the aristocracy : they came to her house, and 
 she was seen at theirs. She was said to prefer 
 diligent private study to assiduous rehearsal ; and 
 indeed the nature of her characters — she being the 
 central figure — made the public indifferent to what 
 the other players did. Even the comic actors of her 
 theatre suffered, though they could not hold her 
 responsible ; for as soon as the tragedy was finished, 
 neither Quick nor Parsons, nor any of the humorists 
 could detain the audience, who hurried away, as if 
 in contempt of the fooleries that could follow such 
 scenes of tragedy. 
 
 Another reason, which no doubt contributed to 
 her unpopularity, was the strong " family" connexion 
 installed at Drury Lane. Two of her sisters had 
 now engagements there — beautiful girls, but devoid 
 of much talent. What increased this feeling was 
 the discreditable attempts of friends and partisans 
 either to "write them up" ahove their companions,
 
 
 • - 
 
 
 7 ■■■!. 
 
 LITHO. PHOTOGRAPHIC INST. 
 
 492, NLW OXFORD STREE T 
 
 ? ^M^W.
 
 Social Homage. 177 
 
 or, with a pretension that seemed ludicrous, set them 
 up in rivalry to their great sister. We shall see how 
 the rough and intolerant Steevens was as partial to 
 one as he was hostile to her sister, and how the warmth 
 of his admiration betrayed him into some questionable 
 proceedings.* 
 
 There were therefore many ominous murmurs 
 heard as she concluded her season. No doubt she 
 was indifferent; but the famous actress, when she 
 returned and presented herself to the Drury Lane 
 audience again, was to receive a rough lesson, which 
 must have come on her like a shock. 
 
 While she started on her provincial tour Kemble 
 made an engagement with his old friend Younger, of 
 the Liverpool Theatre. By this agreement, a copy of 
 which I have seen, he was to perform in all " plays, 
 farces, operas, and pantomimes," and all for the modest 
 
 * A caricature published about this time might have furnished 
 her with a useful warning. It was a likeness of " Melpomene," and 
 represents the actress as grasping at a well-filled purse of money. 
 A ridiculous story, too, appeared in the papers, in proof of her 
 "nearness," that at St. Martin's Church, when there was a collection 
 for the Westminster Dispensary, " she was seen lingering behind," 
 with a view to avoid the plate. How absurd this libel was could 
 be shown from the very shape it took ; as it was remarked, that if 
 she had wished to avoid the 'collection she would have been seen 
 hurrying out among the first. 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 TheKembhs. 
 
 sum of ten shillings a night and a benefit, which was to 
 be subject to thirty-five pounds' deduction, the charges 
 of the house. It was evident that in these country 
 expeditions the star actor relied upon his benefit night 
 to recoup him his trouble and expense ; and it was 
 believed that this system made the expense fall 
 lightly on manager and actor. But just as the 
 " star" himself, while prizing good receipts for a few 
 nights, was impoverished for the rest of the season, so 
 the benefit night must have drained away much of 
 the profit of the ordinary nights.
 
 Edinburgh. 179 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 EDINBURGH. 
 
 TT7HEN Mrs. Siddons was playing in Dublin for 
 the first time, she was waited on by Jackson, 
 the manager of the Edinburgh Theatre, who had 
 travelled over specially to try and arrange an engage- 
 ment. The history of this negotiation seems to 
 account for the unpopularity which for a long time 
 was to pursue the great actress in her own profession. 
 It would seem that there was here, as on other occa- 
 sions, an apparent grasping at profits, a spirit of "deal- 
 ing" certain to raise a prejudice. She also contributed 
 not a little to send this impression abroad, by appealing 
 to the obligations she was under of working, and the 
 necessity of a life of hard labour, thus needlessly 
 forcing the "money" element into prominence. 
 In the vocation of such an artist this should have 
 been kept in the background ; yet it was unfortunate 
 that through her whole life these earthy bargainings 
 — the sum she was to rece* ye for a certain number 
 
 12— -2
 
 180 The Kembles. 
 
 of nights; her stipulation as to "the charges of the 
 house " — should be thrust forward in some connexion 
 with her talents. 
 
 Jackson — who was later to add one to the many 
 
 victims of theatrical mobs — was encouraged in his 
 
 offers by a purse of -two hundred pounds which some 
 
 noblemen and gentlemen of Scotland had liberally 
 
 made up to assist him in forming the engagement. 
 
 The terms demanded were four hundred pounds for 
 
 nine nights' performance, with a " clear benefit." The 
 
 manager at once agreed to these demands, which were 
 
 moderate enough, and returned home to make his 
 
 arrangements. But in a short time news reached the 
 
 Siddons' of the two hundred pounds' subscription, and 
 
 Mr. Siddons then wrote to know if that sum went to 
 
 make up the four hundred pounds agreed on. It was 
 
 of course answered that this was entirely in aid of the 
 
 manager. On this reply, an announcement was sent 
 
 that Mrs. Siddons had changed her mind, that she 
 
 did not choose any stipulated sum, but would take 
 
 half the clear receipts, whatever they might be. The 
 
 manager was in their power, and was obliged to 
 
 agree. This seemed very shifty ; for it was plain 
 
 that the handsome subscription had let the Siddons' 
 
 into the secret that overflowing houses were to be
 
 Edinburgh. 181 
 
 looked for, and that they would lose by their original 
 bargain. A few years later, John Kemble treated 
 the manager of the York Theatre after precisely a 
 similar fashion. But the strangest part of the whole 
 was, that Mrs. Siddons contrived to have the two 
 hundred pounds' subscription paid over to her without 
 the knowledge of the manager ! 
 
 Though Edinburgh has always offered a hearty 
 and appreciative reception to artists of genius, the 
 course of the Scottish drama is little beyond a blank. 
 There are, indeed, incidents like those attending the 
 production of Douglas, or like the patronage of the 
 theatre by Sir Walter Scott and his friends ; but its 
 stage has no history. More remarkable still is it 
 that a country so rich in poets ajid painters of human 
 character, should have failed to contribute to the 
 English stage a single player or dramatist that can 
 be ranked above mediocrity. In this it contrasts 
 strangely with Ireland, to whom the English stage is 
 indebted for nearly every one of its most famous actors 
 and actresses, and for some of its leading dramatists. 
 
 She made her first appearance at Edinburgh on Satur- 
 day, May 22, 1784, in Belvidera. The friends of the 
 actress might have reason to anticipate a hostile, or 
 at least indifferent reception from the class who would
 
 182 Tlic Kembles. 
 
 form the substantial portion of the audience — viz., 
 the pit and galleries. Fanatical Presbyteries had 
 within a few years denounced the drama as, what 
 they called in their uncouth diction, " louping against 
 the Lord." There were many alive who could recal 
 the illiberal persecution of the author of Douglas; 
 and a Glasgow mob, not forty years before, had burnt 
 a playhouse to the ground. Her first reception might 
 well cause her misgivings. She describes the scene 
 herself : "I must own I was surprised, and not a little 
 mortified, at that profound silence, which was a con- 
 trast to the burst of applause I had been accus- 
 tomed to hear in London. No, not a hand moved 
 till the end of the scene ; but then I was most amply 
 remunerated." She,, does not set down the well- 
 known story of the voice which at last gave the signal 
 for applause ; but she told it to Mr. Campbell. She 
 felt as if she had been speaking to stones. At last 
 she gathered herself up for one passage, and threw all 
 her powers into it, then paused, and looked steadily 
 at the audience, when the voice was heard, "That's 
 no bad !" This produced roars of laughter, and the 
 wished-for bursts of applause. This is a racy story ; 
 but it seems to betray a curious dulness or insen- 
 sibility, for the inference seems to be, that but for the
 
 Edinburgh. 183 
 
 fortunate comment, the approbation might have been 
 reserved altogether. She owns, however, that she did 
 not relish this economy of approbation, and wished 
 for the English fashion of noisy encouragement, not 
 so much for its cheering effect, as for the prosaic reason, 
 " in order to give one breath and voice to carry one 
 through some violent exertion."* 
 
 By the higher classes she was overwhelmed with 
 civilities. " How shall I express my gratitude," she 
 says, " for the honour and kindness of my northern 
 friends ? — for, should I attempt it, I should be thought 
 the very queen of egotists. But never can I forget 
 the private no less than public marks of their gratify- 
 ing suffrages. There I became acquainted with the 
 venerable author of Douglas, with Dr. Blair, David 
 Hume, Dr. Beattie, Mr. Mackenzie, &c, and passed 
 with them a succession of fleeting days, which never 
 failed to instruct and delight me." She produced 
 the unfailing effect — that test which was peculiar to 
 her — of causing many ladies to faint away, or to fall 
 into hysterics. Mrs. Beverley, Zara, and Lady Ean- 
 
 * " Had this coldness continued a moment longer," she told 
 Mr. Campbell, " she was determined never to return to the country 
 again!" She resented a little too quickly any public want of 
 appreciation.
 
 184 The Kembles. 
 
 dolph followed. The author of Douglas was in the 
 boxes ; and it was felt that the tears flowing from 
 innumerable eyes was a gratifying homage to him, as 
 well as to the actress. She was compared with Mrs. 
 Crawford in the same part ; and it was confessed that 
 the latter, though as grand and dignified, wanted the 
 tenderness of the new actress. Then came Isabella, 
 which seems to have been always the most effective 
 and powerful of her characters, and which here pro- 
 duced an almost terrific impression, throwing gentle- 
 men as well as ladies into fits. " Her looks," it was 
 said, " seemed distraction, and her screams horror." 
 It was felt to be almost too awful an exhibition, " and 
 well nigh made a tragedy in the boxes." Confidence 
 and repetition had no doubt added new force to her 
 playing of the character, and the smallness of the 
 theatre made every touch conspicuous. After such a 
 triumph, the Grecian Daughter did not touch, but ex- 
 torted applause rather than sympathy. On June 11, 
 she played for the workhouse : and, in all, acted for 
 eleven nights, one of which was for charity. But 
 the furore she excited was a phenomenon in itself. 
 Crowds began to assemble at the theatre doors so 
 early as two o'clock ; and on a single day the applica- 
 tion for seats at the box-office amounted to two thou-
 
 Edinburgh. 185 
 
 sand live hundred and fifty-seven, while there was 
 only accommodation for six hundred and thirty 
 people. Crowds came from Glasgow. Those who 
 had subscribed the purse assumed that the privilege 
 of a choice of seats belonged to them, and contrived 
 to fill the pit to the exclusion of the regular fre- 
 quenters. This led almost to a riot, and a sort of 
 compromise was arranged at a public meeting, by 
 which a couple of rows, holding about sixty per- 
 sons, were set apart for these claimants, at box 
 prices.* It was remarked that with every repetition 
 of a character she improved. Even her mute farewell 
 was admired as " a most expressive silence ;" while 
 her face most eloquently spoke gratitude, respect, 
 and affection. The subscribers, in addition to their 
 purse of money, which they rather unhandsomely 
 diverted from its original destination, presented her 
 with an " elegant silver tea vase."f 
 
 * Some verses in the Scots Magazine give a picture of the 
 scene : the pit being described as " all porter and pathos, all 
 whisky and whining," — while 
 
 " From all sides of the house, hark ! the cry how it swells, 
 While the boxes are torn with most heart-piercing yells !" 
 
 [" It bore the following odd inscription : "Asa mark of esteem 
 for superior genius and unrivalled talents, this vase is respectfully 
 inscribed with the name of Siddons." Thus the " mark of esteem "
 
 186 The Kembles. 
 
 The " Siddons fever," which Mr. Campbell says 
 the doctors attributed to the heat from overcrowding 
 at her performances, was surely a plagiarism from 
 the complimentary " Garriek fever," which had broken 
 out in Dublin some forty years before. She left the 
 place with regret, and attended by the regard of all, 
 save perhaps that of her manager. The speculation 
 did not " pay," through the very hard terms that 
 were exacted from him.* 
 
 seemed strictly limited to engraving the name on the piece of 
 plate. 
 
 * He thus strikes the balance : 
 
 £ s. d. 
 
 Nine nights' receipts 467 7 7 
 
 Gentlemen's subscription 200 
 
 Clear benefit at raised prices, about . . . .180 
 
 Presents by plate and gold tickets, roughly, at 120 
 
 967 7 7 
 Less her travelling expenses 50 
 
 Clear profit £917 7 7 
 
 The manager's side of the account ran — 
 
 £ s. d. 
 
 Half receipts 467 7 7 
 
 Less expenses of engagement . . £50 
 
 Charges of house on Infirmary benefit 35 
 
 Ditto on Mrs. Siddons' benefit . . 35 
 
 120 
 
 £347 7 7 
 The " charges of the houses " were put too low, and he says that
 
 Edinburgh. 187 
 
 Concluding her engagement here she proceeded 
 straight from Edinburgh, on the 15th June, to 
 fulfil a new one in Dublin. 
 
 actors like Pope, King, and Miss Farren, had always allowed some- 
 thing handsome on settlement. Nothing was to be obtained from 
 Mrs. Siddons. This economy or carefulness was to bear incon- 
 venient fruit. The average profit would have been about 2bl. a 
 night.
 
 188 The Kembles. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 TROUBLES AT DUBLIN. 
 
 f\N her arrival one of her old Cheltenham pa- 
 tronesses appeared on the scene, Miss Boyle, 
 now become Mrs. O'Neil, of Shane's Castle, in the 
 north of Ireland. This " charming friend," as she 
 called her, soon established her in comfort. 
 
 In this country she seems to have been overwhelmed 
 with civility ; every one, from the Duke of Rutland, 
 the Lord Lieutenant, downwards, welcoming her as if 
 she were some great lady of rank. " I was received," 
 she says, " by all the first families with the most 
 nattering hospitality, and the days I passed with 
 them will be ever remembered among the most 
 pleasurable of my life." During her later perfor- 
 mances she was staying on a visit with the Duchess of 
 Leinster, and came in to rehearsal from that lady's 
 house. This aristocratic patronage was quite charac- 
 teristic of the country. It was the ton of the Irish
 
 Troubles at Dublin. 189 
 
 Court to support everything theatrical ; and thus had 
 Mr. Foote been feted when he came over. 
 
 But she carefully distinguished the class with 
 whom she spent these pleasurable days; for from 
 those lower in degree she was to experience a steady 
 course of annoyance. Mr. Daly was a good-lookin^ 
 man, proud of his figure, and a tolerable actor. It is 
 quite probable that his dislike to this actress arose 
 from the failure of such gifts to make any impression 
 on her. Indeed, she hints as much. Her account of 
 the absurd beginning of his dislike is too graphic 
 not to be given in her own words. 
 
 " The manager of the theatre also very soon began 
 to adopt every means of vexation for me that he 
 could possibly devise, merely because I chose to 
 suggest, at rehearsal, that his proper situation, as 
 Falconbridge, in King John, was at the right hand of 
 the King. During the scene between Constance and 
 Austria, he thought it necessary that he should, 
 though he did it most ungraciously, adopt this 
 arrangement; but his malevolence pursued me un- 
 remittingly from that moment. He absurdly fancied 
 that he was of less consequence, when placed at 
 so great a distance from the front of the stage, at 
 the ends of which the kings were seated ; but he had
 
 190 The Kembles. 
 
 little or nothing to say, and his being in the front 
 would have greatly interrupted and diminished the 
 effect of Constance's best scene. He made me suffer 
 however sufficiently for my personality, by employing 
 all the newspapers to abuse and annoy me the whole 
 time I remained in Dublin, and to pursue me 
 to England with malignant scandal; but of that 
 anon. The theatre, meantime, was attended to his 
 heart's content ; indeed, the whole of this engage- 
 ment was as profitable as my most sanguine hopes 
 could have anticipated." 
 
 True to her unfortunate weakness of attributing 
 every slight to deep-seated and malignant animosity, 
 she imputes to the manager the storm of odium 
 that was presently to assail her in London. Here 
 again she was mistaken : he could not have had such 
 influence, though many stories from the Irish papers 
 found their way across the Channel, and were dili- 
 gently circulated. But, as will be seen, the popular 
 feeling against Jier grew out of many mixed pre- 
 judices, and came from the scattered ranks of her 
 own profession. She had other annoyances : she 
 must have been piqued at the preference shown to 
 Mrs. Crawford ; and it was given out that Miss 
 Younge, who had been also " greatly followed," had
 
 Troubles at Dublin. 191 
 
 taken more money out of Dublin alone than she had 
 out of all Ireland. This was an idle falsehood, but 
 there was a malice in the circulation of such reports. 
 A story was copied into the London papers, to the 
 effect that she had been prevailed to go and look 
 at Mr. Home's pictures, a local artist of some 
 celebrity ; and that when asked respectfully to sit 
 to him, had declined, with a great many airs : she 
 " could hardly find opportunity to give a sitting to Sir 
 Joshua," &c. The piqued artist answered, that it 
 was no object to him, or made some such indifferent 
 reply ; at which she was said to have gone away in 
 a fury, after boxing his ears. The truth was she sat 
 in Dublin, and was greatly pleased with the picture. 
 No one of course seriously accepted this absurdity ; 
 but it is probable that she offended the artist by 
 stating too bluntly her reasons against sitting.* 
 
 * Another of these stories ran that a Dublin merchant who was 
 entertaining Mr. Kemble and Mr. Siddons, had expressed a great 
 longing to be introduced to Mrs. Siddons. Her husband is reported 
 to have replied that he would like to do so, but that he did not 
 know how he was to break the matter to her. Under all this exag- 
 geration it is easy to trace the slender modicum of truth on which 
 it is based. She was obliged to make some barrier against the 
 crowds who insisted on becoming acquainted with her ; and the 
 injudicious husband, wishing to be gracious, might have readily- 
 used some such phrase expressive of the great difficulties to be 
 overcome.
 
 192 The Kembles. 
 
 In the middle of her engagement she fell ill of a 
 violent fever, and was confined to her bed for a few 
 nights. The manager and his friends chose to see, 
 in this sickness, a pretence for avoiding her work, 
 and forthwith " inspired " the newspapers with a 
 number of those little " dirty ' paragraphs of a free 
 and personal description, which then filled up corners 
 in all journals of both kingdoms. When she recovered 
 she resumed her duties, but was much exhausted. She 
 was pressed to play for this and that charity, and 
 for benefits ; unreasonable demands, based upon the 
 supposition that she was " coining " money, as the 
 phrase runs. When in the following year the ex- 
 traordinary phenomenon was witnessed of a great 
 actress put publicly on her trial for being too 
 economical of her gains, it was stated by Woodfall 
 (or by her brother, to whom it was believed Woodfall 
 opened his columns), that she played in Dublin 
 for many charities. This is incredible on the face of 
 it, as her engagement was for no more than twenty-two 
 nights. She wished to play for one or two charities ; 
 but here again she was unfortunate, for having 
 promised on her first visit to play for the Marshalsea 
 prisoners, she was too much pressed for time, and 
 sent them a small subscription instead. The follow-
 
 Troubles at Dublin. 193 
 
 ing year she meant to fulfil her promise, but the 
 unfortunate misunderstanding as to Digges, the actor, 
 who had been seized with paralysis when rehearsing 
 with her, interfered. This will be explained a little 
 further on. 
 
 In September she went down to Cork for an 
 engagement, where there was a fresh quarrel with 
 the manager, which led to more paragraphs in 
 the papers ; and a malicious account came down from 
 Dublin of her inhumanity in refusing to play for a 
 poor paralyzed old actor. It was solemnly stated 
 that " there was a general opinion abroad that the 
 softer virtues of humanity did not reside in her 
 breast," and it was written over to London, that " the 
 attractions of our capital actress were now entirely at 
 an end. She is deplorably neglected, which must 
 be the result of a want of taste in the public or 
 of merit in the actress." However, Mr. Daly's 
 " activity " in the arts of puffing, we may presume, 
 had saved him from loss. The very day after her 
 engagement concluded the newspapers turned on her ; 
 the very journal in which her praises had been so 
 persistently sung, bidding her remember how " her 
 comb had been cut " by Mrs. Crawford. Another ad- 
 dressed her ironically, saying, " it was impossible she 
 
 vol. i. 13
 
 194 The Kembles. 
 
 could excite such exquisite feelings of distress without 
 feeling some emotions of real humanity." Another 
 paragraph boldly called upon any one of her profes- 
 sion to come forward and state if she had ever 
 done a kind action. Another prophesied that she 
 would be driven from the London stage if she ever 
 ventured to show herself on it. This malignity seems 
 
 incredible. 
 
 No wonder she was delighted to get away from 
 
 these intrigues, and find herself a welcome guest 
 at Shane's Castle, the seat of the O'Neils, whose 
 hospitalities seem to have been sustained on a scale of 
 princely splendour. The old castle, now a ruin, then 
 stood on the edge of Lough Neagh, in the centre of a 
 noble park. A distinguished party had been as- 
 sembled to meet her, among the rest " poor Lord 
 Edward Fitzgerald, the most amiable, honourable, 
 though misguided youth I ever knew." " The luxury 
 of this establishment," she says, " almost inspired 
 the recollection of an Arabian night's entertainment. 
 Six or eight carriages, with a numerous throng of 
 lords and ladies on horseback, began the day by 
 making excursions around this terrestrial paradise, 
 returning home just in time to dress for dinner. 
 The table was served with a profusion and elegance
 
 Troubles at Dublin. 195 
 
 to which I have never seen anything comparable. 
 The sideboards were decorated with adequate mag- 
 nificence, on which appeared several immense silver 
 flagons containing claret. A fine band of musicians 
 played during the whole of the repast ; they were sta- 
 tioned in the corridors, which led to a fine conservatory, 
 where we plucked our dessert, from numerous trees, of 
 the most exquisite fruits. The foot of the con- 
 servatory was washed by the waves of a superb lake, 
 from which the cool and pleasant wind came to 
 murmur in concert with the harmony from the 
 corridors. The graces of the presiding genius, the 
 lovely mistress of the mansion, seemed to blend with 
 the whole scene." 
 
 This picture seems a little theatrical, with the 
 " adequate magnificence ' of the sideboards, and 
 the "flagons containing claret;" but it was scarcely 
 an overdrawn description of the splendours of that 
 old house. The glories of the " wonderful lake," 
 where the fisherman strays, and under whose 
 waters are made out the spectral " round towers 
 of other days," had not yet been sung by Moore; 
 but it still remains one of the noblest demesnes 
 in the country. 
 
 Taking with her at least these agreeable recol- 
 
 13—3
 
 196 The Kembles. 
 
 lections, she now left Ireland, and most probably her 
 brother left with her. He too had had his bick- 
 erings with Daly, chiefly in regard to increase of 
 salary, which must have been raised, as otherwise he 
 would not have remained so long in the country ; but 
 to the end he kept to the respectable course that he 
 pursued all through his life. Before he went away 
 the Catholic archbishop and clergy entertained 
 him at a public dinner, an exceptional compliment 
 for a player. Much improved in his playing, he 
 at last departed to enter on his London engagement, 
 confident of his success.
 
 Vnpop ularity. 197 
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 UNPOPULARITY. 
 
 |"N the life of the great actor run two currents side 
 by side — one of their public, the other of their 
 private life. But it is almost impossible to keep 
 them separate; from either the irresistible curiosity 
 of the public, the vanity of the artist him- 
 self, or the malice of the ill-natured. It is al- 
 ways well, for the dignity of the player, that his 
 private life should, as it were, be kept sacred, as 
 indeed Hazlitt has shown in his pleasant paper, 
 " Whether players should be seen in the boxes." It 
 now became the great actress's hard fate to be 
 dragged into an unpleasant publicity. Her success 
 had been too splendid for her to escape the efforts 
 of malignity, and an unmanly and undeserved attack 
 on her was now to be organized for which she was 
 not accountable, unless she is to be blamed for a 
 constitutional coldness of character. 
 
 Conscious of her own surpassing gifts, of the weary
 
 198 The Kembles. 
 
 slavery she had passed through to bring them into 
 notice, and thoroughly domestic in her tastes, she 
 had acquired an indifference, if not a contempt, to the 
 outside world, of which her bitter feeling towards 
 Garrick and Drury Lane was a fair specimen. With a 
 naturally warm and affectionate heart, almost impul- 
 sive in her relations with her friends, she had a cold 
 reserve to those who were not her friends, and a care- 
 lessness which rather checked sympathy, and might 
 be set down to want of tact. This is often found in 
 such fine natures, and in those which have passed 
 through a severe probation. Such feel they have 
 earned their position dearly, and disclaim the ordi- 
 nary little cheap arts by which favour is secured. 
 Some such feeling it is certain was in her mind; 
 and those skilled in character will see a slight but 
 different indication of it in her resenting seriously on 
 several occasions the little traps laid by well meaning 
 but injudicious people to get her to meet company. 
 All this in so great a genius was justifiable ; but the 
 crowd cannot understand : and it was such a want 
 of tact that was now to raise a storm, which was 
 for a time to embitter all her triumphs, and which, 
 for the rest of her life, scarcely ever left her in 
 peace.
 
 Unpopularity. 199 
 
 In her own profession she had made enemies, and 
 others also on the Press. Scribblers, in the Morning 
 Herald especially, were never weary of defaming her : 
 no donbt in the interest of her rivals. It was hard 
 indeed for good actresses like Mrs. Crawford, Mrs. 
 Yates, Miss Younge, or Mrs. Abington, to find them- 
 selves of a sudden reduced almost to obscurity. A 
 little before the time when she was expected to return 
 to town, some strange gossip began to appear, which 
 hinted at meanness, stinginess, and even inhumanity. 
 Reports from Ireland began to arrive, and it was at 
 last openly stated that, with the large sums she was 
 receiving, she had actually taken money to play for a 
 good actor suddenly stricken with paralysis ; that for 
 another who was one of her own Drury Lane com- 
 panions, she had declined to do the same service 
 unless for a large sum. The first referred to the 
 unfortunate Digges, whose history was a strange one ; 
 the other to Brereton, who had played with her so 
 finely and with such power in Venice Preserved. These 
 attacks were urged with a growing fierceness, and 
 every newspaper was dotted over with paragraphs 
 about this little scandal. 
 
 By the time she arrived the matter had grown so 
 serious that it became necessary to contradict these
 
 200 TJie Kembles. 
 
 charges formally. And though the announcement of 
 her coming performance, when given out at the 
 theatre, was received with favour, her husband 
 thought fit to address a letter of explanation to the 
 papers — a most awkwardly worded production. In 
 this he gave what he absurdly called the " solemn 
 facts," denying that Mrs. Siddons ever asked or ac- 
 cepted a single farthing, and appealing to Digges's 
 own acknowledgment of her kindness — "a very 
 polite note," which had unfortunately been destroyed. 
 So far from refusing to play for Brereton, she had 
 agreed to do so for a much smaller sum than she was 
 in the habit of receiving from the other actors. But, 
 unhappily, she had fallen ill, and was compelled to keep 
 her bed for nearly a fortnight, and when she recovered 
 the manager's claims and her own ill health prevented 
 her performing her promise. After that, " she made 
 another attempt to serve him ; why it failed Mr. 
 Brereton could truly tell." Such an explanation was 
 not considered satisfactory. It was undignified, and 
 the exculpation that " so far from refusing to play for 
 Mr. Brereton," she had taken twenty pounds from him 
 for doing so, seemed rather a ludicrous shape of reason- 
 ing. The " other attempt to serve him," was a scarcely 
 delicate reference to an offer she was said to have made
 
 Unpopularity. 201 
 
 of giving him cash down instead of her services — a 
 scarcely handsome reminder. Three or four days later 
 Brereton was induced to write to the papers, confirming 
 in a blunt style the truth of the story as regarded him. 
 "He was forced," he said, "to own himself under many 
 obligations of friendship " to her. Mr. Siddons com- 
 mented on this " obliging " testimony, and not being 
 able " to withhold his public thanks from Mr. Brere- 
 ton," hoped that soon " the artful schemes of her 
 detractors ,: would be confounded by the appearance 
 of a letter from Mr. Digges. Two days later Mr. 
 Brereton wrote again to strengthen his statement, 
 which, he said, had been misunderstood. " In the 
 course of a long and dangerous illness he had received 
 proofs of friendship which he should ever remember 
 with gratitude, and avowed now with sincere satis- 
 faction." All this was painful, and such legal proof 
 and awkward balancing of favours was utterly fatal to 
 the dignity of the actress. On that very night she 
 had to go down to the theatre and take the verdict of 
 the public, to whose arbitration she had been so ill- 
 advised as to submit what in nowise concerned them. 
 It is curious how such a challenge has scarcely ever 
 failed to rouse the injustice and meaner passions of an 
 audience. There is something, we may suppose, very
 
 202 The Kembles. 
 
 tempting in their having a superior being on trial 
 before them, and something equally flattering to the 
 complacency of pit and galleries in having a chance of 
 asserting their strength and superiority. It is only by 
 some such theory that the indecent and unreasonable 
 persecution which Garrick, Kemble, Mrs. Siddons, 
 and Kean had suffered at their hands, can be 
 explained. 
 
 It should be remembered, however, that a general 
 rumour of avariciousness and of a disinclination to help 
 her fellow-players had got abroad some time before, 
 and these two instances seem to have been eagerly 
 seized on as a fortunate piece of evidence. And though 
 envy and jealousy in her own profession had in- 
 dustriously worked up their charges, such could not 
 have been sufficient without public support to organize 
 the terrible reception that was now to greet her. 
 The play was the gloomy domestic tragedy of The 
 Gamester, that lugubrious but interesting picture of 
 home tragedy. This ought to have been a momentous 
 night for the stage, and Kemble, with the conscious- 
 ness of his own great powers, as strong as was that of 
 his sister in hers, and resting on his long labours, 
 might have fairly looked to making one of those 
 brilliant successes which would next morning have
 
 Unpopularity. 203 
 
 found his name in every one's mouth. Brother and 
 sister, too, were to appear in the same powerful play ; 
 but the miserable entertainment of baiting- one 
 against whom they had a grievance was more 
 seductive. 
 
 It is pleasant to think that the brave woman 
 should have behaved with fortitude in the presence of 
 the cabal, and with a resolution as sagacious as it 
 was gallant. It must have been a terrible moment 
 for her as she stood with her brother on the stasre 
 waiting for the curtain to go up. She was received 
 with a burst of hooting and hissing, and stood there, 
 as she says, "the object of public scorn;" but she 
 never quailed for a moment. Her brother led her 
 forward to the footlights ; but this only increased the 
 storm. Mr. Boaden, who was in the pit, noticed the 
 perfect composure and dignity, with her grateful 
 acknowledgment of the friendly applause with which 
 it was in vain attempted to overpower the unmanly 
 attack. Her own natural account shows how much 
 she was suffering, and that this bearing was merely 
 
 assumed. No wonder she looked back to " the horrors 
 
 i 
 
 of this dreadful nisrht." 
 
 " Amidst this afflicting clamour I made several 
 attempts to be heard, when at length a gentleman
 
 204 The Kembles. 
 
 stood forth in the middle of the front of the pit, im- 
 pelled by benevolent and gentlemanly feeling, who, as 
 I advanced to make my last attempt at being heard, 
 accosted me in these words : c For Heaven's sake, 
 madam, do not degrade yourself by an apology, for 
 there is nothing necessary to be said.' I shall always 
 look back with gratitude to this gallant man's solitary 
 advocacy of my cause : like ' Abdiel, faithful found ; 
 among the faithless, faithful only he.' His admonition 
 was followed by reiterated clamour, when my dear 
 brother appeared, and carried me away from this scene 
 of insult. The instant I quitted it, I fainted in his 
 arms ; and, on my recovery, I was thankful that my 
 persecutors had not had the gratification of beholding 
 this weakness. After I was tolerably restored to my- 
 self, I was induced, by the persuasions of my husband, 
 my brother, and Mr. Sheridan, to present myself again 
 before that audience by whom I had been so savagely 
 treated, and before whom, but in consideration of my 
 children, I would have never appeared again. The 
 play was the Gamester, which commences with a scene 
 between Beverley and Charlotte. Great and pleasant 
 was my astonishment to find myself, on the second 
 rising of the curtain, received with a silence so pro- 
 found that I was absolutely awestruck, and never yet
 
 Unpopularity. 205 
 
 have I been able to account for this surprising con- 
 trast ; for I really think that the falling of a pin 
 might have been then heard upon the stage." 
 
 It was then that this fearless woman addressed them 
 in a short speech that had been, no doubt, carefully pre- 
 pared beforehand. "The kind and nattering partiality," 
 she said, "which I have uniformly experienced in this 
 place, would make the present interruption distressing 
 to me indeed, were I conscious of having deserved 
 your censure. The stories which have been circulated 
 against me are calumnies. When they shall be proved 
 to be true my aspersers will be justified ; but till then 
 my respect for the public leads me to be confident that 
 I shall be protected from unmerited insult." This 
 short and skilfully drawn appeal at once produced an 
 effect. Here was no longer the clumsy touch of Mr. 
 Siddons, and it seems probable that her brother, well 
 skilled in the tactics of those unequal battles at the 
 footlights, had furnished this artful protest. Even the 
 last word was happily chosen, as it recalled to the un- 
 mannerly audience that they were assailing a defence- 
 less woman. 
 
 The effect was magical. She withdrew, and the 
 curtain fell, and the veteran King came out to entreat 
 their indulgence for a few moments while the gallant
 
 206 The Kembles. 
 
 actress was recovering herself. She then appeared 
 once more, and went through the part triumphantly. 
 In her behaviour there is a something that excites our 
 warmest sympathy, and we can accept that remarkable 
 declaration of hers as perfectly sincere, that but for 
 the thought of her young children she would never 
 have presented herself there again. She might well 
 congratulate herself on as spirited a battle and victory 
 as woman ever won.* 
 
 The next day this scene was the talk of the 
 town. Again the papers began to fill with charges 
 and defences. In a few days arrived a letter from 
 Digges' son, and later, one from the shattered, broken 
 Digges himself, which had been both long delayed by 
 the stormy weather between Holyhead and Dublin, ad- 
 mitting that she had played for his benefit and-had not 
 taken any money for her services. Woodfall, always 
 cold but just towards her, urged her innocence — for it 
 almost came to be a question of that — with great force 
 
 * Brereton actually played in the piece, and Boaden makes some 
 severe remarks on his not coming forward there and then to offer 
 testimony. But this would have only added to the confusion, and 
 might have had worse effects, the audience not being in the humour 
 for logic. Besides, he could have said nothing on the more serious 
 charge. The grateful Lee Lewes was also present to give his 
 testimony to her generosity to him, if called on.
 
 Unpopularity. 207 
 
 and argument. Here, he said, were the charges. She 
 had first refused to play for Mr. Digges, and had then 
 demanded a sum of money if she were to do so : the 
 answer was, that she had played for Mr. Digges, and 
 had taken no money. She had refused altogether to 
 play for Brereton : she had shown that she had con- 
 sented to do so. The matter might now he allowed 
 to rest.
 
 208 The Kembles. 
 
 A 
 
 CHAPTEE XYI. 
 
 RESTORED TO FAVOUR. 
 
 ND yet, reviewing the whole matter, it must be 
 admitted that there were grounds for that rather 
 rough-and-ready judgment which a public is pri- 
 vileged to form. And further, she herself, in her 
 own account of the transaction, has passed over all 
 that seemed to justify these hasty impressions. Here 
 is the true and important account of the transaction. 
 A natural question would be, w//j/ were both these 
 actors, on whom she had conferred such favours, so 
 dissatisfied ? What was their real or fancied 
 grievance ? She had appealed to the Digges' family : 
 yet here came the testimony of the son. He said that 
 when his father was seized with this sudden illness, 
 Mr. Daly, the manager, without the knowledge of 
 Digges, spoke to Mr. Siddons as to giving his wife's 
 services for a benefit. Mr. Siddons refused the request. 
 Daly then offered to pay any reasonable sum they 
 mis-lit name. This was also refused, and he adds,-
 
 Restored to Favour. 209 
 
 that nothing further was done during his stay in 
 Dublin, which lasted some days. His father, when 
 he began to recover, was told of the matter, and had 
 so little hope of her assistance that he began to 
 organize a benefit by the assistance of Colonel French 
 and some amateurs. Old Digges' testimony was to 
 much the same effect. " When I lay almost insen- 
 sible," he says, " through the effect of my paralytic 
 stroke, Mr. Daly applied to Mrs. Siddons to play 
 for me ; but, for reasons which perhaps were very 
 forcible ones, she refused. The rumour of this spread 
 through the town, and severe animadversions and 
 little addresses to her appeared in the papers. Mr. 
 Siddons then called, and offered his wife's assistance. 
 After the refusal Mr. Daly had met with, I own it 
 was an unexpected event." He also added: " I did not 
 pay Mrs. Siddons for my benefit." Thus it seems to 
 be true that she had refused to play for him, and that, 
 when this step seemed likely to bring unpopularity, 
 she consented. Lee Lewes, who was in Dublin, and 
 a warm admirer of hers, corroborates this view. 
 He says that, on Digges' illness, " a person came to 
 her and proposed that she should play for him ; her 
 answer was, that she was sorry she had but one night 
 to spare, and for that she thought she was engaged in 
 vol. i. 14
 
 210 The Kembles. 
 
 honour to play for the Marshalsea, as she had 
 intended in the year before. This to be sure was a 
 denial, though not an uncharitable one. The mes- 
 senger had not been long gone when it struck her 
 that it would be more humane to assist this old un- 
 fortunate ; and immediately she despatched a person 
 to Drumcondra, where Digges was, to say that Mrs. 
 Siddons had reconsidered the matter, and would be 
 glad to perform for him. He was thankful, and the 
 night for the play was fixed. There was a good 
 house." 
 
 Here again is the refusal to play; but it is not 
 unlikely that he was mistaken as to the speediness of 
 her change of mind. But in her own account, written 
 many years after, she says nothing of these refusals, 
 and even claims the credit of proposing the idea. 
 Here is her story : " When my visit to Shane's 
 Castle was over I entered into another engagement in 
 Dublin. Among the actors in that theatre was Mr. 
 Digges, who had formerly held a high rank in 
 the drama, but who was now, by age and infirmity, 
 reduced to a subordinate and mortifying situation. 
 It occurred to me that I might be of some use to him 
 if I could persuade the manager to give him a night, 
 and the actors to perform for him, at the close of my
 
 Restored to Favour. 211 
 
 engagement ; but, when I proposed my request to 
 the manager, he told me it could not be, because the 
 whole company would be obliged to leave the Dublin 
 Theatre, in order to open the theatre at Limerick; 
 but that he would lend the house for my purpose, if 
 I could procure a sufficient number of actors to 
 perform a play. By indefatigable labour, and in 
 spite of cruel annoyances, Mr. Sidclons and myself 
 got together, from all the little country theatres, 
 as many as would enable us to attempt Venice 
 Preserved. Oh ! to be sure, it was a scene of disgust 
 and confusion. I acted Belvidera, without having 
 ever previously seen the face of one of the actors ; for 
 there was no time for even one rehearsal; but the 
 motive procured us indulgence. Poor Mr. Digges 
 was most materially benefited by this most ludicrous 
 performance ; and I put my disgust into my pocket, 
 since money passed into his. Thus ended my Irish 
 engagement; but not so my persecution by the 
 manager, at whose instance the newspapers were 
 filled with the most unjust and malignant reflections 
 on me. All the time I was on a visit of some length 
 to the Dowager Duchess of Leinster, unconscious 
 of the gathering storm, whilst the public mind 
 was imbibing poisonous prejudices against me. Alas 
 
 14—2 
 
 i
 
 212 TJie Kembles. 
 
 for those who subsist by the stability of public 
 favour ! " 
 
 It will be seen that here she says nothing of 
 Digges' sudden paralytic stroke, and speaks of him as 
 if he had been for some time degraded in the theatre 
 to some insignificant rank, and merely tolerated as a 
 pensioner. The truth was he was the leading actor, 
 and was playing Pierre to her Belvidera. And 
 this we can see was one of the blemishes in Mrs. 
 Siddons ; wherever, as at Drury Lane, she had been 
 treated injuriously she seemed ever after to set it 
 down to the most vindictive motives, or to a 
 special animosity. This will be seen in many in- 
 stances, and is not a little curious in so fine a 
 character. 
 
 Her own statement, then, answers the question put 
 at the beginning of this examination, why it was 
 that Digges should have felt himself aggrieved. She 
 had indeed acted for him, but it was after the season 
 had closed, and when all the actors had gone away. 
 The beggarly exhibition she so happily describes 
 could not have produced nearly so much as a regular 
 benefit under suitable conditions. The public having 
 heard of the first refusal naturally considered the 
 discreditable performance but a poor compliment to
 
 Restored to Favour. 213 
 
 the old and popular player, and asked why she had 
 not played for him during the season. And this 
 point too she passes over in her account — viz., why 
 she could not have chosen a night hefore the season 
 closed. Even the refusal to play, which she says 
 nothing of, is almost consistent with her story, for 
 she merely omits it. 
 
 Then as to Brereton : it was urged that a person 
 who could play three nights a week after a violent 
 fever could hardly plead an invalid's excuse. And 
 considering that Brereton was the only leading 
 actor of her own theatre who was with her, and that 
 he played hero to her heroine, she might have paid 
 him the compliment of acting for him without 
 charge; and considering that she carried away the 
 large sum of 2000/. from Dublin, a reduction of 
 10/. to him had a rather petty air. But most likely 
 all this wretched muddle was the work of Mr. Sid- 
 dons, who, considering all the charitable taxes laid on 
 her, and the many benefits she had to assist, found 
 himself obliged, like most husbands of money-getting 
 actresses, to bargain and chaffer for her gifts as if 
 they were wares, and get as much money as they could 
 be made to bring in. Such seems to be the history 
 of this unlucky transaction, which, it must be owned,
 
 214 The Kembles. 
 
 has not hitherto been treated with full impar- 
 tiality.* 
 
 The public, it will be admitted, had some apparent 
 grounds for being prejudiced, and a stupid and blun- 
 dering discussion of what should not have been 
 discussed, at once made them parties to an argument 
 which had only the effect of placing the great actress 
 in a most undignified position. For several nights 
 afterwards this onslaught was recommenced as she 
 entered ; but the majority of the audience were able 
 to put it down. She would make her curtsey, and 
 then go on with her part ; but it was noticed that she 
 was unnerved and uncertain. Privately she owned to 
 friends that for a long time afterwards she had lost 
 all enthusiasm, and actually sickened at the very idea 
 of continuing to be an actress. How she felt all this 
 persecution will be seen in some very natural and 
 affectionate letters that she wrote to the Whalleys 
 about this time. 
 
 " My dearest Friends, — I hardly dare hope that 
 you will remember me : I know I don't deserve that 
 
 * Campbell and Boaden have rested chiefly on Mrs. Siddons' 
 own statement, dismissing every imputation whatsoever against her 
 
 on the ground of her high character.
 
 Restored to Favour. 215 
 
 you should, but I know also that you are too stead- 
 fast and too good to cast me off for a seeming 
 negligence, to which my heart and soul are averse, 
 and the appearance of which I have incessantly 
 regretted. What can I say in my defence ? I have 
 been very unhappy ; now 'tis over I will venture to tell 
 you so, that you may not 'lose the dues of rejoicing.' 
 Envy, malice, detraction, all the fends of hell have com- 
 passed me round about to destroy me; 'but blessed be 
 God who hath given me the victory,' &c. I have been 
 charged with almost everything bad, except inconti- 
 nence ; and it is attributed to me as thinking a 
 woman may be guilty of every crime in the catalogue 
 of crimes, provided she retain her chastity. God help 
 them and forgive them ; they know but little of me. 
 / daresay you will wonder that a favourite should stand 
 her ground so long ; and in truth so do I. I have been 
 degraded ; I am now again the favourite servant of 
 the public, and I have kept the noiseless tenor of my 
 temper in these extremes : my spirit has been grieved, but 
 my victorious faith upholds me. I look forward to 
 a better world for happiness, and am placed in this in 
 mercy, to be a candidate for that. But what makes 
 the wound rankle deeper is, that ingratitude, hypo- 
 crisy, and perfidy have barbed the darts. But it is
 
 216 The Kembles. 
 
 over, and I am happy. Good God! what would I 
 give to see you both, but for an hour ! how many 
 thousand thousand times do I wish myself with 
 you, and long to unburthen my heart to you. I can't 
 bear the idea of your being so long absent. I know 
 you will expect to hear what I have been doing ; and 
 I wish I could do this to your satisfaction. Suffice it 
 to say, that I have acted Lady Macbeth, Desdemona, 
 and several other things this season, with the most 
 unbounded approbation ; and you have no idea how 
 the innocence and playful simplicity of the latter 
 have laid hold on the hearts of the people. I am 
 very much nattered by this, as nobody ever has done 
 anything with that character before. My brother is 
 charming in Othello ; indeed, I must do the public 
 the justice to say that they have been extremely 
 indulgent, if not partial, to every character I have 
 performed. 
 
 " I have never seen Mr. Pratt since I heard from 
 you, but he discovers his unworthiness to my own 
 family ; he abuses me, it seems, to one of my sisters 
 in the most complete manner. How distressing is it 
 to be so deceived! Our old Mary, too, whom you 
 must remember, has proved a very viper. She has 
 lately taken to drinking, has defrauded us of a great
 
 Restored to Favour. 217 
 
 deal of money given her to pay the tradespeople, and 
 
 in her cups has abused Mr. Siddons and me beyond 
 
 all bounds ; and I believe in my soul that all the 
 
 scandalous reports of Mr. Siddons' ill-treatment of 
 
 me originated entirely in her. One must pay for 
 
 one's experience, and the consciousness of acting 
 
 rightly is a comfort that hell-born malice cannot rob 
 
 us of. Lady Langham has done me the honour to 
 
 call with her daughter : her drawings are very 
 
 wonderful things for such a girl. In the compositions 
 
 she has drawn me in Macbeth asleep and awake ; but 
 
 I think she has been unsuccessful in this effort. 
 
 Next week I shall see your daughter and the rest. 
 
 Sarah is an elegant creature, and Maria is as beautiful 
 
 as a seraph. Harry grows very awkward, sensible, 
 
 and well-disposed; and thank God we are all well. 
 
 I can stay no longer than to hope that you are both 
 
 so, and happy (see how disinterested I am !) ; that 
 
 Reeves and the dear Paphy are so too ; and that 
 
 you will love me, and believe me, with the warmest 
 
 and truest affection, unalterably and gratefully 
 
 yours, 
 
 " S. Siddons. 
 
 " My whole family desire the kindest remem- 
 brances. We have bought a house in Gower Street,
 
 218 The Kembles. 
 
 Bedford Square ; the back of it is most effectually in 
 the country, and delightfully pleasant. 
 
 " God bless you, my dear Mrs. Whalley ! How 
 perfectly do I see you at this moment ; and you, too, 
 my dear friend, for it is impossible to separate your 
 images in my mind. Pray write to me soon, and give 
 me another instance of* your unwearied kindness. 
 Adieu !" 
 
 Another letter to the same friends is worth in- 
 serting here, it is so buoyant and affectionate : — 
 
 " Mrs. Wapshawe has been so good as to bestow 
 half an hour upon me. She speaks of you as I should 
 speak of you — as if she could not find words, and as 
 if her sentiments could not enough honour you both. 
 If you could look into the hearts of people, trust me, 
 my beloved and ever-lamented friends, you would be 
 convinced that mine yearns after you with increasing 
 and unalterable affection. See there now — how have 
 I expressed myself? That is always the way with 
 me : when I speak or write to you, it is always so in- 
 adequately, that I don't do justice to myself; for I thank 
 God that I have a soul capable of loving you, and trust 
 I shall find an advocate in your bosoms to assist my 
 inability and simpleness. You know me of old for a 
 matter-of-fact woman. Mrs. Wapshawe has revived
 
 Restored to Favour. 219 
 
 my hopes ; she tells me that you will return sooner 
 than I hoped. Now I'll begin my cottage again : it 
 has been lying in heaps a great while, and I have 
 shed many tears over the ruins ; but we will build it 
 up again in joy. You know the spot that I have 
 fixed upon, and I trust I have not forgotten the plan ! 
 Oh ! what a reward for all that I have suffered, to 
 retire to the blessings of your society ; for, indeed, my 
 dear friends, I have paid severely for my eminence, 
 and have smarted with the undeserved pain that should 
 attend the guilty only ; but it is the fate of office, 
 and the rough brake that virtue must go through ; 
 and sweet, ' sweet are the uses of adversity.' I kiss 
 the rod. Mrs. Wapshawe was quite delighted with 
 Mr. Beach's picture of you ; but she tells me that you 
 wear coloured clothes and lace ruffles ; and I valued 
 my picture more, if possible, for standing the test of 
 such a change as these (to me unusual) ornaments 
 must necessarily make in you. I think I shall long 
 to strip you of these trappings. I am so attached to 
 the garments I have been used to see you wear, and 
 think they harmonize so well with your face and 
 person, that I should wish them like their dear wearer, 
 who is without change. I am proud of your chiding, 
 though God knows how unwillingly I would give you
 
 220 The Kemhles. 
 
 a moment's pain ; nay, more, He knows that I neither 
 go to bed, nor offer prayers for blessings at His hands, 
 in which your welfare does not make an ardent peti- 
 tion. But why should I wound your friendly bosoms 
 with the relation of my vexations ? I knew you too 
 well to suppose you could hear of my distresses with- 
 out feeling them too poignantly. I resolved to write 
 when I had overcome my enemies : you shall always 
 share my joys, but suffer me to keep my griefs from 
 your knowledge. Now I am triumphant, the favourite 
 of the public again; and now you hear from me. 
 
 " A strange capricious master is the public ; however, 
 one consolation greater than any other, except one's 
 own approbation, has been, that those whose suffrages 
 I esteemed most have, through all my troubles, clasped 
 me closer to their hearts ; they have been the touch- 
 stone to prove who were really my friends. You will 
 believe me when I affirm, that your friendship and my 
 dear Mrs. Whalley's is an honour and a happiness I 
 would not forego for any earthly consideration. Tell 
 my dearest Mrs. Whalley that neither avocations nor 
 indolence would have prevented your hearing from me 
 long ago, but for the reasons already mentioned. I 
 wrote to you last Sunday, when I had not received 
 your dear letters ; so you will do me the justice to
 
 Restored to Favour. 221 
 
 remember that I was not reminded of you but by my 
 own heart, which, while it beats, will ever love you 
 both with the warmest and truest affection ; however, 
 as she is so seldom mistaken, we shall have the honour 
 and glory of laughing at her. Would to God I could 
 laugh with, or cry with, or anything with you, but 
 for half an hour ! To say the truth though, your 
 tender reproaches gave me a melancholy which I could 
 not (and I don't know if I wished it) shake off. Pray 
 let me hear from you very soon and very often. I 
 shall be a better woman, and more worthy of your in- 
 valuable friendship, the more I converse with you. 
 Surely the converse of good and gentle spirits is the 
 nearest approach to heaven that we can know ; there- 
 fore once more I beg that I may often hear from you ; 
 and if you do love me, do not think so unworthily of 
 me as to suppose my affection can, in the nature of 
 things, ever know the least abatement. I conjure 
 you both to promise me this ! for I cannot bear it — 
 indeed I can't. 
 
 " I must beg you will not mention (I believe I am 
 giving an unnecessary caution) anything I have told 
 you concerning Mr. Pratt. I would not wish him 
 to know, by any means, that I have been informed of 
 his last unkindness, because it might prevent his asking
 
 222 The Kembles. 
 
 me to do him a favour, which I shall be at all times 
 ready to grant, when in my power. I must tell you 
 that after the very unkind letter he sent me, in 
 answer to mine requesting the ten pounds, I never 
 wrote to or heard from him until about three months 
 asro, when he wrote to me as if he had never offered 
 such an indignity, recommending a work which he 
 had just finished to my attention. He did not tell me 
 what this work was, but I had heard it was a tragedy. 
 To be made a convenient acquaintance only, did not 
 much gratify me ; but, however, I wrote to say he 
 knew the resolution I had been obliged to make 
 (having made many enemies by reading some, and 
 not being able to give time to read all tragedies), to 
 read nobody's tragedy, and then no one could take 
 offence ; but that if it was accepted by the managers, 
 and there was anything that I could be of service to 
 him in (doing justice to myself), that I should be very 
 happy to serve him. I have heard nothing of him since 
 that time till within these few days, when he wrote 
 to my sister Fanny, accusing me of ingratitude, and 
 calling himself the ladder upon which I have mounted 
 to fame, and which I am kicking down. 
 
 " What he means by ingratitude I am at a loss to 
 guess, and I fancy he would be puzzled to explain ;
 
 Restored to Favour. 223 
 
 our obligations were always, I believe, pretty mutual. 
 However, in tbis letter to Fanny, lie says he is going 
 to publish a poem called ' Gratitude,' in which he 
 means to show my avarice and meanness, and all the 
 rest of my amiable qualities, to the world, for having 
 dropped him, as he calls it, so injuriously, and banish- 
 ing him my house. Now, as I hope for mercy, I 
 permitted his visits at my house, after having dis- 
 covered that he was taking every possible method to 
 attach my sister to him, which you may be sure he 
 took pains to conceal from us, and I had him to my 
 parties long after I made this discovery. In short, 
 till he chose to write this letter, which I disdained to 
 reply to, he called as usual. He had the modesty to 
 desist from calling on us from that time, and now has 
 the goodness to throw this unmerited obloquy on me. 
 I am so well convinced that a very plain tale will put 
 him down, that his intention gives me very little 
 concern. I am only grieved to see such daily instances 
 of folly and wickedness in human nature. It is worth 
 observing, too, that at the very time he chose to write 
 this agreeable letter, I was using my best influences 
 with Mr. Siddons to lend him the money I told you 
 of before. I find he thinks it is not very prudent to 
 quarrel with me, but has the effrontery to think that
 
 224 The Kembles. 
 
 I should make advances toward our reconcilement ; but 
 I will die first. ' My tow'ring virtue, from the assu- 
 rance of my merit, scorns to stoop so low.' If he 
 should come round of himself (for I have learnt that 
 best of knowledge, to forgive), I will, out of respect of 
 what I believe he once was, be of what service I can 
 to him ; for I believe he meant well at one time, when 
 I knew him first, and the noblest vengeance is the 
 most complete. Once more, your fingers on your lips, 
 I pray ! " * 
 
 Whalley's Memoirs.
 
 Macbeth. 225 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 u 
 
 P to this time we have lost sight of the other 
 members of Eoger Kemble's numerous family. 
 It is curious to see how they appeared to fall 
 short of each other in ability, after a steadily descend- 
 ing scale. Thus John had smaller powers than his 
 sister, Charles less than John, Stephen less than 
 Charles, and the sisters less again. Only for the fame 
 and support of the eldest brother and sister the rest 
 of the family would have doubtless remained in some 
 of those lowly avocations where the good sense of 
 their father had placed them. 
 
 Charles, when he was thirteen years old, was sent 
 away by his brother's care and charges to Douai 
 College, where he remained three years, and acquired 
 a knowledge of foreign languages, and other accom- 
 plishments. In this brother there was a greater 
 softness, with a sort of refinement of character. 
 When he returned a situation was obtained for him 
 
 vol. i. 15
 
 226 The Kembles. 
 
 in the Post Office ; but the theatrical taste of the 
 family was too strong to be resisted, and very soon, 
 disliking the slow promotion and monotony of the 
 office, he was consulting his brother John and his 
 friend Mr. Taylor as to the advisability of going on 
 the stage.* The latter, from his rather rustic and 
 uncouth manner, thought him unfitted for such a 
 profession ; and John Kemble took the same view. 
 But no aspirant for the stage, although affecting to 
 pay the compliment of asking advice, is ever known 
 to be guided by what he receives, and the young 
 man followed his inclinations at the time, and 
 commenced his stage life at Sheffield in 1792. 
 When Grarrick brought over French dancers, and 
 roused British patriotism to vindicate itself by a 
 riot, there was in the frotqje a little French girl 
 of the name of De Camp. She remained after her 
 friends had been driven back to their own country ; 
 learned English ; obtained leave to try her powers 
 at acting, and triumphed so successfully over all 
 
 * Mr. John Taylor, the author of " Monsieur Tonson," was 
 later to marry a Miss Satchell, sister to the wife of Stephen. He 
 was very intimate with the Kembles ; and his " Eecords of My 
 Life" — a "gossiping," but sensible collection of incidents in the 
 lives of actors — is singularly entertaining, and contributes many 
 little points to the history of the Kembles.
 
 Macbeth. 227 
 
 obstacles as to become a very intelligent and pleasing 
 English actress. This lady became Mr. Charles 
 Kemble's wife.* 
 
 The sisters of Mrs. Siddons also found their 
 thoughts disturbed by theatrical dreams, and soon 
 abandoned their work-rooms for the stage. Frances 
 was handsome, her mind well cultivated, but 
 her theatrical gifts strangely weak. She had 
 an unaccountable diffidence which could not be 
 overcome ; but her figure and face were beautiful, 
 and her eyes almost as brilliant as those of her 
 sister. In our time her success would have been 
 assured ; but then some powers of acting were 
 considered essential. It was her ill-fortune to be 
 
 * Mr. Boaden gives her character in the following singular 
 encomium : " This young lady, carried into a family abounding in 
 talent, had powers of so peculiar a kind, so perfect, so unapproachable, 
 that if they were inferior as to their class, they shared a kindred 
 pre-eminence. No one ever like her presented the charm of 
 unsuspecting fondness. . . . Double entendre in her presence had 
 nothing beyond that single sense which might meet the ear of 
 modesty. I have often listened to the miserable counterfeit of what 
 she was, and would preserve, if language could but do it, her lovely 
 impersonation of artless truth. But it may be gathered critically 
 in the abstract by the negative assistance of many of its modish 
 imitators. The fancy may restore her, or be contented at least 
 with its own creations." This seems very mysterious praise. 
 
 15—2
 
 228 The Kembles. 
 
 steadily assailed in Woodfall's paper in the most 
 pitiless fashion, and when she went to Ireland her 
 enemies pursued her there. 
 
 It is curious to see how unscrupulous was the hos- 
 tility as well as the partisanship of the press during 
 this time. The unfortunate debutante was almost made 
 a victim, between the friends and enemies of her 
 sister. One paper said that " Miss Kemble's attempt 
 at Alicia shows, that the closest alliance may be in 
 blood, without the least in genius. When any actor 
 or actress is obliged to give up a character to make 
 way for another, the person preferred ought, to make 
 the preference an act of strict justice, to be many 
 degrees superior to him or her who is put aside." 
 Another spoke of her " transcendent merits." A third 
 admitted that it was "natural for Mrs. Siddons to 
 have a wish to bring Miss Kemble forward ; but if 
 she means to do it by cramming her down the throats 
 of the public, in the above character, it is most likely 
 that her fate will be similar to that of the Fatal Inter- 
 view, which all Mrs. Siddons' excellence could not save 
 from damnation. This ought to operate as a hint to 
 her, and incline her to desist from the attempt of finish- 
 ing what the hand of nature never begun" A fourth said 
 she was received with an uncommon indulgence to
 
 Macbeth. 229 
 
 " which she had scarcely any pretensions." These 
 attacks seemed cruel, but were in truth directed against 
 her greater sister. 
 
 This persecution may have accounted for her ner- 
 vousness ; for her friends would ' find her bathed in 
 tears over one of these attacks. However, she found 
 a vigorous champion in the person of George 
 Steevens, who wrote a spirited remonstrance, which 
 Woodfall was just enough to insert, and who 
 further promised to be less severe. This strange 
 character, intolerant, violent, eccentric, as full of vehe- 
 mence in his likings as in his animosities, fell despe- 
 rately in love with the young actress, and his passion 
 carried him to the length of depreciating Mrs. 
 Siddons to raise her sister. And when the latter 
 was to play in a new piece of Hayley's, Steevens 
 — always " uniformly mischievous," said Johnson — 
 wrote to the author to propose his writing some com- 
 plimentary lines in praise of her playing, which the 
 poet had not yet seen, and urged this deception with 
 extraordinary eagerness and ardour. Hayley had 
 it in his power " to do eminent service to a young 
 and lovely girl." Her mind was " stronger and more 
 cultivated than her sister's." He would persuade 
 her further — to spare her delicacy — that Mr. Hayley
 
 230 The Kemhles. 
 
 had come up incog, to see his own play, had returned 
 into the country next morning, " and, not knowing 
 her address, intrusted me with the delivery of his com- 
 pliment." He assured him he was " one of the few 
 people whom one can venture to solicit in the cause 
 of an honest woman ;" the value of which compli- 
 ment is somewhat lessened by tjie fact that the poet 
 must have been one of the few to whom he could 
 venture to propose and ask a subterfuge. Hayley 
 coolly put this request aside with an assurance that 
 no poetical praise could animate the young lady so 
 highly as that which flowed from Steevens' pen. 
 " Were she not contented with this, she could but 
 ill deserve the panegyric of any other encomiast." 
 Steevens became his enemy for life. 
 
 It was given presently out that this ardent ad- 
 mirer was to be married to Miss Kemble; but he 
 was found too vehement and impracticable a suitor. 
 His proposals seemed to have been entertained for a 
 time, but they were naturally not approved by Mrs. 
 Siddons. " My sister Frances," she wrote to her 
 friend, Mr. Whalley, " is not married, and I believe 
 there is very little reason to suppose she will be soon. 
 In point of circumstances I believe the gentleman 
 you mention would be a desirable husband; but I
 
 Macbeth. 231 
 
 hear so much of his ill-temper, and know so much 
 of his caprice, that though my sister, I believe, likes 
 him, I cannot wish her gentle spirit linked with 
 his." This little character shows Mrs. Siddons' 
 acuteness; for it describes Steevens exactly. John 
 Kemble looked on gloomily and with open disdain, 
 at the affair, which was soon broken off, and the 
 young lady later married Mr. Twiss, another dramatic 
 critic, brother to the gentleman whose extraordinary 
 " Book of Irish Travels" excited a storm of ridicule 
 and resentment in that country. Her son was the 
 better known Mr. Horace Twiss. 
 
 Even on this occasion the free-and-easy familiarities 
 of the newspapers pursued her. "The nuptials of 
 Miss Kemble," wrote one scribe, " which were to have 
 been celebrated last Wednesday, were postponed to 
 this morning, when the ceremony will take place. On 
 the former day she wept so much as to be unfit for 
 any part except the Mourning Bride /" Long after, 
 in 1807, she was at Bath, keeping a "genteel semi- 
 nary," as will be seen from the following characteristic 
 advertisement : — " Mrs. Twiss, No. 24, Camden-place, 
 Bath, receives under her care young ladies from the 
 age of 14 to 20. Board 100 guineas per annum. 
 Entrance five guineas. The young ladies may be in-
 
 232 The Kembles. 
 
 troducecl into the best company, and the utmost atten- 
 tion will be paid to their morals, conduct, and man- 
 ners. Masters will be provided to teach such accom- 
 plishments as may be thought necessary. Mrs. Twiss 
 has no objection to taking a few young ladies of any 
 age under twelve. Board and washing, English, 
 French, Italian, Writing, and Arithmetic, 100 guineas 
 per annum. Entrance five guineas. In each year 
 one vacation only, which will last six weeks. Three 
 months' notice will be required on the removal of any 
 young lady." She died in October, 1822, and her 
 husband survived until 1827.* 
 
 Another sister, Elizabeth, was also unable to resist the 
 same attraction of the stage, and, through Mrs.Siddons' 
 interest, obtained an engagement in London. " This 
 lady," says Mr. Boaden, " through her private studies, 
 became a very striking ornament of her distinguished 
 family ;" but these did not help her to ornament the 
 profession she had adopted. But she did not desert 
 it, and married, in 1785, a Mr. Whitlock, one of the 
 
 * The late Mr. Winston, of the Garrick Club, collected a 
 quantity of letters, memoranda, and newspaper cuttings, relating to 
 the different members of the family, which I have used largely in 
 the present work.
 
 Macbeth. 233 
 
 managers of the Chester company, and went with him 
 to America.* 
 
 There was another of her sisters who had turned 
 such talent as she possessed into a less respectable 
 course, and the malicious took care to call attention 
 to her low position, while her more fortunate sister 
 was rolling in her carriage. This unfortunate woman, 
 Mrs. Curtis, was to become connected with the notorious 
 Dr. Graham, who exhibited a " Temple of Health," 
 earth baths, and such quackeries. Yet another 
 sister, Jane, who had married a Mr. Mason, of Edin- 
 burgh, also found her way to the stage, appearing 
 when she was only nineteen at Newcastle. After 
 Mrs. Siddons' retirement, she obtained an engagement 
 in London, at the Haymarket, in the year 1814. She 
 was found to have the old Kemble blemishes of pauses, 
 and over-study ; and " her short, very short and lusty 
 figure," said a critic, " had a ludicrous effect." The 
 part was Lady Eandolph ; and when a character in 
 the play, describing her death, announced that ' she 
 ran, she flew, like lightning up the hill," the audience 
 roared with laughter. She never repeated the part. 
 
 * He died there. She returned to Europe, reappeared at Drury 
 Lane in 1807 with indifferent success. She survived her great 
 brother and sister.
 
 234 The Kembles. 
 
 She died in 1834, leaving a husband and five sons and 
 a daughter, " all on the stage," said the obituary 
 notice of her death. The truth was that nearly all the 
 members of Roger Kemble's family hoped to succeed 
 through the aid of the reputations of their great 
 brother and sister. 
 
 The remaining three are said to have died in infancy 
 or very young. Mrs. Siddons always helped them, and 
 was a kind sister; though she once exclaimed, 
 pathetically, to Mr. Eogers, " Alas ! after I became 
 celebrated none of my sisters loved me as before ! '' 
 " Conversation " Sharp was often consulted by her 
 in these family troubles. She would come to him 
 in tears — as he has told a lady now alive — over the 
 ingratitude of her sisters. Large sums were lent, 
 never repaid, and the obligation seemed only to 
 produce bitterness and unkindness. 
 
 For all this unlucky inauguration the new season 
 was to be the most remarkable in her career, as 
 well as in that of her brother, for it was to fix her im- 
 perishably in the world's recollection as the grandest 
 interpreter of Shakspeare. Her Lady Macbeth, 
 and John Kemble's Macbeth, were now to be played, 
 not for the mere ephemeral audience of the time, 
 but for all later generations — and this is the wonder- 
 ful compensation with which Shakspeare repays those
 
 Macbeth. 235 
 
 who devote themselves to the service of his genius. 
 Had these artists been content with such characters 
 as Isabella, Murphy's Euphrasia, and Beverley, their 
 merits with succeeding generations would have been 
 of an indistinct cloudy sort, and recommended to 
 us merely by the general raptures of those who saw 
 them. But the Macbeth, Coriolanus, and King John, 
 of Shakspeare, are more familiar to us than the 
 same characters in the historical chronicles : these are 
 creatures of flesh and blood, and, as we read, we almost 
 see Mrs. Siddons and Kemble with a distinctness and 
 vitality which, under other conditions, might have 
 been despaired of. Nothing, too, was more charac- 
 teristic in those great artists than their sure and 
 almost cautious advance. They, as it were, educated 
 themselves, and grew greater every year ; whereas 
 Grarrick, on the contrary, gained all his chief victories 
 at once. This might show a greater natural genius in 
 him ; and it raises the question as to the value of 
 spontaneous and irresistible gifts by the side of those 
 which develop slowly, and by the aid of thought and 
 study. 
 
 While this great restoration in the fortunes of the 
 theatre was going on, the one that was perhaps least 
 concerned was the one most interested — the pleasant 
 and eccentric Brinsley. Politics had begun to dis-
 
 236 The Kembles. 
 
 tract his attention, and he was already preparing for 
 his great impeachment of Hastings. The tears, too, 
 he had shed so profusely at Mrs. Siddons' Isabella 
 had long since ceased to flow, and the habitual 
 calm or indifference of the actress had produced its 
 effect on him. He seemed to regard her without 
 very much cordiality, though he did not apparently 
 interfere with her plans. Her brother he liked, 
 chiefly on account of a tempered conviviality which 
 few would have suspected in the former theological stu- 
 dent, who was supposed to be too austere for such joys. 
 The incidents connected with Sheridan's direction 
 of the theatre are almost too familiar to be entered on 
 here ; but the most wonderful phenomenon must 
 certainly be considered his almost miraculous pur- 
 chase of the patent, or rather contract for the 
 purchase. With so great a stake in the concern 
 his poco cur ante management seems surprising. But his 
 amazing good fortune held to him ; and the two great 
 artists, with some successful plays of his own, tided him 
 over many years of difficulty. His ingenious shifts 
 and skilful avoidance of duns and authors, have fur- 
 nished many droll stories to the jest-books. His 
 house of a morning presented the appearance of a 
 fashionable doctor's, the visitors being distributed 
 according to their rank through the different rooms ;
 
 Macbeth. 237 
 
 friends waiting in the library, strangers in the 
 parlour, tradesmen dispersed through the halls, 
 passages, and butler's rooms. Mr. Boaden met 
 Kemble in the library one morning, whom he found 
 amusing himself with one of the vast pile of MS. 
 dramas which were waiting a perusal they never were 
 to receive ; and the actor told pleasantly how these 
 poor pieces became his usual entertainment during his 
 long stay. Mr. Boaden gives a little sketch of the 
 scene : " A door opening above stairs, moved all the 
 hopes below ; but when he came down his hair was 
 dressed for the day, and his countenance for the 
 occasion ; and so cordial were his manners, his glance 
 so masterly, and his address so captivating, that the 
 people, for the most part, seemed to forget what they 
 actually wanted, and went away as if they had only 
 come to look at him." 
 
 The fortunes of the brother were not advancing 
 with nearly the rapidity of those of the sister, and this 
 not through want of any favour on the part of the 
 manager. Though discipline behind the curtain had 
 been sadly relaxed, still the traditions which favoured 
 the claims of mediocrity were rigorously enforced ; 
 and the new actor, who was confessedly at the head 
 of the serious players of the company, was jealously 
 excluded from any characters which were in possession
 
 238 The Kembles. 
 
 of the older actors ; he was therefore obliged to cast 
 about either for entirely new characters or for such 
 as they were inclined from age to forego. Nothing 
 could exceed the quiet forbearance with which he 
 accepted this position ; a perfect confidence in his 
 own future never deserted him, and he devoted this 
 interval to an almost severe and conscientious course 
 of study. Part of his slender means he devoted 
 to the purchase of theoretical books on the drama, 
 and of those rarer copies of old plays which in time 
 grew into a fine collection. Among his friends were 
 commentators on Shakspeare, like Malone, Steevens, 
 or Reed. He gradually widened the circle of his 
 friends, till it included most of the remarkable men 
 whom it was a credit to know. And it is evidence of 
 nice and zealous accuracy of study that he took the 
 trouble of copying out his Shakspearian parts from 
 the best editions, instead of accepting the rough and 
 clumsy versions made by the copyists of the theatre. 
 How necessary this was may be conceived when 
 many leading artists, like Mrs. Pritchard, were not 
 inclined to burthen their memories, and never troubled 
 themselves with knowing what took place when they 
 were off the stage. The evenings he devoted to his 
 friends. He might smile at the feeble attempt made to 
 diminish his reputation, by starting new rivals at the
 
 Macbeth. 239 
 
 other house; and it was with this view that Holman, 
 a handsome young actor, was put forward, not so 
 much in the hope of genuine rivalry, as of giving an 
 opportunity to the scribblers to depreciate Kemble. 
 But it was soon found there was not much danger to 
 be apprehended. 
 
 With this new season returned to his double duty 
 of stage manager and actor the veteran King, whose 
 Lord Ogleby was one of those firm, round, vigorous bits 
 of character-painting which, repeated again and again, 
 was always the same, and of which the public was as 
 likely to tire as of one of Hogarth's pictures. It was on 
 the 3rd September 1784 that he had spoken one of those 
 familiar prologues which were de rigueur then, and 
 which were the neutral ground on which actor and 
 audience might condescend to familiarity without loss 
 of respect on either side. This I take to have been 
 the explanation of those abundant prologues and 
 epilogues with which almost every play was fitted.* 
 In this address he had spoken of his late master, Gar- 
 rick ; and, as if to deprecate a dissatisfaction of which 
 
 * Nowadays we have " speeches." Often in the worst taste, 
 and almost impertinent, the actor tells his " patrons " he is so 
 pleased with his reception that when he returns he would like to 
 choose a wife from the audience; that he is obliged to run and 
 catch his train, &c. These familiarities are to be heard at many 
 theatres.
 
 240 The Kembles. 
 
 he had had ominous warnings, alluded to the great 
 actress who was the support of the house, speaking of 
 " her living worth." This awkward compliment was 
 challenged by not a few; still no one in the theatre could 
 have dreamed of the revulsion that was to take place 
 in a few days. In a very few weeks she was to vindi- 
 cate herself so magnificently and triumphantly that 
 detractors and enemies were struck dumb. It was to 
 be the most appropriate and effective refutation of 
 calumny that could be conceived. Those who had 
 thought she had reached almost beyond the human 
 standard of excellence were confounded to find her 
 soaring as high again beyond that limit ; yet here 
 once more everything was against her. Critics said 
 she shrank from those great plays of Shakspeare from 
 a sense of weakness, knowing that contact with this 
 grand work would shiver her reputation like glass; 
 and the proprietor himself, it was often complained, had 
 almost a prejudice against bringing forward plays of 
 Shakspeare. They were right : failure might have 
 destroyed her reputation ; but the courageous woman 
 was fitted for her task — she had studied Lady 
 Macbeth, as some little notes of hers show, on the 
 truest principles, weighing, comparing, experimenting, 
 until she had worked out a grand, consistent, and 
 truly effective theory of Lady Macbeth's character.
 
 Macbeth. 241 
 
 This once settled and fixed firmly, every stroke she 
 dealt was directed to that one aim, and, as the result 
 of such concentrated unity of purpose, success was 
 certain. As she said herself, acutely, one could give 
 the feelings of a wife or mother from personal 
 experience, but with this wonderful character there 
 were no such precedents to follow — it must be an effort 
 of the judgment. Here was to be no overwhelming 
 burst of inspiration, carrying all before it, but genius 
 directed and regulated by the truest principles. 
 
 The night was the 2nd of February. Smith, a 
 veteran — " the genteel, the airy, and the smart " of 
 Churchill — had chosen to assert his claim to the 
 character of Macbeth, a terrible disadvantage for the 
 actress; and an incident occurred just before the play 
 began which utterly discomposed her. It was her 
 excellent custom, as it had been that of Garrick, 
 to devote some time before the play began to a sort 
 of " retreat," during which she composed herself to 
 think only of the character she was about to assume. 
 She had finished her toilette — but she describes the 
 scene admirably in her own way: "When, just as I 
 had finished my toilette, and was pondering with fear- 
 fulness my first appearance in the grand fiendish part, 
 comes Mr. Sheridan knocking at my door, and insist- 
 
 vol. i. 16
 
 242 The Kembles. 
 
 ing, in spite of all my entreaties not to be interrupted 
 at this to me tremendous moment, to be admitted. 
 He would not be denied admittance, for lie protested 
 lie must speak to me on a circumstance which so 
 deeply concerned my own interest, that it was ot 
 the most serious nature. Well, after much squabbling 
 I was compelled to admit him, that I might dismiss 
 him the sooner and compose n^self before the play 
 began. But what was my distress and astonishment 
 when I found that he wanted me even at this moment 
 of anxiety and terror to adopt another mode of acting 
 the sleeping scene ! He told me that he had heard 
 with the greatest surprise and concern that I meant 
 to act it without holding the candle in my hand ; and 
 when I argued the impracticability of washing out 
 that ' damned spot' that was certainly implied by both 
 her own words and by those of her gentlewoman, he 
 insisted, that if I did put the candle out of my hand it 
 would be thought a presumptuous innovation, as Mrs. 
 Pritchard had always retained it in hers. My mind, 
 however, was made up, and it was then too late 
 to make me alter it, for I was too agitated to adopt 
 another method. My deference for Mr. Sheridan's 
 taste and judgment was, however, so great, that, had 
 he proposed the alteration whilst it was possible for
 
 a 
 
 r/s 
 
 G^uc^^/,^y c
 
 Macbeth. 243 
 
 me to change my own plan I should have yielded to 
 his suggestion ; though even then it would have been 
 against my own opinion, and my observation of 
 the accuracy with which somnambulists perform all 
 the acts of waking persons. The scene of course was 
 acted as I had myself conceived it, and the inno- 
 vation, as Mr. Sheridan called it, was received with 
 approbation. Mr. Sheridan himself came to me after 
 the play, and most ingenuously congratulated me on 
 my obstinacy." 
 
 This concern as to the probability of such an 
 intrusion disturbing all her ideas is quite intelligible ; 
 but the vehement dispute about holding the candle 
 might seem to be attaching too much importance to 
 a trifle. And yet, as will be seen later, a real prin- 
 ciple was involved. Though, it might be urged, and 
 " Elia" supports the view, that in that terrible play we 
 never think of such a trifle as whether she lays down 
 the candle or not ; in fact, that actual washing of 
 the hands rather belongs to a much lower histrionic 
 school. However, such matters we should approach 
 with reverence, as the great artist had laid out a 
 complete and harmonious scheme in which everything 
 had been carefully considered. 
 
 Further on we shall consider the features of this 
 
 16—3
 
 244 The Kembles. 
 
 thrilling performance. The ghost of Mrs. Pritchard, 
 as she says, haunted her ; and there were hundreds 
 present who had seen Grarrick and that great actress 
 in what was vulgarly called " the dagger scene." 
 We ourselves, by turning to a familiar old mezzotint, 
 can see this great pair as they played it. There is a 
 certain grotesqueness in their costume ; and Grarrick, 
 in the wig and court dress of the period, breeches, 
 stockings, and braided coat, looks like a country 
 squire. But with these drawbacks, there is a mysterious 
 horror over the picture.* 
 
 The Macbeth was very indifferent, with his imper- 
 fect elocution, suited to the gentleman of comedy ; 
 and making the boards creak as, with a ludicrous 
 solemnity, he walked in the solemn scene. But the 
 surpassing genius of the actress, it was admitted, had 
 eclipsed the recalled glories of Mrs. Pritchard. f 
 Arrayed in a cloud of white drapery, she threw an 
 appalling mystery over the part. Sir Joshua was in 
 the orchestra, which with portions of the pit had been 
 
 * It was humorously likened by Kemble to the butler and 
 housemaid having a quarrel over the carving-knife. 
 
 ■\ If, as Johnson stated before Mrs. Siddons' performance, Mrs. 
 Pritchard had never read the last act of Macbeth, and was, besides, 
 a " vulgar creature," Mrs. Siddons need not have been so 
 apprehensive.
 
 Macbeth. 245 
 
 "laid into boxes" for her benefit, and glittered with 
 diamonds and beauty. Everything about the perfor- 
 mance was striking, new, and impressive; and though 
 the costumes were indifferent, there were many who 
 contrasted with the costly and elaborate pageantry of 
 later revivals the simple and unadorned power of the 
 artist who of herself filed the stag e, and by her genius 
 seemed to furnish scenery, dresses, magnificence — 
 everything. It was a real triumph.* This fine per- 
 formance brought forth a sarcastic and ungracious 
 letter, attributed to Steevens, in which an allusion to 
 the banqueting- room was turned with some wit to a 
 satire on her frugal hospitality. f It were well, how- 
 
 * At such a moment of success, with the shouts of the audience 
 in her ears, the careful prudence of the actress is revealed in a most 
 characteristic way : " While standing up before my glass," she says, 
 " and taking off my mantle, a diverting circumstance occurred, to 
 chase away the feelings of this anxious night; for, while I was 
 repeating, and endeavouring to call to mind the appropriate tone and 
 action to the folloiving words, ' Here's the smell of blood still ! ' my 
 dresser innocently exclaimed, ' Dear me, ma'am, how very hysterical 
 you are to-night ; I protest and vow, ma'am, it was not blood, but 
 rose-pink and water; fori saw the property-man mix it up with 
 my own eyes.' " 
 
 | Smith, who played Macbeth, and who had wasted his means in 
 conviviality, was described as being an utter enemy to all conviviality, 
 and therefore " gave his welcome to the nobles of Scotland with the 
 coldness that might have been expected from one who was com- 
 pelled to counterfeit an office, from which, had it been real, his
 
 246 The Kembles. 
 
 ever, if Steevens' animosities had been always limited 
 to such pasquinade as this. " Over violent and 
 horrible as the part is," said the judicious critic of the 
 " European Magazine/' " she over acts it." But the 
 heresy of the candle, " inexcusable even in a young 
 performer," raised a storm which justified Sheridan's 
 misgivings. 
 
 Presently this wonderful woman was to confound 
 both admirers and enemies by exhibition of gifts in 
 quite another direction. To her brother's Othello 
 she was soon to play Desdemona with a softness and 
 winning grace that actually drew the affections of 
 the audience to her. Mr. Campbell, who was listen- 
 ing, could not bring himself to believe that it could 
 be her ; and Mr. Boaden recalled fondly the " tender 
 emotions she excited in him." But he had to 
 admit that " she was too heroic in her person" to 
 give the character with all effect. Her brother's 
 Othello was an advance towards those grand and 
 majestic interpretations for which he was later to be 
 
 heart would have revolted .... The soul of Mrs. Siddons, on the 
 contrary (Mrs. Siddons, whose dinners and suppers are proverbially 
 numerous), expanded on this occasion. She spoke her joy on seeing 
 so many guests with an earnestness little short of rapture. Her 
 address appeared so like reality that all her hearers about her seized 
 the wooden fowls," &c. — Public Advertiser.
 
 Macbeth. 247 
 
 famous. But we may smile at his English general 
 officer's uniform. He later played Macbeth for his 
 own benefit, supported by his sister, again to the 
 highest admiration, even of Woodfall. Beside this 
 masterpiece Othello might be counted a failure. 
 The results of his study were at once admitted, his 
 " endeavours" being allowed to " be extremely va- 
 rious." The applause was unbounded. The Duke 
 of Bichmond, Lady 0$sory, old Lord Fauconberg, 
 Sterne's patron, were in the pit, and Woodfall, 
 congratulating him, heartily wished he might remain 
 in possession of the part. To his sister the seduc- 
 tive power of her Desdemona no doubt suggested a 
 further experiment in the same direction. What if she 
 made trial of those powers of comedy which had been 
 found so satisfactory at Bath and in the York circuit ? 
 She had now an interval in which to prepare herself; 
 for she was obliged to withdraw for a time, owing 
 to a rheumatic fever she had contracted from an odd 
 accident. Desdemona' s stage-bed had not been aired, 
 which seems evidence of carelessness and of bad super- 
 vision in stage management.* When she recovered 
 she chose the gay and airy Bosalind, which, com- 
 
 * But not surely " criminal negligence/' as Mr. Campbell wrath- 
 fully calls it.
 
 24S The Kembles. 
 
 bining lightness with yet a Shakspearian sobriety, 
 seems to have been a little beyond her strength. 
 For there was this disadvantage in her combination 
 of the two departments ; her tragedy was so directed 
 by study and thought that it became impossible to 
 prevent her comedy showing the same influences, 
 whereas the French vivacity of Grarrick, joined to the 
 spontaneous character of his genius, prevented his 
 comedy being thus affected* The town was not a 
 little amused at her dress — mysterious nondescript 
 garments that were neither male nor female — devised 
 to satisfy a prudery which in such a play was wholly 
 out of place. Not satisfied with this experiment, 
 she determined to revive a part even yet more 
 familiar to her, Mrs. Lovemore, in Murphy's ex- 
 cellent comedy, TJie Way to Keep Him — that of a 
 neglected wife encouraged to vindicate wrongs by 
 a little coquetry. Here was a fitting test, for there 
 was room for the artificial and conventional gaiety 
 which every-day comedy required. But it would 
 not do ; the physique and manner were found 
 " lumbering," if the word be not profane as applied 
 to her. The feeling left behind was that all was 
 heavy and tragic. She was, besides, contrasted with 
 Miss Farren, a true comedienne, who was playing the
 
 Macbeth. 249 
 
 Widow Belmore with irresistible gaiety and spirit, 
 with a face and figure that perfectly harmonized. 
 But it is really hard to decide this question of her 
 power in comedy, as there are loud voices raised on 
 both sides. Yet in private life she had abundance of 
 quiet gaiety, and told a story with singular vivacity 
 and humour. But the most probable solution would 
 appear to be the one alluded to before, that her tragic 
 studies, her tall, full, majestic figure, and her age, 
 all made so much dead weight to struggle against. 
 Anticipating a little — for the mere cataloguing of 
 plays is a dreary task — we may notice her attempt 
 at Imogen and Ophelia, both characters again un- 
 suitecl to her. It is evident that the matronly Lady 
 Macbeth and the Lady Macbeth who had stamped 
 such an impression of herself on tbe audience, could 
 have nothing in common with the frail young girl, 
 " the fair Ophelia." This was getting on dangerous 
 ground. Even those who praise her rest their ad- 
 miration on detached portions — the "mad scene" — 
 where she rose to herself. So with Imogen. But 
 when she attempted to join in the boisterous animation 
 of Catherine and Petruchio, which was then fashioned 
 into a farce, we begin to think once more of Hazlitt's 
 philosophical question, "whether actors should be
 
 250 The Kembles. 
 
 seen in the boxes," or whether a tragedienne does 
 not injure by these light associations the grave effect 
 she means to produce in tragedy. Her Cordelia, too, 
 was open to the same objection. 
 
 But all these characters shall be reviewed when we 
 come to consider the readings of her characters in 
 detail. It is enough to say here that her success in 
 comedy was only indifferent. 
 
 Practical homage to her success was given in the 
 fact that her salary now stood at the figure of twenty- 
 four pounds ten a week, that of her brother at ten 
 guineas. With this handsome sum and her allow- 
 ances she might have been content, especially as there 
 were some signs of illness and overwork ; but she at 
 once started off on a laborious tour down to Man- 
 chester, Liverpool, Edinburgh, Belfast, and Glasgow. 
 " Only the previous year," Dr. Doran says, " she had 
 performed the tour de force of playing in London, 
 Bath, and Eeading, all within four days." In July, 
 1785, she was at her " dear Edinburgh once more," 
 where her success exceeded even that of her former 
 visit. Every night, as soon as the play was over, 
 the strange spectacle was witnessed of servants and 
 porters arriving to take their places in a sort of 
 queue, actually passing the whole night there until the
 
 Macbeth. 251 
 
 box-office opened the following morning ! Con- 
 nected with one of these visits was that terrible scene 
 during the performance of her Isabella. When the 
 actress uttered her piteous cry, " 0, my Biron !" 
 Miss Gordon of Gight made the house resound with 
 her fearful shrieks, repeating the words, "0,my Biron !" 
 and was carried out still screaming.* Mrs. Siddons 
 played fourteen or fifteen nights to an average of about 
 one hundred pounds a night, her own benefit bringing 
 two hundred pounds, exclusive of those welcome "gold 
 tickets," a form of compliment now obsolete, enthusiastic 
 admirers endorsing their patronage with a present ot 
 forty or fifty pounds. On the other nights her 
 Isabella brought the highest receipts, while her 
 performance for the players' benefit furnished only 
 sixty pounds. Thousands once more collected at her 
 lodgings to get a glimpse of the great player, and 
 this we may take to be no exhibition of vulgar curi- 
 osity, but to arise from the identifying her with the 
 tremendous characters she played. Scarcely so com- 
 
 * The strange part of the story is that she later became the 
 mother of Lord Byron, who at one time affected to spell his name, 
 " Biron." Lady Gray of Gask told Mr. Robert Chambers, who 
 repeated the story to Dr. Doran, that he never could forget that cry 
 of Mrs. Siddons, " O, my Biron ! "
 
 252 The Kembles. 
 
 plimentary was a countryman's remark at Glasgow, 
 that " she was a fallen angel !" 
 
 She was fortunate in having friends who were onty 
 too eager to welcome her at their country houses, 
 which, besides, afforded the wearied actress an oppor- 
 tunity of recruiting her strength. Among these were 
 Lady Harcourt, at Nuneham, whose lord she de- 
 scribed to be " a queer, odd sort of body," and the 
 Greatheads, at whose place she must have found her- 
 self with very curious feelings. Her sketch of 
 Mason, whom she met at the Harcourts, quoted by 
 Mr. Campbell, is so spirited that it will be worth 
 introducing here : — 
 
 " "When I was on my usual visit to this beautiful 
 place," she says, " I have often walked arm-in-arm 
 with the author of Caractacus, and the amiable 
 Whitehead. The former of these gentlemen, before 
 I made his acquaintance, had conceived an inveterate 
 dislike to me : he was a great humorist ; but with 
 all his oddities, a benevolent man. He was petted 
 and coaxed by Lord Harcourt, and by all the visitors 
 indeed, like a spoilt child. He hated me because he 
 could not bear that I should be even compared with 
 his departed friend and favourite, Mrs. Pritchard ; 
 and was so annoyed at the sound of my name, that,
 
 Macbeth. 253 
 
 in order plaj^fully to humour his prejudice, they sunk 
 it, and always in his hearing called me ' the Lady.' I 
 arrived there at tea-time, and found him looking very 
 sulky indeed, wrapped up in his Spanish cloak, which 
 he called being out of humour. We happened some- 
 how to be near each other at supper. I found his 
 ice beginning to thaw ; and the next morning, to the 
 great amusement of the whole party, we were de- 
 tected practising a duet in the breakfast-room. 
 From that time forth I had the honour of being 
 in his good graces, for the too short period of 
 his pious and valuable existence. When I arrived 
 at his own habitation, on a visit for a few days, 
 they told us he was absent, but would soon 
 return. In the meantime, Mr. Siddons and I strolled 
 to see him ; and when we entered, we saw the vener- 
 able man, the almost adored parish priest, in the 
 organ-loft, teaching the children some music for the 
 next Sunday. We left him undisturbed in his pious 
 occupation, and returned to his house, where he soon 
 received us with heartfelt cordiality. He spoke 
 broad Yorkshire, and good-naturedly allowed us to 
 accuse him of affectation in so doing ; though I 
 believe he was only affecting what was so natural 
 to him that he could not avoid it."
 
 254 The Kembles. 
 
 The result of this friendship was her taking a part 
 in his play of Elfrida, more a poem for a closet, and 
 utterly unsuited to the stage. She had to pay 
 too many of these compliments during her career ; 
 and when the great pressure of private friendship 
 was used, it is amusing to see how she defended 
 herself. 
 
 On the same principle Mr. Great-head pressed a 
 tragedy of his own on her, and though old recollec- 
 tions aid his " patronage," as it would then be called, 
 were strong inducements, she was firm enough to resist 
 the pressure, for a time, at least. Her letter in refe- 
 rence to it is highly characteristic. "The plot of the 
 piece," she says, " of the poor young man, it strikes 
 me, is very lame, and the characters very, very ill- 
 sustained in general, but more particularly the lady, 
 for whom the author had me in his eye. This woman 
 is one of those monsters (I think them) of perfection, 
 who is an angel before her time, and is so entirely 
 resigned to the will of heaven, that (to a very mortal 
 like myself) she appears to be the most provoking 
 piece of still life one ever had the misfortune to meet. 
 Her struggles and conflicts are so weakly expressed 
 that we conclude they do not cost her much pain, 
 and she is so pious that we are satisfied she looks
 
 Macbeth. 255 
 
 upon her afflictions as so many convoys to heaven, 
 and wish her there, or anywhere else but in the 
 tragedy. I have said all this, and ten times more, to 
 them both, with as much delicacy as I am mistress 
 of ; but Mr. Gr. says that it would give him no great 
 trouble to alter it, so that he seems determined to 
 endeavour to bring it on the stage, provided I will 
 undertake this milksop lady. I am in a very dis- 
 tressed situation, for unless he makes her a totally 
 different character, I cannot possibly have anything 
 to do with her." 
 
 The " poor young man" eventually succeeded in his 
 exertions : his piece was brought forward, only to fail 
 disastrously. It would be a hard task to be on easy 
 terms with a family where, only a few years before, 
 one had performed the duties of lady's maid. But 
 the great actress was above such littleness, and 
 made them her firm friends. It was hardly surprising 
 that Mrs. Greatheacl, as she confessed to " Conversa- 
 tion" Sharp, should have always felt, in those da}^s 
 of servitude, an irresistible inclination to rise from her 
 chair when her maid came to attend her !
 
 256 Tlie Kembles. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 DOMESTIC EVENTS. 
 
 |"N December, 1785, she had been obliged to inter- 
 rupt her run of performances, when another of her 
 children was born. She announces " the event " in 
 a curious letter to her friend Whalley. The scandal as 
 to Mrs. Fitzherbert had long since been cleared up. 
 
 "January 12th, 1786. 
 
 " All is well over, my dear Mr. Whalley. I have 
 another son, healthy and lovely as an angel, born the 
 26th of December ; so you see I take the earliest 
 opportunity of relieving the anxiety, which I know 
 you and my dear Mrs. Whalley will feel till you hear 
 of me. My sweet boy is so like a person of the Eoyal 
 Family, that I'm rather afraid he'll bring me to dis- 
 grace; my sister jokingly tells him she's sure 'my 
 lady his mother has played false with the Prince/ 
 and I must own he's more like him than anybody 
 else. I will just hint to you that my father was at 
 one time very like the King, which a little saves my
 
 j 
 
 / 
 
 ft 
 
 i 
 
 .-■ ) 
 
 '/ 
 
 Jt>* 
 
 
 \ 
 
 LlTrtO. PHflTOO«»»Hir p«LT.«H,N[w OXFORD street. 
 
 /•v 

 
 Domestic Events. 257 
 
 credit. I rejoice that you are well, and have such 
 pleasant society, but I wish to God you would 
 return ! I have no news for you, except that the 
 Prince is going to devote himself entirely to a Mrs. 
 Fitzherbert, and the whole world is in an uproar about 
 it. I know very little of her history, more than that 
 it is agreed on all hands that she is a very ambitious 
 and clever woman, and that ' all good seeming by her 
 revolt will be thought put on for villany,' for she was 
 thought an example of propriety. I hear, too, that 
 the Duchess of Devonshire is to take her by the hand, 
 and to give her the first dinner when the preliminaries 
 are settled ; for it seems everything goes on with the 
 utmost formality ; provision made for children, and so 
 on. Some people rejoice and some mourn at this 
 event. I have not heard what his mother says to it. 
 The Eoyal Family have been nearly all ill, but are now 
 recovering, and they graciously intend to command 
 me to play in The Way to Keep Him, the first night I 
 perform. They are gracious to me beyond measure 
 on all occasions, and take all opportunities to show the 
 world that they are so. How good and considerate is 
 this ! They know what a sanction their countenance 
 is, and they are amiable beyond description. Since 
 my confinement, I have received the kindest messages 
 vol. i. 17
 
 258 The Kembles. 
 
 from them ; they make me of consequence enough to 
 desire I wont think of playing till I feel quite strong, 
 and a thousand more kind things. I perceive a little 
 shooting in my temples, that tells me I have written 
 enough. I don't take leave of you, however, without 
 telling you that I am very much disappointed in 
 Sherriffe's picture of me, and am afraid to employ 
 him about your snuff-box. I don't know what to do 
 about it, for that promised to be so well that I almost 
 engaged him in the fulness of my heart to do it. I 
 have not been in face these last four months, but now 
 that I am growing as amiable as ever, I shall sit for 
 it as soon as possible. God Almighty bless you 
 both ! Yours, S. Siddons." 
 
 After this round of business and pleasure she might 
 now fairly take rest, for she was enabled to write 
 joyfully and thankfully to her dearest friend that she 
 had put by a sum of ten thousand pounds. This was 
 creditable to her thrift after only four years' work, 
 and proves how handsomely the public had supported 
 her. " I have at last, my friend," she says, " attained 
 the ten thousand pounds which I set my heart upon, 
 and am now perfectly at ease with respect to fortune. 
 I thank God, who has enabled me to procure to 
 myself so comfortable an income. I am sure, my
 
 Domestic Events. 259 
 
 dear Mrs. Whalley and you will be pleased to hear 
 this from myself." In the same letter she opens her 
 heart with a charming confidence : " What a thing a 
 balloon would be ! but, the deuce take them, I do not 
 find that they are likely to be brought to any good. 
 Good heaven ! what delight it would be to see you 
 for a few days only ! I have a nice house, and I 
 could contrive to make up a bed. I know you and 
 my dear Mrs. Whalley would accept my sincere en- 
 deavours to accommodate you; but don't let me be 
 taken by surprise, my dear friend, for were I to see 
 you first at the theatre, I can't answer for what might 
 be the consequence. I stand some knocks with tole- 
 rable firmness, I suppose from habit; but those of 
 joy being so infinitely less frequent, I conceive must 
 be more difficultly sustained. You will find I have 
 been a niggard of my praise, when you see your 
 Fanny. Oh ! my beloved friend, you could not speak 
 to one who understands those anxieties you mention 
 better than I do. Surely it is needless to say no 
 one more ardently prays that God Almighty, in His 
 mercy, will avert the calamity; and surely, surely 
 there is everything to hope for from such dispositions, 
 improved by such an education. My family is well, 
 God be praised! My two sisters are married and 
 
 17—2
 
 260 The Kembles. 
 
 happy. Mrs. Twiss will present us with a new rela- 
 tion towards February. At Christmas I bring my 
 dear girls from Miss Eames, or rather, she brings 
 them to me. Eliza is the most entertaining creature 
 in the world ; Sally is vastly clever ; Maria and 
 George are beautiful; and Harry a boy with very 
 good parts, but not disposed to learning." 
 
 All this was so much wear and tear. Even now, 
 artists complain of the fatigue of a journey to Aber- 
 deen; but in those remote posting days the fatigue 
 must have been excessive. Thus when, in 1786, she 
 had entered on a Yorkshire tour, playing for her 
 brother's old friend, Tate Wilkinson, her exertions 
 were enough to enfeeble her health. That quaint 
 chronicler recalls these great glories for his humble 
 circuit. As was before remarked, this descending to 
 a class of theatre where she had never played before, 
 save in her obscure days, was almost unprecedented in 
 an artist of her standing. Edinburgh and Bath were 
 only in the due course, but the little theatres of 
 Leeds and Hull were surely not a fitting arena for 
 her gifts. She appeared at York on July 29th, 
 during the assize week, when the town was full. " It 
 was incredible," says the old manager, " what a rage 
 there was to see her ; and York can boast the greatest
 
 Domestic Events. 26 L 
 
 receipts of any place out of London." An obscure 
 actor, but one of promise, was engaged to play 
 the leading parts with her ; and when we think that 
 this was Cooke, before he had abandoned himself 
 to sottishness and a reckless indifference to his own 
 good name, we can conceive what good acting was 
 witnessed in the little York Theatre. He was found 
 so satisfactory that he was later engaged to proceed 
 with her to Chester. Seventeen nights' playing on 
 the circuit brought in eleven hundred pounds ; the ex- 
 penses, however, says Tate, were enormous, while the 
 actress's gains, rigidly deducted, left him but one 
 hundred and twenty- eight pounds. For with these 
 large sums which were invariably received, the ac- 
 tress's plans of emolument were so skilfully contrived 
 as to leave the manager virtually a loser. She then 
 flew to Hull, thence back again to York for three 
 nights only, on the last of which the galleries were 
 so uproarious that not a word of the play could be 
 heard. She then appeared at Leeds for four nights, 
 where over four hundred pounds poured into the 
 treasury. The account of this gala time is given 
 most graphically. Wakefield was displeased with the 
 manager of the circuit for not bringing the great 
 actress ; angry and sarcastic letters appeared in the
 
 262 The Kembles. 
 
 local papers, and, at a less excited time, Mr. Wilkinson 
 would be made to regret that he had treated them 
 with such neglect. But what could be done, as she 
 had to play at Liverpool ? However, she " stretched 
 a point to serve him : ' : and presently was hurry- 
 ing from town to town, the manager and his troupe 
 following in post-chaises, contriving to give the Wake- 
 fieldians one night, on the Wednesday, and appearing 
 at Liverpool on the Friday. " Good God !" exclaims 
 the manager, justly enough, " what real fatigue!" the 
 acting alone being sufficient to tire her out, without 
 these tremendous journeys. Though she had wished 
 to " stretch a point" to oblige her manager, still the 
 Wakefield expedition brought him in but four pounds 
 profit, while it filled her purse. The earning such 
 large sums was very tempting. No wonder she said 
 she liked the country theatres, and her acting no 
 doubt in these small buildings must have had tenfold 
 the effect on the spectators. Every glance, every 
 look, the slightest whisper, must have been magnified, 
 as it were : so the provincials must have seen what 
 were her finest performances. She used to say that 
 she was more at home and more confident at such 
 places j whereas she never entered on a London stage 
 without nervousness. Nothing is indeed more pleasant 
 to read than the accounts of the honest dramatic en-
 
 Domestic Events. 263 
 
 tliusiasm which obtained in these rude districts, and 
 the pictures of country town life ; and the odd rela- 
 tions between the gentry and the players, as set out 
 in Tate Wilkinson's " Eecollections," are most graphic 
 illustrations of social life. 
 
 To her brother John this ground was more familiar. 
 He, too, knew well how productive it could be made. 
 In the August of 178S, during the York race week, 
 he came down to his old manager, and the tempta- 
 tion must have been strong, as his engagement in a 
 new post at Drury Lane must have been already con- 
 cluded. He went through all his leading characters, 
 Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth, Richard, and besides, read 
 " The Story of Le Fevre." He was ill— had to be 
 blistered — yet still continued his tour to Leeds and 
 Wakefield, and one night was suffering so much that 
 he could not appear. Public indignation turned on 
 the manager. Many had come from Bradford to hear 
 Mr. Kemble. Why not have " billed " the town ?— 
 why change the play ? At Wakefield he played to 
 poor houses ; but he was still ill, and it was, besides, 
 the week before the races. He promised his old 
 manager a night when he would play gratis for 
 him ; " but illness and ill-humour," says the latter, 
 "prevented him." He was eager to get back to 
 London, for, "though not a miser," adds Wil-
 
 264 The Kembles. 
 
 kinson, "he did not hate money." Indeed, the old 
 manager, who had acted with Foote and Garrick, had 
 a good deal of pride in his profession, and was con- 
 tent to overlook his stinted profits in the flood of 
 glory cast upon the York circuit. That both Kemble 
 and his sister were a little exacting in their dealings 
 with their profession has been shown ; but we may 
 pass on to another little scene, which illustrates 
 Kemble's life at the country theatres, while, though 
 it anticipates by some years, may be appropriately 
 introduced at this place. 
 
 During the August of 1791 a great musical festival 
 was being given at York, when Madame Mara, the 
 charming Mrs. Crouch, and Kelly were engaged to 
 sing. Mr. and Mrs. Kemble were on a visit to the 
 Lord Mayor of York, halting there before they passed 
 on to Liverpool. The town was crammed, the theatre 
 in Blake Street open, and Mr. Wilkinson full of ex- 
 citement. He was at his wit's end, in consequence 
 of a quarrel with Mrs. Jordan, when he heard of 
 Kemble's arrival. He rushed to the mayor's house 
 at night, and found the actor just going to bed, who 
 received him cordially, assured him he should be 
 delighted to play for him, but that he was too 
 unwell ; that, if he could play anywhere, he was bound
 
 Domestic Events. 265 
 
 to appear at Liverpool. The matter was therefore 
 given up ; but on the Sunday afternoon Kemble and the 
 Lord Mayor called on him, and the former announced 
 that if some sort of exchange could be arranged with 
 Mrs. Jordan, that is, if she could be got to take his 
 engagement at Newcastle, he would play on the 
 Wednesday night for thirty guineas, which he must 
 have. Wilkinson said that "pounds" was what Mrs. 
 Jordan was to have received ; Kemble replied, that if 
 his terms were not agreed to there was an end of the 
 matter. The manager had of course to consent. This 
 seemed a little " hard " with a manager with whom 
 he had worked so long; but still he was dans son 
 droit. The agreement was concluded, and the fol- 
 lowing bill issued : — 
 
 THEATRE ROYAL, YORK. 
 Monday, August 15th, 1791. 
 
 Mr. Wilkinson is under the disagreeable necessity of closing the 
 Theatre this evening, as Mrs. Jordan has positively declined 
 any future performance on this stage. Mr. Wilkinson is 
 extremely sorry for the disappointment, but has the unexpected 
 satisfaction of informing the public that 
 
 Mr. KEMBLE, 
 
 (Manager of the Theatre Royal Drury Lane), 
 (Whose abilities are universally known and established), 
 Perceiving Mr. Wilkinson's embarrassed situation, has kindly 
 offered his assistance during this festival week, and will appear 
 to-morrow in the character of 
 
 OTHELLO, Moor of Venice.
 
 266 The Kembles. 
 
 On Monday Mr. and Mrs. Kemble graciously came 
 to dine with Mr. Tate Wilkinson. After dinner, 
 when the ladies had gone upstairs, Mr. Kemble told 
 his host quietly that the thirty guineas would not do, 
 and that he must have one-half the clear receipts. This, 
 it will be recollected, was exactly following the pre- 
 cedent of his sister's behaviour at Edinburgh, and was 
 certainly founded on the same motive. He had seen the 
 crowd and excitement in the town, and began to repent 
 of having made a bargain which did not let him profit 
 by such a crowd. The manager, indignant at this 
 grasping disposition, refused. On the next day both 
 went to the Lord Burlington Assembly-rooms, wliere, 
 as they were thundering out the " Hailstone Chorus," 
 a terrific storm came on suddenly, with crashes of 
 thunder, the room lit up with flashes of lightning, 
 the ladies fainting. There Mr. Kemble was con- 
 gratulated by several of the gentlemen on the pleasure 
 he was about to afford them. He answered calmly 
 and complacently that he did not think he would 
 play. " This immediately caused a buzz." The bills 
 were all printed and posted. The poor manager went 
 to the Lord Mayor's in great anxiety, found Mrs. 
 Kemble in tears, the Lord Mayor much annoyed about 
 the business, and Kemble asleep in his room, and not
 
 Domestic Events. 2G7 
 
 to be disturbed. Tuesday came, when Wilkinson re- 
 ceived a haughty note from the actor, to the effect 
 that he was much surprised to see his name in the 
 bills. He " had done himself the honour " to tell 
 Wilkinson that unless for half the receipts " he could 
 not have the pleasure of appearing." With a heavy 
 heart the other was preparing a new bill, with " a 
 note " explaining the matter to the York public, and 
 substituting The Battle of Hexham, when the Lord 
 Mayor, concerned for the attractions of his town, 
 tried to persuade Wilkinson to give way. No player 
 could well refuse such a potentate, though in posses- 
 sion of a license, and he consented. At rehearsal that 
 day, the actors all waiting, Mr. Kemble came in. 
 The Wednesday night came round, there was great 
 excitement, and he played his part magnificently. 
 Indeed, he graciously owned that he had never done it 
 better in London. He was induced to play again on 
 Friday to a very thin house ; and on Saturday, when 
 the little season closed, he took away with him a sum 
 of one hundred and fifty pounds. All this is quite a 
 little picture : the Lord Mayor, the assembly-rooms, 
 the storm, and the small theatre. But there are many 
 more graphic to be found in this manager's budget. 
 The behaviour of Kemble is the least agreeable part
 
 268 The Kembles. 
 
 of the picture ; and, considering their old relations, 
 was certainly grasping. This was the weak place of 
 both brother and sister ; and after this we are scarcely 
 surprised to hear that when the son of Mrs. Siddons 
 asked his mother and uncle to play for him she agreed 
 to do so on her favourite terms — half the receipts 
 and a free benefit ; while his uncle's answer was pre- 
 cisely to the same effect. 
 
 We may pass over one or two monotonous years, 
 and then we find her, mindful of profit, hurrying 
 again to Edinburgh, in the summer of the year 
 178S, starting from the house of her friends the 
 Greatheads. But her triumphal course was disturbed 
 by an unseemly " row " between an ambitious player, 
 Mr. Fennell, who claimed to have been engaged to 
 play with Mrs. Siddons, and the manager, Jackson. 
 As is usual in a theatrical timeute, everything was sacri- 
 ficed to party spirit and noise. Mr. Fennell had his 
 followers, Mr. Jackson his ; not a word could be 
 heard; and Mrs. Siddons' performances were sus- 
 pended a whole week while the battle was being 
 fought out. At last the gentry, with much good 
 sense, told the manager they would abandon him and 
 his theatre for the future unless the dispute was 
 settled. He then gave way. Nine weeks' acting
 
 Domestic Events. 209 
 
 brought her in nine hundred pounds ; and the Edin- 
 burgh barristers, imitating their brethren of "West- 
 minster Hall, presented her with a piece of plate 
 and a silver tea-tray, bearing the conventional 
 inscription. 
 
 But her recollections of the smaller country 
 theatres could not have been agreeable. The elder 
 Mathews was at that time engaged in the same com- 
 pany with her, and he described what she suffered 
 from the barbarous frequenters of the Leeds galleries. 
 When she was about to drink the poison, one called 
 out, " Soop it oop, lass ! " When she was playing the 
 " sleeping scene " in Macbeth, a boy, who had been 
 sent for some porter, walked on to the stage and 
 presented it to her. In vain the great actress 
 motioned him away ; in vain hoarse voices called 
 him off. The house roared; the whole play was 
 spoiled. No wonder, when the curtain came down, 
 on the last night of her engagement at Leeds, that 
 she said, " Farewell, ye Brutes." The character of 
 Tate Wilkinson is brought out with singular " round- 
 ness " and much graphic power. 
 
 During these seasons Kemble was patiently wait- 
 ing, cautiously trying experiments in great parts, 
 whose "rawness" he frankly acknowledged to his
 
 270 The Kembles. 
 
 friends, and content to look forward to the time when 
 he could take his place without restraint or control. 
 Everything was against him : the miserably incon- 
 gruous dresses, which degraded a Shakspearian play ; 
 a stage- manager who had no control over the per- 
 formers ; and the inflexible rule before alluded to, 
 which allowed old-established players a monopoly 
 of leading characters. These, after all, were only 
 the inconveniences of an admirable custom, so ne- 
 cessary to the perfection of the stage ; and King, the 
 manager, being one of the old school himself, was not 
 likely to encourage its infringement. But we may 
 pass over the chronicle of play succeeding play, and 
 which makes some actors' lives about as tedious as an 
 almanack. Leaving this dramatic catalogue to the 
 laborious Mr. Geneste, who has compiled materials 
 for the history of the English stage from the play- 
 bills of every night, we approach an important event 
 in his life — his marriage. 
 
 Brereton, as one who knew him described him, was 
 one of the handsomest young actors of his day, and 
 had married the daughter of the prompter at Drury 
 Lane. He was a tame, mediocre player, and had 
 surprised his friends by acquiring a sudden fire and 
 animation when playing with Mrs. Siddons in Venice
 
 Domestic Events. 271 
 
 Preserved. In Mr. Boaden's mysterious language 
 " it was said that in kindling his imagination the 
 divinity unsettled his reason, but that in clasping 
 the goddess he became sensible of the charms of the 
 woman. Perhaps there was a slight foundation for 
 the superstructure which inventive gossip ran up in 
 haste at the time." 
 
 This cannot be pointed at Mrs. Siddons, and the 
 behaviour of the gentleman during the time that the 
 public attack was made upon her raises a presumption 
 that he took that fashion of showing resentment, pro- 
 bably from finding his advances repelled. But scandal 
 was to be too often busy with her name, and it was 
 indeed one of the penalties of her high position. Her 
 plain straightforward temper, her indifference to the 
 finesse which more or less is always required in 
 dealing with the public, exposed her to these 
 stories. 
 
 In 1787 Brereton died in a lunatic asylum, leaving 
 a widow, who had been Miss Priscilla Hopkins, 
 daughter of a very respectable actress of Garrick's 
 dav, and who was still on the boards. It was a little 
 difficult to conceive the stately Kemble, devoted to 
 his profession and study, yielding himself to any 
 romantic attachment ; and indeed it would seem that
 
 272 The Kembles. 
 
 on previous occasions he had shown himself disposed 
 not to allow any indulgence of his inclination to 
 interfere with his substantial interests. The thea- 
 trical public had settled, and his devotion warranted 
 their opinion, that he was to be married to Mrs. 
 Inchbald, and later again, to Miss Philips ; but he 
 was then only commencing his career. The deter- 
 mination which marked everything connected with 
 his professional life perhaps showed him that an early 
 marriage would be a serious clog upon his exertions. 
 His proposal to Mrs. Brereton, who had been a 
 widow only nine months, we can see was guided by 
 the same principle. His friend Boaden states that he 
 could have without difficulty chosen from a rank 
 higher than his own, and so handsome and cultivated 
 a man, who, besides, claimed to be of a good family, 
 might have found little difficulty in being accepted 
 by some lady of position. The same friend explains 
 that Kemble had calculated that a match of the kind 
 would be ill-assorted and have inconveniences, whereas 
 one of the same profession would bring sympathy 
 and assistance with her. The news caused great 
 astonishment and some amusement. It was told that 
 the great actor signified his intention to the lady of his 
 choice in a sort of royal fashion, telling her that she
 
 Domestic Events. 273 
 
 would presently hear of a piece of good fortune that 
 would surprise her.* It was no wonder that this 
 rather abrupt proceeding gave occasion to stories, and 
 one has gone the round of all the dramatic jest- 
 books, where there is perhaps more unscrupulousness 
 and falsehood to be found than in any other known 
 miscellanies. It was said that a daughter of Lord 
 North's had fallen in love with him, and that her 
 father had offered to purchase, with a large sum, 
 Kemble's immediate marriage, as an effectual cure. 
 The malicious delighted to repeat that the nobleman 
 had insolently declined to complete his part of the 
 contract. A transaction so discreditable to both 
 parties was improbable on the face of it ; but to any 
 one who knew the characters of both it seemed impos- 
 sible. It is in truth only a variation of the legend 
 that was told of Garrick and of Kean, by Dumas ; and 
 what will be probably always told of any handsome 
 
 * The lady consulted her mother on the meaning of this oracular 
 allusion, which had been accompanied with a gracious " chuck 
 under the chin " and the familiar name of " Pop." This was cha- 
 racteristic of Kemble, whose grim solemnity off the stage, testified 
 to by many witnesses, verged on the grotesque. The experienced 
 matron translated this into an impending proposal, and bade her 
 daughter accept at once. 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 274 The Kembles. 
 
 actor. And it is simply disposed of by Kemble's 
 blunt and haughty declaration, on seeing it in print, 
 that " it was a lie /" At the same time we may con- 
 ceive that it was viewed a little in the nature of a 
 mesalliance. The lady possessed only indifferent 
 ability, and his union with some actress of conspicu- 
 ous merit might have been looked for. But she was 
 to prove an excellent wife, and made his home a very 
 happy one. 
 
 The wedding-day was also to be a characteristic 
 of Kemble. It was fixed for December 8th, 1787. 
 After the marriage Mrs. Bannister asked the bride- 
 groom where he proposed having the wedding-dinner, 
 and was told that " he did not know ; he supposed at 
 home." Mrs. Bannister then invited the party to 
 her house : an early dinner was got ready as the 
 bride had to play that night at Drury Lane. Mr. 
 Kemble, however, did not arrive at the hour fixed, 
 and there was at last much alarm in the little party 
 lest he should have forgotten the whole transaction. 
 At last he was seen approaching in his most delibe- 
 rate and stately manner. After the lady had repaired 
 to the theatre, Kemble remained during the rest 
 of the day with her family, until the play was over, 
 when he fetched the bride home to his new house in
 
 Domestic Events. 275 
 
 Caroline Street, Bedford Square.* The end of the 
 season was to bring an improvement in his fortunes 
 that was to help him to bear the additional charges of 
 his new position; and after five years' service in 
 the ranks he was now to be promoted to the position 
 of manager of Drury Lane Theatre. 
 
 * She was born December 17, 1758, as her father, the well- 
 known Drury Lane Prompter, told Mr. G. Dance, who again told 
 Mr. Winston. She was petite in figure, and interesting in her style 
 of acting. Brereton was not inclined to fulfil his engagement to 
 her, and she had to follow him to Bath, where they were married, 
 in 1777. They lived in Catherine Street, Strand. When Brereton 
 was taken ill, Dr. Brocklesby declared him insane, and he was 
 placed in an asylum at Hoxton, at a charge of about 100£. a year. 
 In the year of his death his wife prayed for relief from the Drury 
 Lane Theatrical Fund, as his affairs were in great embarrass- 
 ment. — Winston Papers. 
 
 18—2
 
 276 The Kembles. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 KEMBLE MANAGER. 
 
 rpHE character of the chief proprietor of Drury 
 Lane Theatre, his ingenious shiftiness, his dramatic 
 self-extrication from difficulties, his reckless deficiency 
 in all business qualifications, familiar to us through a 
 hundred amusing stories, has really only the effect of 
 increasing our wonder, and even admiration at the 
 spectacle of such a man keeping a vast establishment 
 from utter ruin and disorganization, the receipts 
 of which at the door amounted to nearly sixty thou- 
 sand pounds a year. It might be supposed that with 
 the engrossing claims of politics, elections, and con- 
 viviality, the concern was only saved from ruin by 
 his neglect of it ; but, as will be seen presently, he 
 always controlled it, and allowed his salaried- manager, 
 who was supposed to be responsible, the smallest 
 authority. Without the great actress, whom he had 
 neglected, it may indeed be considered certain that the 
 house would have gone to ruin ; and this attraction,
 
 Kemble Manager. 211 
 
 his own plays and adaptations, the Rivals, School for 
 Scandal, and JPizarro, with a few others almost as suc- 
 cessful, helped this wonderful man, who enjoyed 
 the luck that tides the clever spendthrift over many a 
 crisis. The great difficulty for every one was to con- 
 trive to see the proprietor. He made endless appoint- 
 ments and never kept them ; or arrived in a hurry, 
 and was gone in a second, after fixing another day. 
 He would arrive drunk, go into the green-room, and 
 ask the name of a well-known actor who was on the 
 stage, then bid them never allow him to play again. 
 He was told, with some spirit, by one of the company, 
 that he rarely came there, and then never but to find 
 fault. Not yet had set in the season of hopeless 
 difficulty at the theatre, when hardly one of the 
 players, from the great Siddons herself to the leader 
 of the band, could obtain money from him. Ingenious 
 as were the pretexts for staving off payment, he had 
 not yet reached the stage when such shifts pass the 
 fine line which divides them from dishonesty. He 
 was not yet to give the helpless widow of Strace a 
 benefit, and then sweep off all the money taken at 
 the doors.* 
 
 * This disgraceful act was told to Haydon the painter by Prince 
 Hoare — an act almost too discreditable to be received; but
 
 278 The Kembles. 
 
 On King's shoulders was supposed to rest the 
 responsibility of management ; but he had long since 
 found the position intolerable, for it was merely 
 responsibility without power. He resigned it at the 
 close of the year 1788, and when some of the news- 
 papers declared that his removal could not be lamented, 
 he rushed into their columns, and, to justify him- 
 self, threw amazing light on the disorder behind the 
 scenes. After explaining his dependent situation in 
 various ways, he declared he had not authority " to 
 command the cleaning of a coat, or of adding, by 
 way of decoration, a yard of copper lace, both of which 
 it must be allowed were often much wanted." This 
 undignified revelation, as discreditable to him as to 
 the theatre, seemed to point at much more ; for the 
 truth was, a manager could have no authority or influ- 
 ence over players whose salaries were overdue, or with 
 difficulty extracted. 
 
 When Kemble was appointed to succeed King, it 
 was at once stated that he had accepted office under 
 the same restrictions, and lie also must write to con- 
 tradict such an assertion : — 
 
 I find that later Mrs. Siddons was complaining of the same dis- 
 honesty.
 
 Kemble Manager. 279 
 
 " I find myself arraigned," he wrote, " by an anony- 
 mous writer, as having undertaken the management 
 of Drury Lane Theatre under humiliating restrictions. 
 I do assure the writer and the public that no humilia- 
 tion degrades my services to those who do me the 
 honour to employ me, and that the power entrusted 
 to me is perfectly satisfactory to my own feelings and 
 entirely adequate to the liberal encouragement of 
 poets, of performers, and to the conduct of the whole 
 business of the theatre. The public approbation of 
 my humble endeavours in the discharge of my duty 
 will be the constant object of my ambition, and as far 
 as diligence and assiduity are claims to merit, I trust 
 I shall not be found deficient. I am happy to add, 
 that I find myself most fairly and ably supported by 
 the general zeal and exertions of a company of per- 
 formers so capable of making the stage a source of 
 pleasure and instruction. I am, with the greatest 
 deference, the public's most obliged and humble ser- 
 vant, John Philip Kemble. Theatre Eoyal Drury 
 Lane, October 10th, 1788." 
 
 Thus it was evident he had ample powers given 
 to him, which were confirmed to him by his own 
 greater strength of character, as compared with that 
 of King; but this influence came to be presently
 
 280 The Kembles. 
 
 restricted in practice by Sheridan's difficulties and 
 temper, and led to many disputes, and even 
 quarrels. 
 
 That this change was most advantageous to the 
 theatre could not be denied ; for Kemble brought with 
 him some sensible principles. The first, that plays 
 should be decently mounted in regard to dress and 
 scenery, both of which aids to effect had been dis- 
 figured by a scandalous squalor and incongruity ; 
 the second, a fairer distribution of characters, some 
 of which were jealously retained by those who were 
 too old to do them justice, with some abatement of 
 the pretentious claims of the players, who would not 
 condescend to lend their talents to any but leading 
 characters. By this means, too, and by the retirement 
 of one or two actors, the road was cleared for his 
 talents, and he was enabled to take, as of right, some 
 important and effective characters from which he 
 had been excluded. Under his command there was 
 now a good working company : counting the two 
 Palmers, Bensley, Barrymore, Moody, Dodd, Suett, 
 with his own sister, Miss Farren, Miss Pope, Mrs. 
 Jordan, Mrs. Kemble, and Miss De Camp.* With 
 
 * It is hardly fanciful to say that there seems to be a certain
 
 Kemble Manager. 281 
 
 a company of such training and traditions much 
 could be done, and though the new manager could 
 not be considered very adroit in dealing with human 
 nature, being too stiff and inflexible for delicate 
 negotiation, yet in matters where a simple, straight- 
 forward course was desirable he showed no hesitation, 
 and generally succeeded in his aims. 
 
 Being now fairly entitled to put himself forward in 
 a whole round of leading parts, the public were to 
 see him in Romeo, in the stormy Zanga, and Sciolto, 
 and, what was bolder still, in a free range of comedy, 
 trying such a gay and elegant character as Mirabel, 
 and the' less "airy" one of Leon or Lord Townly. 
 All accounts, whether the deliberate criticisms of the 
 time, or the recollections of friends, have this curious 
 feature underlying abundant praises : they seem to be 
 putting Kemble beside his own tragic self. That such 
 a standard of comparison should be suggested shows 
 that these performances could not have been wholly 
 satisfactory. Later on we shall examine more parti- 
 cularly the value of his attempts in this direction, 
 
 significance in the names of players. Moody, Dodd, Suett, Quick, 
 Shuter, suggest fun and farce ; Bensley has a sonorous and tragic 
 ring, as has Macready, Kemble, Kean. This could be brought 
 in aid of Mr. Shandy's theory of names.
 
 282 The Kembles. 
 
 which, at best, must have been " elocutionary" in the 
 popular sense of the word. His figure and face and 
 bearing must have been against him, and in the 
 innumerable pictures of him, painted and engraved, 
 as he touched middle life, may be noted a certain 
 tendency to tragic " grimness," which is sometimes 
 grotesque. This arose from that curious whisker, 
 which was out of harmony with the fine classic 
 contour of his face. At the same time it will be seen 
 that in what may be called " grave comedy " he might 
 excel. But almost every actor has believed, that if 
 he could be indulged with perfectly fair conditions, 
 he could show talent in both walks; and nearly 
 every great actor has exhibited his powers in both, 
 while it has become a jest of the profession how many 
 a comic actor has believed that the true bent of his 
 genius would be exhibited in deep tragedy. 
 
 But his grand effort was a spectacular revival — 
 a sort of homage to Macbeth — the stage crowded with 
 the singing witches, splendid scenery, and dresses, 
 and he himself acting with his sister. For he was 
 now in undisputed possession of the part, formerly 
 being only allowed to take it as a compliment, and by 
 the gracious allowance of the player to whom it 
 belonged. It must be owned that he " illustrated "
 
 Kemhle Manager. 283 
 
 Shakspeare after a principle that was utterly faulty, 
 for he brought in the black, grey, and white spirits 
 in bodily shape, as bands of little boys, in dresses of 
 colours that corresponded to their names. One of the 
 imps or elves was very troublesome to the manager, 
 and was turned away in disgrace. This was a little 
 boy whose name was Edmund Kean. But the real 
 feature of the season which marks it as an era for 
 the student of the drama, was the great revival of 
 Henri/ VIII., with Mrs. Siddons as Queen Katherine ; 
 which, like her Lady Macbeth, was to advance her yet 
 another great step up the noble dramatic stair she was 
 ascending, and affect her admirers with fresh feel- 
 ings of admiration. Bensley was " in possession " of 
 Wolsey ; and Kemble, from delicacy to the veteran, 
 did not claim the part, contenting himself with the 
 characters of Cromwell and Griffith, which, in stage 
 phrase, he " doubled." Such generous abnegation of 
 self is often rewarded in great actors by the marked 
 prominence into which they lift an inferior part. But 
 by and by the departure of Bensley gave him the 
 opportunity he wished for; and though lie himself 
 owned that his Wolsey at that time was " raw," the 
 play became, as Mr. Boaden says, " one of the most 
 attractive pieces ever known." The grandeur of the
 
 284 The Kembles. 
 
 actress as Queen Katherine, her air of suffering and 
 persecution, enlisted a new order of sympathy, and 
 the well-known denunciation of the Cardinal, like her 
 famous scene in Macbeth, became inseparably asso- 
 ciated with herself. As we read the play now, more 
 than eighty years after that night, the tradition of 
 the great actress is somehow sure to disturb the 
 grander abstraction we ought to have before us. 
 Later, at another theatre and under a different ma- 
 nagement, other members of the family strengthened 
 the representation of the play ; and in a curious 
 picture, painted by Harlow, may be seen gathered 
 nearly all the members of this remarkable family, the 
 greatest in the centre.* 
 
 There was yet to be another revival which was to 
 make this season famous — that of Coriolanus — a grand 
 character that was to become identified with Kemble 
 
 * Nothing is more attractive or entertaining than a portfolio of 
 good theatrical prints and portraits. The absence of such in our 
 time proves the decay of the stage. For a successful theatrical 
 scene or portrait, a dramatic play and a good character is necessary. 
 Actors in those days exhibited character and story ; but a scene 
 from one of our modern plays, or the portrait of one of our modern 
 players in character, would convey no idea. All that could be 
 represented would be what we see in the illustrated newspapers of 
 the day — the storming of a stage fort, the burning of a stage house, 
 or some such startling incident.
 
 Kemble Manager. 285 
 
 himself, whose physical as well as mental gifts it 
 suited to perfection. So completely penetrated did 
 he become with the power and presence of this cha- 
 racter, that from this epoch, it would seem to us, the 
 bearing, speech, and the modes of thought of " the 
 noble Roman" adhered to him, even in private life, 
 and was accountable for much of that inappropriate 
 formality and haughty stiffness which excited not a 
 little amusement. These pieces were set off with 
 great pageantry, processions, and " effects," and may 
 be considered to be the first serious attempt at 
 mounting Shakspeare's plays. It was this wonderful 
 woman's art, as we have seen, to stamp some re- 
 markable image of herself on the recollection, in 
 great plays of this kind ; and that fine actor, Young, 
 looked back with admiration and wonder to the 
 figure of her " Volumnia, as it lingered in his 
 memory. " I remember her," he writes to Mr. 
 Campbell, more than forty years after the perfor- 
 mance, "coming down the stage, in 17S9, in the 
 triumphal entry of her son, Coriolanus, when her 
 dumb-show drew plaudits that shook the building. 
 She came alone, marching and beating time to the 
 music ; rolling (if that be not too strong a term to 
 describe her motion) from side to side, swelling with
 
 286 The Kembles. 
 
 the triumph of her son. Such was the intoxication 
 of joy which flashed from her eye, and lit up her 
 whole face, that the effect was irresistible. k She 
 seemed to me to reap all the glory of that procession 
 to herself. I could not take my eye from her. 
 Coriolanus, banner, and pageant, all went for nothing 
 to me, after she had walked to her place." 
 
 This exhausted the triumph of this remarkable 
 season, and by two such excellent proofs of taste 
 Kemble showed how fitted he was for the post to 
 which he had been promoted. 
 
 It was no wonder that, with Mrs. Siddons' in- 
 creasing success, her social prestige should also 
 increase. So, too, did the number of her private 
 friendships. Long after, when her life was not so 
 happy, she would fondly recall how hardly a day 
 passed without letters or visits from men like Rey- 
 nolds, Erskine, Burke, or Sheridan. Neither had 
 the favour of the Eoyal Family proved fitful ; the 
 King showed a sincere regard for her character, and 
 her presence was officially recognised at the Palace 
 as Eeader to one of the young Princesses. He often 
 expressed his wish to forward her interests and those 
 of her family ; though the characteristic frugality 
 of that royal house made him accept her services
 
 Kemble Manager. 287 
 
 as instructress for his daughter gratuitously. It was 
 on one of these visits to the Palace that a little 
 incident occurred which showed her prudence and 
 presence of mind. The King having come to talk to 
 her, had then abruptly placed in her hand a sheet of 
 paper inscribed with his signature, which was at 
 the foot. She at once saw the explanation, and 
 brought it to the Queen, who thanked her warmly 
 for what was the first significant evidence of the 
 malady which was then coming on him.* She 
 behaved with good sense and discretion, and thus 
 gave timely warning of what was to become a poli- 
 tical as well as a private calamity. But when the 
 King was restored to health we do not hear of any 
 special mark of favour being bestowed on her. A 
 theatrical celebration being given at Brookes's 
 Club, she there came forward to recite some con- 
 gratulatory verses on the Royal recovery, entitled 
 
 * She does not need any extravagant praise for so simple an 
 action; neither should we call it "delicate and dignified," as her 
 biographer does, assuming, it would seem, that another might 
 have turned the gift to some profit. The value of the blank paper 
 was no more than that of any royal autograph, and perpetual 
 secresy as to the whole transaction would, after his recovery, have 
 been the true " delicacy" that deserved praise.
 
 288 The Kembles. 
 
 " Britannia's Ode !" There was a want of delicacy 
 in this proceeding ; but to this sort of exhibition she 
 was a little too prone ; and the associations connected 
 with this rubbish were wholly incongruous with 
 those of her grand profession and stately gifts. Such 
 recitations, monologues, &c, do not belong to the 
 stage nor to artists at all, and should be left to 
 " delineators" or reciters.* This performance at a 
 club was undignified, even if it had been prompted 
 by a desire to oblige the gentlemen who some years 
 before had made up a purse for her. 
 
 Yet, though she must have brought great prosperity 
 to the theatre, the eccentric proprietor did not think 
 it worth his while to conciliate her. Through his 
 relaxing hands money kept flowing as through a 
 conduit-pipe, but he could not retain any for so 
 valuable an auxiliary. She soon found it almost im- 
 possible to obtain her salary, nor did he care to 
 redeem this neglect by any courtesy. One night — 
 and Mr. Eogers used to tell the story as he heard it 
 from her — when she was about to drive away from 
 the theatre, Mr. Sheridan jumped into the carriage. 
 
 * She also "spouted" this "screed" at Drury Lane, and all 
 round her circuit.
 
 Kemble Manager. 289 
 
 It is amusing, almost, to note the business-like way 
 in which she confronted situations which might have 
 made other ladies nervous. "Mr. Sheridan," she 
 said, " I trust that you will behave with propriety ; if 
 not I shall have to call the footman to show you 
 out of the carriage." She owned that he did behave 
 himself. But as soon as the carriage stopped he leaped 
 out and hurried away, as though wishing not to be 
 seen with her. "Provoking wretch !" adds the lady. 
 This little incident rather happily illustrates both 
 their characters. 
 
 But she was at last to be fairly tired out by his 
 treatment. Disgusted, it was. said, at his shifts and 
 pretences, she retired from the theatre at the close ot 
 her brother's first year's management. Sheridan 
 coarsely as well as foolishly boasted that the theatre 
 was so strong in comedy that it could do very well 
 without her. Many speculations were set on foot as 
 to the cause of this retirement. Mr. Campbell had it 
 from " the best authority" that it was owing to the 
 reason just given; but Mr. Boaden says that it was 
 on account of a misunderstanding with her brother. 
 This, in part, would seem probable. An actress of 
 her position, with a brother in high authority, might 
 expect many great privileges, and fairly assume that- 
 
 VOL. I. 19
 
 290 The Kembles. 
 
 he was no more than her deputy. No one would be 
 so likely as Kemble to put aside coldly all claims of 
 kindred, or to place duty to the theatre he directed 
 above every other consideration. He would have 
 almost taken a pride in putting her on the same just 
 footing as the other players. It is probable, too, that 
 the public were growing a little weary of the succession 
 of lugubrious and tearful tragedies, and were turning, 
 as Sheridan boasted, to comedy. A short absence 
 — with actors a favourite tonic — would stimulate a 
 jaded public taste ; and, after passing by Bath and 
 Birmingham, in the summer of 1790, she went over 
 to France, leaving her two daughters at Calais. Great 
 artists are always pleased with some unofficial act of 
 homage.* Michael Kelly, the singer, drove up to the 
 hotel at St. Omer just as Mrs. Siddons had departed — 
 "la graiide actrice Anglaise" as the landlady de- 
 scribed her, who was critical as to her physical gifts ; 
 considering her, indeed, a fine woman, who was 
 studying to imitate a French one, but " wanting a 
 
 * Mrs. Siddons must have been gratified with the Birmingham 
 plaster-cast maker, who, without knowing his customer, showed 
 her her own bust, with this praise, " That it was the likeness of the 
 greatest and most beautiful actress in the world." She accepted 
 the praise, but not the likeness ; and this incident suggested to her 
 the study of modelling, which became a favourite pursuit of hers.
 
 Kemble Manager. 291 
 
 great deal :" a characteristic bit of French vanity. 
 The actress pursued her travels through the Nether- 
 lands, and her compagnon de voyage was Miss Wynne, 
 later to be Lady Percival. 
 
 With the next season (that of 1790-91) prodigious 
 efforts were made to induce her to return to Drury 
 Lane. This was to be the last year of the old theatre's 
 existence, and it was fitting that she should appear 
 for a few nights at least. Her reception was indeed 
 enthusiastic : the old house re-echoed for full five 
 minutes to one sustained burst of shouting and clap- 
 ping. But all remarked with much anxiety the change 
 that had taken place in her. Her acting was as fine 
 as ever, but there was a languor in her face which 
 spoke of illness. Indeed, she could only play for a few 
 nights, but her attraction was more powerful than 
 before, and to see her Mrs. Beverley on one night over 
 400/. was paid by the public. 
 
 After that triumph she went on a visit to old 
 friends to recruit her strength, and was then ordered 
 to Harrogate to drink the waters. For this last season 
 of " Old Drury" her brother prepared two more 
 Shakspearian revivals — Henry V. and the Tempest; 
 but must have made himself not a little absurd 
 by attempting the character of Don Juan. The 
 
 19—2
 
 292 The Kembles. 
 
 spectacle of the stately Kernble lurking in porticos, 
 scaling balconies, and twanging the guitar, after the 
 conventional model of the stage Lothario, must have 
 provoked many a smile. An event of more interest 
 was to be the levelling of the venerable pile itself. 
 It had been formally condemned by the architects, 
 who pronounced that it had come to the stage when 
 no patching or alteration could help it. This speaks 
 rather indifferently for the architectural skill of the 
 Brothers Adam, who not many years before had re- 
 modelled and thoroughly restored the house under 
 Garrick's directions. Sheridan — yet another miracle 
 in his career — went impetuously into the new plan, 
 and forthwith issued proposals for debentures amount- 
 ing to 150,000/.; which, more wonderful still, were 
 taken up in a very short time. Yet the resources of 
 the theatre were elastic enough to have borne this 
 new burden and much more ; and the value of the 
 proprietors' shares, which had increased largely since 
 Garrick had left, was a test of at least financial 
 confidence. " I bought," wrote Sheridan, " of Mr. 
 Garrick at the rate of 70,000/. ; of Lacy, at 94,000/. ; 
 of Ford, at 86,000/." But there was another device 
 by which, at the fatal sacrifice of the very object for 
 which the theatre was to be built, the new charge
 
 Kemble Manager. 293 
 
 was to be more than covered. For it was determined 
 to construct a house of vast size which should hold 
 enough additional people to pay the new class of 
 renters. This programme was speedily worked into 
 shape, and the last performance was given on 
 June 4th, 1791, when the Country Girl was played, 
 and the audience were dismissed with a simple an- 
 nouncement of its being the last night of performance. 
 Yet an extraordinary interest ought to have attached 
 to the occasion. It had been built by Wren, and 
 had seen whole generations of the finest actors of 
 the English stage — Betterton, Wilkes, Booth, and 
 Garrick, exhibiting their talents under its roof; and 
 its very shape and size were suited to the best display 
 of voice and expression. 
 
 Sheridan was not a man to let any romantic interest 
 stand in the way of pecuniary advantage, and we may 
 suspect that the idea of increasing his gains by almost 
 doubling the size of the house was the true reason for 
 the rebuilding. A pleasant little skit, which came 
 from the witty pen of Colman, commemorated the 
 last hours of this fine old theatre. 
 
 "the death of old drury. 
 " On Saturday night, of a gradual decay, and in the
 
 294 Tlie Kembles. 
 
 1 1 7th year of her age, died Old Madam Drury, who 
 existed through six reigns, and saw many generations 
 pass in review "before her. She remembered Betterton 
 in his declining age ; lived in intimacy with Wilkes, 
 Booth, and Cibber ; and knew old Mac/din when he 
 was a stripling. Her hospitality exceeded that of the 
 English character even in its early days of festivity, 
 having almost through the whole of her life enter- 
 tained from one to two thousand persons of both sexes, 
 six nights out of seven in the week. She was an 
 excellent poetess — could be grave and gay by turns, 
 and yet sometimes (catching the disorder from in- 
 trusive guests) could be dull enough in all conscience. 
 Her memory was most excellent, and her singing kept 
 on in such a gradual state of improvement that it was 
 allowed her voice was better the three or four last years 
 of her than when she was in her prime at the latter 
 end of the last century. She had a rout of near two 
 thousand people at her house the very night of her 
 death; and the old lady found herself in such high 
 spirits that she said she would give them ' No 
 Supper' without a ' Song/ which being complied 
 with, she fell gently back in her chair and expired 
 without a groan. Dr. Palmer (one of her family phy- 
 sicians) attended her in her last moments, and an- 
 nounced her dissolution to the company."
 
 Kemble Manager. 295 
 
 With this old and classical structure passed away 
 a host of reverent associations. There Johnson and 
 Reynolds and Goldsmith had sat and criticized; there 
 Garrick, a young man about town, had gone on as 
 Harlequin; there Woffington had captivated all by 
 her Sir Harry ; there, in the front row of the pit, near 
 the " spikes," had Churchill sat and taken notes for 
 his " Eosciad ;" there the greatest school of English 
 actors had been formed, traditions of which, even at 
 " third" hand, now make the excellence of any acting 
 that is at all respectable. "With its destruction and 
 substitution of enormous houses it was to be dis- 
 covered that the playing even of the Kembles was to 
 lose half its charms ; and though presently a crowd 
 of small houses was to spring up, these, by scattering 
 the actors, and by the necessary competition that 
 arose, were to destroy the old traditions. More sig- 
 nificant still was the social change to be brought 
 about by the erection of great houses. As their vast 
 size and burden of debt required a large return on the 
 capital laid out, it was found necessary to attract the 
 audience by means other than dramatic ; hence were 
 added those huge and dangerous "saloons," where 
 loose company was encouraged and even invited, 
 in the hope of securing the attendance of the bloods 
 and bucks of the town. With the saloons came the
 
 296 The Kembles. 
 
 " private boxes," which, again, were foreign to the 
 nature of a purely dramatic entertainment ; the object 
 of the " privacy" being that the tenants might con- 
 verse or amuse themselves, secure from the observation 
 of the audience, or without being obliged to attend to 
 what was going on upon the stage. It is not a far- 
 fetched notion to attribute much of the present decay 
 to this material alteration in the conditions of the 
 audience. In the old Drury Lane, the first row of 
 boxes were all open, and the ladies and gentlemen 
 were expected to appear in full dress, such as they 
 wore at a rout or party. The green boxes over 
 head were given up to the citizens, their wives, and 
 daughters ; while the lattices at the top of all were 
 the only portion open to those whose position was 
 doubtful, and whose conversation or behaviour could 
 be no interruption to the business of the stage. Now, 
 it is impossible to deny that the spectacle of a house 
 all "open," with all the figures of the spectators 
 visible, must have had great influence and encourage- 
 ment for the actors. We might even trace back to 
 this introduction of saloons, private boxes, &c, the 
 present indecent disorder that reigns in everything 
 dramatic, when playhouses have become mere booths 
 for the exhibition of showy women, mechanical ap-
 
 Kemble Manager. 297 
 
 paratus, dancing, and buffoonery. All this dates from 
 the time when a theatre became a mere trading spe- 
 culation, and exposed to all the incidents of a trading 
 speculation — viz., to competition or failure. And 
 hence might be drawn very strong arguments for the 
 maintaining of a strict licensing or " patent" system ; 
 for there can be no question but that this free unre- 
 strained gathering in of crowds to witness unpro- 
 fitable shows has an enormous influence on morals, 
 and should be as much matter of regulation as the 
 gathering in taverns and public-houses. This over- 
 done system of mere houses of exhibition might 
 surely be regulated on the same principle as the 
 supply of public-houses — viz., by their proportion to 
 the population of a district. 
 
 It will thus be seen how much more appropriately a 
 dirge might have been sung over the demise of a good 
 school of acting, which was to disappear with the 
 destruction of the walls within which an audience 
 could see and hear.
 
 298 Tlie Kembles. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 SHERIDAN AND "NEW DRURY LANE. 
 
 A LREADY Kemble was finding his position as 
 manager, though fortified with the most favour- 
 able stipulations, anything but easy. In practice, 
 Sheridan was not in the habit of allowing himself to 
 be constrained by the fetters of an engagement ; 
 and from the sheer impossibility of carrying out the 
 plans he had arranged, Kemble began to find his 
 position most embarrassing. This may have added 
 an irritability to a character that was habitually grave 
 and reserved, and made him ready to accept from the 
 discontented even the arbitration of the pistol, when 
 it was proposed to him. One of the Aickens — 
 "brethren in mediocrity," as Lamb called them — « 
 was studiously rude to him at table ; and after much 
 forbearance, Kemble resented this treatment and 
 agreed to give the offender what was then called 
 " satisfaction." The two actors met outside Mary- 
 lebone, attended by old Bannister, when Kemble
 
 LITHO. PHOTOGRAPHIC INST. 
 
 492, NEW OXFORD STREET.
 
 Sheridan and " New Drury Lane." 299 
 
 coolly received his adversary's fire, and declined to 
 return it. The histrionic dignity that sat so well on 
 him at the footlights always attended him off the 
 stage. He had already fought Mr. Daly, the Irish 
 manager, and in fact was " called out" in his life no 
 less than four times. But there was more dignity, as 
 well as morality, in his rebuke to a foolish play- 
 writer, who was connected with the aristocracy — the 
 Hon. Mr. St. John — who had written one of the 
 innumerable " Mary Queen of Scots" plays, and was 
 impertinent to the manager in the green-room. High 
 words followed. "You are a person I cannot call 
 out," said Mr. St. John, insolently. " But you are a 
 person I can turn otit/" was the ready reply ; " and you 
 shall leave this place at once." The offender had the 
 good sense to return and offer his apologies. It must 
 be admitted that there was gathering about Kemble 
 at this time the buckram-like coils of a pedantic 
 solemnity, which invited ridicule, and made those 
 who differed from him impatient. It must be said 
 there was excuse for Sheridan's irregularity, if 
 his subordinate could take so grotesque a fashion 
 of remonstrating as Mr. Boaden witnessed one 
 evening. Smarting under a sense of contempt or 
 neglect — particularly at the fashion in which his
 
 300 The Kembles. 
 
 authority was set at defiance, and others below him 
 were encouraged to do so — he found himself one 
 night at Mrs. Crouch's, that fascinating singer of 
 whom our fathers used to rave, and who gave little 
 supper-parties after the play was over. On this 
 evening Kemble arrived charged with his grievances, 
 expecting to meet Sheridan there, as soon as the 
 house was up, " and in a sort of inarticulate murmur 
 alarmed the party with the prospect of a scene." 
 Sheridan presently came in, sat down by Mrs. Crouch, 
 and looked over at Kemble with kindness ; " but the 
 kindness was neither returned nor acknowledged. 
 The great actor now looked unutterable things, and 
 occasionally emitted a humming sound like that of a 
 bee, and groaned in spirit inwardly A con- 
 siderable time elapsed, and frequent repetitions of the 
 sound before-mentioned occurred ; when at last, c like 
 a pillar of state,' slowly uprose Kemble, and in these 
 words addressed the astonished proprietor : — ' I am 
 an eagle, whose wings have been bound down by 
 frosts and snows, but now I shake my pinions and 
 cleave into the genial air unto which I am born.' 
 He then deliberately resumed his seat." There was 
 something absolutely ridiculous in this fashion of 
 announcing a resignation ; but Sheridan, with all the
 
 Sheridan and " New Drury Lane." 301 
 
 art of which he was master, came and soothed him, 
 and at an early hour of the morning both went 
 away together in perfect harmony. 
 
 Indeed, anecdotes of Kemble in this humour could 
 be multiplied, and are exceedingly diverting. They 
 contain the elements of humour, because of the con- 
 trast between his genuine seriousness and the 
 grotesqueness of the situation. Of this class was the 
 story told to Moore by Murray, the Edinburgh 
 manager. When Kemble was playing Coriolanus, 
 a raw actor forgot his part at the passage — 
 
 " For that he ... . 
 Has envied against the people, seeking means 
 To pluck away their power." 
 
 And after staring at Kemble, substituted, " And that 
 he is always going about Hie streets, making every one 
 uncomfortable." After the play the fellow apologized. 
 But the great actor looked at him with ineffable 
 scorn, and merely exclaimed, " Beast ! " So, too, on 
 his passage into Drury Lane Theatre, and his being 
 saluted by the Guardsmen on duty in military 
 fashion, which pleased him so much, that he addressed 
 them in a Shakspearian speech, and gave them a 
 guinea to drink. His encouragement to the super- 
 numerary, with a good Roman head and bearing, but
 
 302 TJie Kembles. 
 
 who was a little awkward, was more characteristic : 
 " They Hire you !" and presently he added, " They like 
 me !" thus flattering the man by this unexpected 
 companionship. 
 
 The truth was, Kemble had the profoundest admi- 
 ration for his clever friend. He knew nothing of 
 politics, and scarcely ever looked into a newspaper ; 
 but any allusion to the subject of Sheridan was 
 certain to make him break out in raptures over his 
 hero. At the same time, the sense of the treatment 
 he had met with from the " god of his idolatry" 
 threw him into an amusing conflict. " I know him 
 thoroughly," he would say, angrily — " all his paltry 
 tricks and artifices ;" then he would threaten to join 
 a political society, " the Friends of the People," and 
 go there to expose him. The supper-scene might be 
 accepted as exaggeration, except that we have it from 
 an eye-witness and intimate friend. No lover of 
 true stage art can deal very severely with this almost 
 regal solemnity of Kemble's, imported into private 
 life, though he may smile at it; for it shows that 
 his profession was always before his eyes, and filling 
 his thoughts, even in his cups. It is a more pardonable 
 weakness than the failing of our day, when every 
 player would forget his profession if he could.
 
 Sheridan and "New Drury Lane" 303 
 
 While the new theatre was being built the com- 
 pany had moved to the great Opera House, taking with 
 them all the scenery and properties of Drury Lane, 
 which were a world too small for that vast area. The 
 great breadth of the stage was intended to display the 
 vast forces of chorus and ballet to the best advantage ; 
 and the " auditorium," as it is now called, was of extra- 
 ordinary height and spaciousness. This change of 
 conditions was already found to operate on the Drury 
 Lane players in a most fatal way, and, to their own 
 surprise, they now discovered that their expression 
 either of voice or feature quite failed to produce the 
 old effect. Here was a significant warning for those 
 who were planning the new and ambitious temple, 
 but Sheridan was only thinking of how he should best 
 exploiter the enterprise and make it serve for the most 
 prof table ends. This intermediate state of things 
 which continued as the walls of the new theatre were 
 rising proved unsatisfactory in every view. The 
 prices were raised. The simple attraction of good 
 acting was insufficient to fill so huge a house, where 
 all that makes up good acting could not be appre- 
 ciated, or indeed be intelligible ; and the performances 
 at the Opera House were considered to have added 
 substantially to Sheridan's later embarrassments.
 
 304 The Kembles. 
 
 We may pass over this interval, wliicli was only 
 marked by Kemble's success in a new direction — < 
 viz., in the first of a series of melodramatic characters 
 of a lower but more popular order than what he had 
 hitherto attempted — viz., Octavian mT/te Mountaineers 
 of Colman. He also ventured to play Marlow, one of 
 the most delightful characters in comedy for piquancy, 
 gaiety, and originality. This rash venture was a 
 suitable pendant for his inconsiderate attempt to 
 represent Charles Surface, it being hard to determine 
 for which he was most unfitted, But the theatre was 
 now nearly completed, and with its completion, as 
 will be seen, came new influences which were to affect 
 not only the playing of the great actress herself, but 
 the whole interests of the drama. 
 
 On April 21st, 1794, the new house was opened 
 for the drama. The architect was Holland, who had 
 recently remodelled Covent Garden Theatre. For 
 vastness of size, at least, it was considered almost the 
 finest theatre in Europe. There was a surprising 
 lightness and airiness about the interior, though the 
 malicious likened it to a great birdcage, owing to the 
 fashion in which the dividing lines of the boxes 
 converged at the centre of the ceiling. Everything 
 in the interior construction was on an ambitious scale.
 
 Sheridan and " New Drury Lane." 305 
 
 There were tiers upon tiers of boxes, with great 
 galleries and a spacious amphitheatre near the roof, 
 all arranged with a novel solidity of construction. 
 Its scenery was ambitious, artistic and elaborate, 
 and the dresses all new. It held close upon four 
 thousand spectators, and a night's receipt was calcu- 
 lated at about 800/. Garrick's old theatre, on a 
 crush, barely held two thousand persons, and its 
 receipt could hardly be stretched to 400/. This 
 might be thought satisfactory, but such advantages 
 were dearly purchased by the certain destruction of 
 fine acting and proscription of fine dramas. For on this 
 occasion was inaugurated the fatal principle which 
 has obtained ever since : that the performers and the 
 performa?ice must be made to suit the theatre, while the 
 theatre itself must be made to suit speculation ; and 
 the example being set by two great houses dividing a 
 monopoly, the blow fell with double effect. 
 
 Looking at a picture of Garrick's Drury Lane 
 Theatre, we at once see on what principles he laid out 
 his interior. The two rows of boxes were rather open 
 galleries than boxes, and the amphitheatre, or two- 
 shilling gallery, was brought boldly down into the 
 centre of the second row of boxes. He knew how to 
 value the encouragement of these trusty supporters ; 
 
 vol. i. 20
 
 306 The Kembles. 
 
 for the rude but intelligent appreciation of a vast 
 mass of human beings, who could see and hear and 
 understand what was going on, unfettered by the 
 conventional restraints of fashion, was most valuable 
 to the actors, in imparting spirit to the performance. 
 Every whisper, every glance could be understood in 
 those regions, and this feeling influenced the finest 
 exertions of the players. In the old theatre, too, the 
 arrangement that brought the stage-doors and the fore- 
 most " wings" well forward into the house, was most 
 advantageous for the " exit" of the actor, giving him 
 scope for some of the finest bits of playing, for what 
 was called " springing off with a glance at the pit," 
 by which defiant and hateful villains could retire from 
 view with true dramatic force ; whereas the greater 
 space to be travelled over under the new arrangement 
 obliged them to have recourse to stage artifices to 
 sustain the effect. In the new houses the gallery 
 audience was sent away aloft, and put far back, where 
 they had, at most, but distant glimpses, and could 
 hear nothing that was not declaimed loudly. But 
 their position was favourable compared to what it was 
 to be later. In the other parts of the houses many 
 could neither see nor hear without exertion, and they 
 also exhibited a new and objectionable feature, bor-
 
 Sheridan and "New Drury Lane" 307 
 
 rowed from abroad — the introduction of vast numbers 
 of private boxes, by which the profits were to be 
 largely increased, an abuse which the public were 
 later to resent in a riot that has become historical. 
 But it will be seen presently how these mere material 
 conditions began at once to operate on the Drama, 
 and, of necessity, even on the classic judgment of 
 Kemble himself. 
 
 Macbeth was selected for this inauguration, but a 
 rather absurd exhibition preceded the performance. 
 To reassure the audience against all fears of fire, a 
 huge iron curtain was let down and ostentatiously 
 struck with a hammer. When this screen was raised, 
 a lake of real water was discovered, with a cascade 
 tumbling down ; while Miss Farren was put forward 
 to deliver a boastful and imprudent challenge to the 
 powers of fire — 
 
 " The very ravages of fire we scout, 
 For we have herewithal to put it out : 
 In ample reservoirs our firm reliance, 
 Whose streams set conflagrations at defiance." 
 
 A defiance that was taken up only too soon. The 
 great audience was delighted. Enormous exertions 
 had been made to set off Shakspeare's play ; even the 
 great actress herself had grown excited by the pre- 
 
 20—3
 
 308 The Kembles. 
 
 parations to do honour to Shakspeare, and wrote to 
 her friend Lady Harcourt, — " I am told that the 
 banquet is a thing to go and see of itself. The scenes 
 and dresses all new, and as superb and characteristic 
 as it is possible to make them. • You cannot conceive 
 what I feel at the prospect of playing there. I dare 
 say I shall be so nervous as scarcely to be able to 
 make myself heard in the first scene." This short 
 and enthusiastic note positively contains an epitome 
 of the decay of the stage. " I am told that the 
 banquet is a thing to go and see of itself?' Up to this 
 day such a sentiment had never been heard ; people 
 might go to see a Garrick and Pritchard, or Siddons 
 and Kemble, in Macbeth and Lady Macbeth ; but no 
 stage manager had yet dreamed of elaborating " a 
 banquet-scene," the cups, meats, and guests, &c, so 
 as to make it a marked feature. The hint was not 
 lost, and it was reserved for Mr. Charles Kean 
 cumbrously to overlay the great dramatist of England 
 with gold and silver and decoration, and in every 
 play that he revived carry out the principle of " the 
 banquet-scene being a thing to go and see of itself." 
 The actress was afraid she might not make herself 
 heard from " nervousness," but she was presently to 
 find that this was to be the least of all hindrances to
 
 Sheridan and "New Drury Lane." 309 
 
 her producing effect. Almost on the first night she 
 must have discovered that her powers were subjected 
 to altogether new conditions; and though she had 
 already played at the Opera House, it was after a 
 sort of provisional fashion. Soon a change in her 
 style was noticed: her acting became "larger" and 
 coarser, to aid distant effects ; her gestures and poses 
 became bolder and more theatrical, and of course less 
 spontaneous. There was to be a long farewell to 
 those delicate graces, to those electrical changes of 
 expression, now to be lost, in a great measure, on the 
 bulk of the audience. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott* recalled this house and its later 
 appearance, when it was often half empty, as a huge 
 " Dora-Daniel" — for this was incident to temples 
 of this great size, that some great attraction was 
 always necessary to bring nearly four thousand people 
 together. And it is certainly not a little curious to 
 contrast a later declaration of Mrs. Siddons, made 
 after due experience, with her pleasant anticipation 
 written to Lady Harcourt. Dowton used to tell how 
 she said to him — " I am glad to see you at Drury 
 
 * In his agreeable paper on Kenible, contributed to the Quarterly 
 Review.
 
 310 The Kembles. 
 
 Lane, but you are come to act in a wilderness of a 
 place, and God knows, if I had not made my reputa- 
 tion in a small theatre, I never should have done it.'* 
 Like her, all the actors had to strain their voice, and 
 found they could obtain no applause, nor indeed be 
 understood, unless they indulged in some exaggera- 
 tion of voice and gesture — separated by only a fine 
 line from rant. To dwell so long on the opening of 
 a theatre — a matter that now takes place once or 
 twice every year — will be excused, as the reader will 
 see how curiously this event has been bound up with 
 the fortunes of the Drama. 
 
 This occasion was of special interest to the family, 
 as it brought forward, for the first time, in the cha- 
 racter of Malcolm, Charles Kemble, an interesting 
 young actor, who in a certain line of parts was to 
 acquire great reputation. As we have seen, he had 
 been sent to Douai, but news coming home that he 
 was dangerously sick, his brother John had set out 
 on a journey to join him. By quite a dramatic sur- 
 prise, their chaises met on the Dover Road, Charles 
 having recovered and started for England. No 
 wonder that this strong family connexion at the one 
 theatre led to remarks, and it was concluded that 
 very soon the family would acquire a substantial
 
 Sheridan and "New Drury Lane." 311 
 
 interest in the property they had such a share in 
 sustaining. But what attracted most criticism was 
 the strange and un-Shakspearean novelty of leaving 
 the presence of Banquo's ghost to be signified solely 
 by the agitation and horror of the actor. This was 
 surely an indiscretion, one of those unaccountable 
 blunders into which an excess of study sometimes 
 betraved Kemble. For the obvious effect would be 
 that the audience would adopt the guests' opinion, 
 and suppose that Macbeth was labouring under some 
 hallucination, instead of seeing the ghost of Banquo. 
 But this was fellow to that other absurdity of repre- 
 senting the "spirits" by boys dressed in different 
 colours. But this specimen of " realistic" treatment 
 was only too significant of what was to come. 
 
 For almost at once the great theatre began to 
 create a spectacular class of entertainment, which 
 would draw the great herd of sightseers, always 
 larger than the more cultivated class to whom purely 
 intellectual art would be attractive. In taking this 
 step Kemble, like his predecessor, Grarrick, felt 
 that his responsibility to the theatre did not allow 
 him to make costly sacrifices in the cause of legiti- 
 macy, and boldly arranged one of the earliest of the 
 dashing fighting melodramas, entitled LodoisJca. He
 
 312 TheKembles. 
 
 had a good ballet-master — D'Egville — who could 
 dispose spirited groups, suited to the size of the 
 stage ; while every night a Tartar fortress was stormed 
 and set on fire, and a terrific battle fought — ail with 
 much profit to the house. This was introducing a 
 fresh attraction, and from this stock descends a 
 whole line of stirring shows, in which robbers herd 
 in caves underneath castles, millers issue forth, or 
 use their mills for the same ends, armies advance and 
 retreat. Timoiir the Tartar, still familiar, Tekeli, or the 
 Siege ofMontgatz, The Miller and his Men, Pizarro, and 
 a host of such pieces, were all of a kin, and unques- 
 tionably owed their origin to the large theatres. For 
 what was now wanting was something more or less 
 independent of dialogue or character — an exciting 
 story which could be told to the eye by the aid of 
 rich dresses, processions, combats, and incidents, like 
 the blowing up of a bridge or mill. Lodoiska and 
 Timour the Tartar are so exceedingly primitive in 
 their composition as to seem grotesque now, and the 
 latter, at least, has found its way to the circus. The 
 Miller and his Men and later pieces are a prodigious 
 advance upon such rude attempts, and were fashioned 
 by skilful hands. 
 
 During this season Mrs. Siddons' health was still
 
 Sheridan and "New Drury Lane." 313 
 
 indifferent. Her daughter Cecilia was born the same 
 year, on July 25th, 1794. 
 
 " I have the pleasure to tell you," wrote her hus- 
 band to a friend, " your little god-daughter (for such 
 she is, myself being your proxy a few days back) is 
 very well, and as fine a girl as if her father was not 
 more than one-and-twenty. She is named after Mrs. 
 Piozzi's youngest daughter, Cecilia ; her sponsors are 
 yourself and Mr. Greathead, Mrs. Piozzi and Lady 
 Percival {ci-devant Miss B. Wynn) ; and, what is 
 better, the mother is well too, and is just going to 
 the theatre to perform Mrs. Beverley, for the benefit 
 of her brother's wife, Mrs. Stephen Kemble." 
 
 Her mother went to Margate to recruit her health 
 in September, and from this time we can see develop- 
 ing what was always a feature in her disposition, a 
 sort of despondency and dissatisfaction with the 
 world. The popular idea of the great queen of 
 tragedy would be of course that of a soul delighting 
 in — living in — the applause of the public ; but it is 
 certain that no one's heart ever turned so wistfully 
 to her family and fireside. 
 
 "My whole family are gone to Margate," she 
 wrote in September, " whither I am going also ; and 
 nothing would make it tolerable to me, but that my
 
 314 The Kembles. 
 
 husband and daughters are delighted with the pros- 
 pect before them. I wish they could go and enjoy 
 themselves there, and leave me the comfort and 
 pleasure of remaining in my own convenient house, 
 and taking care of my baby. But I am every day 
 more and more convinced that half the world live for 
 themselves, and the other half for the comfort of the 
 former. At least, this I am sure of, that I have had 
 no will of my own since I remember ; and, indeed, to 
 be just, I fancy I should have little delight in so 
 selfish an existence/' 
 
 Yet with this ill-health and depression she was 
 getting ready for a tour in the north, to be marked 
 by perhaps the hardest work she had yet gone 
 through. Again had the paragraph-mongers been 
 at work, and a fresh cabal been formed : no one 
 indeed was ever so harassed. Such continued per- 
 secution of a woman was really unworthy. She was 
 on the eve of setting out for Edinburgh, to play at her 
 son Henry's theatre, and a letter she wrote to her dear 
 friend Whalley shows how much she was affected by 
 anxiety and persecution : " I intend, if it please 
 God, to be at home again for Passion week. I leave 
 my sweet girl behind me, not daring to take her so 
 far north this inclement season, and could well wish
 
 Sheridan and "New Drury Lane" 315 
 
 that the interests of the best of sons and most amiable 
 of men did not so imperiously call me out of this 
 softer climate just now. But I shall pack myself up 
 as warmly as I can, trusting that while I run a little 
 risk I shall do a great deal of good to my dear Harry, 
 who tells me all my friends are more eager to see me 
 than ever. 
 
 " It is not possible that I may stop a night or two 
 here before I go, which, as I have long been engaged 
 to act this season, after Easter, and cannot in honour 
 or honesty be off, I think will not be impolitic, lest 
 my enemies, if their malignity be worth a thought, 
 may think their impotent attempts have frightened 
 me away. They have done all their malignant 
 treachery could devise, and have they robbed me of 
 one friend ? No, God be praised ! but, on the con- 
 trary, have knit them all closer to me. Glad enough 
 should I be never to ajjpear again ; but while the in- 
 terests of those so dear and near as those of son and 
 brother are concerned, one must not let selfish con- 
 siderations stand in the way of Christian duties and 
 natural affection." 
 
 This seems to refer to a scandalous libel which had 
 appeared on her character, and for the discovery of 
 whose author her husband offered 1000/. reward. But
 
 316 Tlie Kembles. 
 
 by this time she ought surely to have been case- 
 hardened to such attacks. 
 
 The sister was certainly to be pitied in being ex- 
 posed to stories of this kind ; but the brother was to 
 give the town cause for scandal by a most unfortunate 
 escapade. One morning the papers contained the 
 following extraordinary communication from him : — 
 
 " I, John Philip Kemble, of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, do 
 adopt this method of publicly apologizing to Miss De Camp, for the 
 very improper and unjustifiable behaviour I was lately guilty of 
 towards her, which I do further declare her conduct and character 
 had in no instance authorized ; but, on the contrary, I do know 
 and believe both to be irreproachable. 
 
 "Jany. 7, 1795." 
 
 This was read with astonishment, and was so ob- 
 scure as to give rise to all kinds of surmises. The truth 
 was believed to be that the great actor had indulged 
 in wine, which, at one time, as Scott says, he used to 
 take " in pailfuls ;" and under this influence had 
 burst into the young lady's dressing-room. The 
 only extenuation to be offered for such outrageous 
 behaviour is the handsome character of the apology, 
 which, from its phrasing, we may conclude was volun- 
 teered by Kemble. One would readily wish to pass 
 over this unpleasant transaction, which is the sole in- 
 stance of indecorum in his irreproachable life; but
 
 Sheridan and "New Drury Lane" 317 
 
 the matter was too notorious to be thus dismissed. 
 It is ludicrous to find the champion of Miss Phillips, 
 in presence of such an intrusion, himself offending 
 in the same gross way ; and the surprising part of the 
 transaction is, that it should have been condoned by 
 the public so readily. But the amende would have 
 been considered by Talleyrand a blunder worse than 
 the offence itself; and a judicious friend, even of the 
 lady, would have strongly dissuaded a public repara- 
 tion which could only excite curiosity. To make the 
 matter yet more perplexed, the lady not long after 
 became his sister-in-law. 
 
 On this expedition Mrs. Siddons travelled nine hun- 
 dred miles without a companion, and made a great deal 
 of money. In addition to her anxieties about her 
 daughters, her husband was now falling into bad 
 health, and was obliged to live at Bath, on account of 
 rheumatism and other infirmities. At Birmingham 
 she seems to have played with all her accustomed 
 spirit, and have enraptured her audiences : — " The 
 dejecting nature of my bodily sensations," wrote 
 the high - flown Anne Seward, " counteracted the 
 longings of my spirit after those sublime representa- 
 tions of high-strung feelings and conflicting passions, 
 till I saw Mrs. Siddons announced for Hermione, and
 
 318 The Kembles. 
 
 Catherine the Shrew. I could then resist no longer, 
 much as I feared the exertion. She was, if possible, 
 greater than ever, and I was very glad to observe her 
 plumpness and healthier looks since I saw her in 
 Lady Macbeth this time three years. She sent me a 
 thrice- kind billet after the first act : a more welcome 
 one I have seldom received, for I love, as well as 
 admire her infinitely. I called at her door next morn, 
 but it was the day of her leaving Birmingham, which 
 made it impossible she could have leisure to see any 
 person : so I left my billet of acknowledgment for 
 her gratifying notice. On leaving the stage, after her 
 general curtsey, she made one to me with a smile of 
 benignity y which is engraved on my heart. 0,' Mr. 
 "Whalley, what an enchanting Beatrice she is !" 
 
 There are many agreeable little pictures in her 
 provincial travels, and none more graphic than one 
 drawn by Miss Burney, of the little Weymouth 
 Theatre, when the King and Royal Family were stop- 
 ping there. It falls into this place, though it is some- 
 what later in date. The author of Evelina tells how 
 she met the stately actress walking on the sands 
 with her children, and received an obeisance as 
 stately ; how the aged King commanded a performance 
 at the theatre, and the Eoyal Family being away
 
 Sheridan and "New Drury Lane." 319 
 
 on an expedition, kept the packed audience waiting. 
 How the farce was put first ; and how the King and 
 Queen arriving at last, they sent a page home for their 
 wigs, so as not to detain the audience further. These 
 little sketches are very graphic and pleasant, and 
 light up the dull round of the player's life.
 
 320 The Kembles. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE GERMAN DRAMA. 
 
 rpHE health of Kemble himself was not good ; and 
 indeed his labonrs of playing and management 
 combined must have told on even a stronger con- 
 stitution. He was unwearied in directing the busi- 
 ness, and all the great processions, " antiquarianism," 
 and general pageantry, which made the chief attrac- 
 tion of Drury Lane, were arranged by him personally. 
 A man so devoted to the study of the text of his 
 author was likely to be quite as deep a student of all 
 that could illustrate that text; and it was as much 
 the leanings of his own mind, joined with the in- 
 viting capacity of the new theatres, that brought 
 him the reputation of being the first that introduced 
 on an important scale what may be called " archaeo- 
 logical revivals." Kemble, Charles Kemble, Macready, 
 and Charles Kean, are the four names associated with 
 this undramatic pedantry, which transfers the dis- 
 cussions of the Society of Antiquaries to the boards
 
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 The German Drama. 321 
 
 of a theatre. What dry principles were at work in 
 Kemble's mind will be seen from the directions 
 given to his manager, in reference to the production 
 of some showy procession. " I send you," he wrote 
 from Liverpool, in 1789, "the first sheet of my his- 
 torical procession for the pantomime. I have taken 
 some pains to make it clear in every particular, and 
 I hope they are not thrown away. 
 
 "The banners Anglo-Saxon, Dane, SaxonLine Restored, 
 and Norman should be very large ; and the words upon 
 them in silver, as that will be seen better, I think, 
 than gold ; these banners I call generical. They must 
 all be of different form. The banners Eollo, Plan- 
 tagenet, York, Tudor, Stuart, and Brunswick should 
 be smaller ; these banners I call specific, and let all be 
 of a very beautiful form, and very richly ornamented. 
 
 " The banners on which are inscribed the names of 
 the kings, as ' Alfred the Great, Founder of the 
 British Monarchy, 872-901,' ' Edward the Elder,' &c, 
 should be all of one shape ; let them be round, the 
 ground black, the inscriptions gold, with rich 
 borders, &c. Making these uniform, the names of 
 the kings and the dates of their reigns will be more 
 easily distinguished from the other banners. These 
 I call regal banners. 
 
 vol. i. 21
 
 322 The Kembles. 
 
 " The banner inscribed, ' It is just the English 
 should be ever free as their own thoughts,' must be 
 a silver ground with a gold inscription. Mr. Green- 
 wood will dispose the words in lines, to look as 
 handsome as he can devise. The other banners, 
 as ' Wittenagemote,' c Common Law,' ' Trial by 
 Jury,' ' University of Oxford,' which I call miscel- 
 laneous banners, should not be of two shapes in the 
 same reign."* With much more of the same kind. 
 
 Many years later, when Charles Kemble was busy 
 with some pretentious revivals, old medals and in- 
 scriptions were diligently consulted; and the lengths 
 to which the decoration of Shakspeare was carried by 
 the late Charles Kean, amounted to an abuse. The 
 truth is, all this minute reproduction of costume, and 
 inscriptions, furniture, &c, of a very remote age, the 
 accuracy of which is besides doubtful, or based on 
 speculation, is misplaced on the stage. It should be 
 always remembered that the whole interest of stage 
 enjoyment is found in character and mental action ; 
 the rest — scenery, decoration, dresses, &c, should be, 
 as it were, sufficiently " indicated," — so far as not to 
 have anything discordant. Charles Lamb protested 
 
 * These letters are given in Bannister's Life.
 
 The German Drama. 323 
 
 justly, that the mere placing of a character like Lear 
 upon the stage, made a soul that was almost in- 
 finite in its grandeur and sublimity, earthly and 
 mean ; and on the same principle a too great realism 
 in scenery and dresses, levels the dignity of the 
 drama to the prosy measure of every-day life. But 
 there is a further objection. The fantastic discoveries 
 of archa3ological science, the odd and eccentric types 
 of costume and furniture, which are guessed at 
 and spelt out of illuminated MSS. and medals, are 
 all unfamiliar, and though possibly correct, were not 
 present even to those who wrote the plays thus illus- 
 trated. They are less present to the mind of the 
 audience. There is besides no guarantee that there 
 have not been mistakes in the treatment and manipu- 
 lation of what might have been right in the main. 
 There are certain conventional types of costume and 
 illustration to which an audience is accustomed, and 
 which indicate sufficiently the era to which the piece 
 belongs ; and this is all that is required, all that 
 will harmonize with the grand object of interest, 
 the progress of character, and the action of the drama. 
 Go beyond this, and we shall have to employ an army 
 of builders, carpenters, furniture-makers, upholsterers, 
 &c, who will have almost to work at their trades 
 
 21-2
 
 324 The Kembles. 
 
 between the acts. The realism of scenery, de- 
 parting from the natural principle of "indication," 
 has led to an extravagance that will be content 
 with nothing less than a literal reproduction of the 
 object itself in all its entirety. If a crowd or an 
 army is to be introduced, nothing will suffice but a 
 crowd or an army almost as vast as a real one. When 
 the books of the Camden Society or the Calendars 
 of State Papers are to be studied to set off a drama, 
 the result will be thrown away on the persons who 
 are legitimately thinking of the play, and only the 
 stray antiquary will truly appreciate such labour.* 
 
 Following the public taste, instead of judiciously 
 guiding it, Kemble had noted symptoms of a leaning 
 towards a morbid foreign colouring ; and Godwin's 
 gloomily powerful story of Caleb Williams being then 
 popular, Colman wrote a drama on the subject which 
 could hardly be called an adaptation, the subject being 
 treated with much freedom. For this he was to 
 receive an unusually large sum — viz., 1000£. It 
 received the melodramatic title of the Iron Chesty and 
 
 * I may be pardoned for referring the reader to a work of my 
 own, " The Principles of Comedy and Dramatic Effect," where this 
 interesting and important question will be found treated at much 
 greater length.
 
 Hie German Drama. 325 
 
 for tempestuous rage and frantic frenzy the hero, Sir 
 Edward Mortimer, offered opportunity to an inferior 
 actor for as grotesque an exhibition as would be Sir Giles 
 Overreach under similar conditions. It may be stated 
 that the play was a complete failure, that the author 
 was furious, and in a highly personal advertisement 
 charged the manager, who played the chief character, 
 with purposely contriving this result.* Kemble was 
 suffering from illness at the time, and this excuse, 
 with the indifferent character of the piece, was con- 
 sidered by his friends sufficient to support this view, 
 and most theatrical writers have been inclined to join 
 in the verdict ; but Kemble cannot be acquitted 
 altogether. 
 
 With this piece is connected an episode highly 
 characteristic of Kemble, when in that strange and 
 lofty mood which frequently settled on him. The 
 play, too, marks a sort of era in Kemble's 
 
 * As will be gathered from the characteristic preface to the 
 play, which is really unique. Even the formal cast of the characters 
 begins in this fashion : — 
 
 " Sir Edward Mortimer Mr. Kemble! ! !" 
 
 and the motto was — 
 
 " I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines."
 
 326 The Kembles. 
 
 humour. He was beginning to exhibit some of that 
 haughty and regal deportment which raised up 
 some enemies, and excited not a little amusement 
 in those whom it did not touch. The play was, it 
 seems, put into rehearsal as fast as the scenes were 
 written, an experiment which might be risked with a 
 genius like Sheridan, but which in the case of Colman 
 the younger, who had not then won the reputation 
 he subsequently enjoyed, was hazardous. Every 
 incident connected with the production of the play 
 was unfortunate. The author was confined to his bed 
 by a cold caught " under the damp dome" of the great 
 theatre ; the composer, Storace, was seized with an 
 illness from the same cause, from which he never 
 recovered ; while Kemble, who was to play the chief 
 character, was so ill that he could only appear three 
 days before the play was performed. There had been 
 no regular rehearsal, and it certainly seemed not only 
 necessary, but just to both author and public, that 
 a play should not be brought forward with such 
 imperfect preparation. Kemble peremptorily decided 
 that it was to be played. Perhaps he considered that 
 the author's absence from rehearsals was to be 
 punished. Only three hours before the curtain rose 
 a message was brought to Colman, still in bed, that
 
 Tlie German Drama. 327 
 
 the difficulty of " setting" an abbey scene in proper 
 time would require the order of two scenes to be 
 transposed. As this would naturally be done at a 
 sacrifice of sense and coherency, the alarmed writer 
 rose and hurried down to the theatre. He found the 
 stately actor ' taking opium pills,' a medicine, how- 
 ever, which he was in the habit of using. What 
 followed was really amusing. The play began. The 
 first scenes were intolerably long, and there was some 
 disapprobation. The next followed, which was to 
 redeem it. " Well," says Colman, " the great actor 
 was discovered as Sir Edward Mortimer, in his library. 
 Gloom and desolation sat upon his brow, and he was 
 habited, from the wig to the shoestring, with the most 
 studied exactness." But in a few moments the state 
 of the case became apparent. The part was indeed a 
 gloomily ferocious one, but from the first sentence 
 Kemble settled himself resolutely down into a steady, 
 solemn demi-chant, never rising or falling, inspiring 
 every one with an overpowering weariness and de- 
 jection. In ten minutes the whole house was yawning 
 or asleep. At the end of the first act the luckless 
 author, in despair, came to implore that an apology 
 should be made on the ground of the actor's illness. 
 This was haughtily refused. " It should have been
 
 328 The Kembles. 
 
 made at the beginning of the piece." Then why had 
 it not been made ? Because he had hoped to get the 
 better of his indisposition. " Besides, it was quite 
 evident to the audience. He had coughed very much upon 
 the stage, and an apology would only make him look 
 like a fool" But through the interference of one of 
 the proprietors, he was induced to permit this step to 
 be taken, and the play again staggered on. "The 
 piece was now one-third over," says Colman, " and I 
 made up my mind, like an unfortunate traveller, to 
 pursue my painful journey through two stages more 
 upon a broken-down poster, on whose back lay all the 
 baggage for my expedition. Miserably did the poster 
 proceed ; he groaned, he lagged, he coughed, he 
 wheezed." The audience, wearied out by this steady 
 and unvarying " ponderosity," grew discontented. The 
 actor "plodded on," seemingly careless of their dis- 
 approbation. But at last he came forward. " He 
 feared he was the cause of this disapprobation, but 
 hoped he would gain strength on a future occasion to 
 do justice to the merits of the play." This " grand 
 generosity and ostentatious humility" only made the 
 author more furious, and prompted him to write that 
 hostile preface, which is amusing for its graphic 
 personality. He borrowed a metaphor from racing,
 
 The German Drama. 329 
 
 where a horse, he says, sometimes walks over the 
 course, the only difference being that in such a case 
 the horse wins money for his employer. " Jockeys, 
 too, had a well-known trick, which was then called 'play- 
 ing booty,' but in our day bears the name of * pulling,' 
 appearing to use their utmost efforts to come in first, 
 but determined to come in last. The consequence is 
 that all except the knowing ones attribute no fault 
 to the jockey, but damn the horse as a sluggard. Mr. 
 Kemble chiefly chose to be the horse. Every now and 
 then, but scarcely enough to save appearances, he gave 
 a slight touch of the jockey, and played booty /" This 
 was passing beyond all decent bounds. The play was 
 altered j tried again in a week's time, but would not 
 answer. It afterwards was brought out at the Hay- 
 market, in Elliston's hands, and is now one of the 
 stock plays of the English stage. 
 
 Mr. Boaden was present on this unlucky night, 
 and says it was plain that Kemble was suffering from 
 illness, though he succeeded in stifling his coughing. 
 But the question was whether he could not have 
 exerted himself as he would have done had he been 
 playing Pizarro or Coriolanus. Sir Walter Scott hints 
 that the author had offended the player by inserting a 
 passage on his black letter and antiquarian tastes, and
 
 330 The Kembles. 
 
 had actually called his hero Philip to make the satire 
 apply. After this studied affront Colman could hardly 
 expect much cordial support. Even without seeking 
 any such ground as this, there was a sort of exalted 
 oddity, if the phrase may he used, ahout Kemble which 
 explains it, which might exhibit itself in a kind of 
 passive antipathy to a part which he would accept 
 loftily and never think of struggling against. 
 
 The best justification, however, of Colman's view, is 
 that he repeated this sort of obstructive deportment 
 on other occasions.* There was one night when 
 a play of Godwin's was brought out, and where 
 
 * " Now, we confess," says Hazlitt, " he generally tries to do his 
 best, and if that best is no better, it is not his fault. We think the 
 fault was in the part, which wants circumstantial dignity. Give 
 Mr. Kemble only the man to play, why, he is nothing ; give him 
 the paraphernalia of greatness, and he is great. He < wears his 
 heart in compliment extern.' He is the statue on the pedestal, that 
 cannot come down without danger of shaming its worshippers ; a 
 figure that tells well with appropriate scenery and dresses, but not 
 otherwise. Mr. Kemble contributes his own person to a tragedy, 
 but only that. The poet must furnish all the rest, and make the 
 other parts equally dignified and graceful, or Mr. Kemble will not 
 help him out. He will not lend dignity to the mean, spirit to the 
 familiar ; he will not impart life and motion, passion and imagina- 
 tion, to all around him, for he has neither life nor motion, passion 
 nor imagination, in himself. He minds only the conduct of his own 
 person, and leaves the piece to shift for itself."
 
 Tlie German Drama. 331 
 
 there was the same indisposition, the stifled cough, 
 &c., and as no less a pleasant critic was present than 
 Charles Lamb, it is worth while giving his amusing 
 picture of the great actor :* — 
 
 " The story of his swallowing opium pills to keep 
 him lively upon the first night of a certain tragedy, 
 we may presume to be a piece of retaliatory plea- 
 santry on the part of the suffering author. But, 
 indeed, John had the art of diffusing a complacent 
 equable dulness (which you knew not where to quarrel 
 with) over a piece which he did not like, beyond any 
 of his contemporaries. John Kemble had made up 
 his mind early that all the good tragedies which could 
 be written had been written; and he resented any 
 new attempt. His shelves were full. The old 
 standards were scope enough for his ambition. He 
 ranged in them absolute ; and ' fair in Otway, full 
 in Shakspeare shone.' He succeeded to the old 
 lawful thrones, and did not care to adventure 
 bottomry with a Sir Edward Mortimer or any casual 
 speculator that offered. 
 
 * This sketch originally belonged to the paper on " The Artificial 
 Comedy," but it was dropped out when the " Essays of Elia" were 
 collected.
 
 332 The Kembles. 
 
 " I remember too acutely for my peace the deadly 
 extinguisher which he put upon my friend G's. Antonio. 
 G., satiate with visions of political justice (possibly 
 not to be realized in our time) or willing to let the 
 sceptical worldlings see that his anticipations of the 
 future did not preclude a warm s}^mpathy for men as 
 they are and have been, wrote a tragedy. He chose 
 a story, affecting, romantic, Spanish ; the plot simple 
 without being naked ; the incidents uncommon 
 without being overstrained. Antonio, who gives the 
 name to the piece, is a sensitive young Castilian who, 
 in a fit of his country's honour, immolates his sister. 
 But I must not anticipate the catastrophe. The 
 play, reader, is extant in choice English; and you 
 will employ a spare half-crown not injudiciously in 
 the quest of it. The conception was bold ; and the 
 denouement, the time and place in which the hero of 
 it existed considered, not much out of keeping ; yet 
 it must be confessed that it required a delicacy of 
 handling, both from the author and the performer, 
 so as not much to shock the prejudices of a modern 
 English audience. G., in my opinion, had done his 
 part; John, who was in familiar habits with the 
 philosopher, had undertaken to play Antonio. Great 
 expectations were formed. A philosopher's first play
 
 The German Drama. 333 
 
 was a new era. The night arrived. I was favoured 
 with a seat in an advantageous box, between the 
 author and his friend M. Gr. sat cheerful and con- 
 fident. In his friend M.'s looks, who had perused 
 the manuscript, I read some terror. Antonio, in the 
 person of John Philip Kemble, at length appeared, 
 starched out in a ruff which no one could dispute, 
 and in most irreproachable moustaches. John always 
 dressed most provokingly correct on these occasions. 
 The first act swept by, solemn and silent. It went 
 off, as Gr. assured M., exactly as the opening act of a 
 piece — the protasis — should do. The cue of the 
 spectators was to be mute. The characters were but 
 in their introduction. The passions and the incidents 
 would be developed hereafter. Applause hitherto 
 would be impertinent. Silent attention was the effect 
 all-desirable. Poor M. acquiesced ; but in his honest 
 friendly face I could discern a working which told 
 how much more acceptable the plaudit of a single 
 hand (however misplaced) would have been than all 
 this reasoning. The second act (as in duty bound) 
 rose a little in interest ; but still John kept his forces 
 under, in policy, as Gr. would have it, and the audi- 
 ence were most complacently attentive. The protasis 
 in fact was scarcely unfolded. The interest would
 
 334 Tlie Kembles. 
 
 warm in the next act, against which a special incident 
 was provided. M. wiped his cheek, flushed with a 
 friendly perspiration, 'tis M.'s way of showing his 
 zeal, ' from every pore of him a perfume falls.' I 
 honour it above Alexander's. He had once or twice 
 during this act joined his palms in a feeble endeavour 
 to elicit a sound ; they emitted a solitary noise with- 
 out an echo : there was no deep to answer to his 
 deep. G. repeatedly begged him to be quiet. The 
 third act at length brought on the scene which was 
 to warm the piece progressively to the final flaming 
 forth of the catastrophe. A philosophic calm settled 
 upon the clear brow of G. as it approached. The 
 lips of M. quivered. A challenge was held forth 
 upon the stage, and there was promise of a fight. 
 The pit roused themselves on this extraordinary 
 occasion, and as their manner is, seemed disposed to 
 make a ring ; when suddenly Antonio, who was the 
 challenged, turning the tables upon the hot challenger, 
 Don Gusman (who, by the way, should have had his 
 sister), balks his humour, and the pit's reasonable 
 expectation at the same time, with some speeches out 
 of the new philosophy against duelling. The audience 
 were here fairly caught ; their courage was up, and 
 on the alert. A few blows, ding-dong, as R s,
 
 The German Drama. 335 
 
 the dramatist, afterwards expressed it to me, might 
 have done the business — when their most exquisite 
 moral sense was suddenly called in to assist in the 
 mortifying negation of their own pleasure. They 
 could not applaud for disappointment; they would 
 not condemn for morality's sake. The interest stood 
 stone still ; and John's manner was not at all calcu- 
 lated to unpetrify it. It was Christmas time, and the 
 atmosphere furnished some pretext for asthmatic 
 affections. One began to cough: his neighbour 
 sympathized with him, till a cough became epidemical. 
 But when, from being half artificial in the pit, the 
 cough got frightfully naturalized among the fictitious 
 persons of the drama, and Antonio himself (albeit it 
 was not set down in the stage directions) seemed more 
 intent upon relieving his own lungs than the dis- 
 tresses of the author and his friends, then G. ' first 
 knew fear,' and, mildly turning to M., intimated that 
 he had not been aware that Mr. Kemble laboured 
 under a cold, and that the performance might possibly 
 have been postponed with advantage for some nights 
 further, still keeping the same serene countenance, 
 while M. sweat like a bull. It would be invidious to 
 pursue the fates of this ill-starred evening. In vain 
 did the plot thicken in the scenes that followed ; in
 
 336 The Kembles. 
 
 vain the dialogue was more passionate and stirring, 
 and the progress of the sentiment point more and 
 more clearly to the arduous development which im- 
 pended. In vain the action was accelerated, while 
 the acting stood still. From the beginning John had 
 taken his stand — had wound himself up to an even 
 tenor of stately declamation from which no exigence 
 of dialogue or person could make him swerve for an 
 instant. To dream of his rising with the scene (the 
 common trick of tragedians) was preposterous ; for 
 from the outset he had planted himself, as upon a 
 terrace, on an eminence vastly above the audience, 
 and he kept that sublime level to the end. He looked 
 from his throne of elevated sentiment upon the under- 
 world of spectators with a most sovereign and be- 
 coming contempt. There was excellent pathos de- 
 livered out to them : an they would receive it, so : an 
 they would not receive it, so. There was no offence 
 against decorum in all this ; nothing to condemn, to 
 damn : not an irreverent symptom of a sound was to 
 be heard. The procession of verbiage stalked on 
 through four and five acts, no one venturing to pre- 
 dict what would come of it; when towards the 
 winding-up of the latter, Antonio, with an irrelevancy 
 that seemed to stagger Elvira herself — for she had 
 been coolly arguing the point of honour with him —
 
 The German Drama. 337 
 
 suddenly whips out a poniard, and stabs his sister to 
 the heart. The effect was as if a murder had been 
 committed in cold blood. The whole house rose up 
 in clamorous indignation, demanding justice. The 
 feelins: rose far above hisses. I believe at that in- 
 stant if they could have got him they would have 
 torn the unfortunate author to pieces. Not that the 
 act itself was so exorbitant, or of a complexion 
 different from what they themselves would have 
 applauded upon another occasion, in a Brutus or an 
 Appius ; but for want of attending to Antonio's 
 words, which palpably led to the expectation of no 
 less dire an event, instead of being seduced by his 
 manner, which seemed to promise a sleep of a less 
 alarming nature than it was his cue to inflict upon 
 Elvira, they found themselves betrayed into an ac- 
 compliceship of murder, a perfect misprision of parri- 
 cide, while they dreamed of nothing less. M., I 
 believe, was the only person who suffered acutely 
 from the failure ; for Gr. thenceforward, with a serenity 
 unattainable but by the true philosophy, abandoning 
 a precarious popularity, retired into his fasthold of 
 speculation — the drama in which the world was to 
 be his tiring-room, and remote posterity his ap- 
 plauding spectators at once and actors." 
 vol. i. 22
 
 338 The Kembles. 
 
 Not until many years later were Colman and Kernble 
 reconciled. The latter felt it due to his dignity to 
 decline any advances, hut at last yielded to the 
 pressure of Lord Mulgrave and others. Colman and 
 he became friends again, and the obnoxious history of 
 the first night of the Iron Chest was suppressed. 
 
 But on yet another occasion he was to exhibit a new 
 instance of this curious temper, when the bold im- 
 posture of Vortigern was put forward by the Irelands. 
 This attempt has been a little too severely judged. 
 We have at least some obligations to it for furnishing 
 such wicked satire on the professional critics who, 
 deeply skilled through a life-long study in the works 
 of one who was " for all time," and who even 
 approved or furiously debated whether these writings 
 were from his hand. While the controversy raged 
 Sheridan entered into a regular treaty with the fabri- 
 cators, of course looking at the transaction from a 
 purely commercial point of view. Kemble, too, with- 
 out scruple, superintended the appointments, and took 
 himself a leading character. But his private opinion 
 was known to be that the piece was spurious. His 
 sister also accepted a part ; though, nearly a month 
 before, she was writing to her friend, Mrs. Piozzi, in 
 these terms : — " All sensible persons are convinced that
 
 The German Drama. 339 
 
 Vortigem is a most audacious impostor. If he be 
 not, I can only say that Shakspeare's writings are 
 more unequal than those of any other man. I am 
 studying for Vortigem and Almeyda ; and ODly scrawl 
 these few lines for fear you should have been frightened 
 at some story of my biting or barking." 
 
 She contrived to set herself free of the part : so 
 she, at least, took no share in the imposture. How- 
 ever, as it could boast such advocates as Dr. Parr 
 and others of the same class, it might have seemed 
 good to submit to the arbitration of an audience, and 
 even gratify public curiosity. A handsome arrange- 
 ment was made with the proprietor of the supposed 
 precious manuscript ; and on the night of performance, 
 April the 2nd, 1796, Drury Lane was crammed to 
 the roof. 
 
 The scene was an extraordinary one. Ireland the 
 father was present in a conspicuous box. A prologue 
 by the manager's express desire asserted in plain terms 
 the authorship of the play. But almost at once it 
 became evident that the whole was mere verbiage, 
 without action or " business" — a sense of weariness 
 from the monotony settled on the audience, and 
 Kemble again exhibited that strange lethargy of 
 declamation to which he resigned himself willingly 
 
 22—3
 
 340 The Kemhles. 
 
 when he found the task before him was about to be 
 disagreeable, His manner was " freezing" through- 
 out, Two veterans were alive in the year 1857 who 
 had witnessed the curious scene.* They describe 
 the extraordinary excitement — how the doors were 
 blockaded for hours, and how, when they were opened, 
 the pit was found to be already full of persons who 
 had been privately admitted. The uproar and par- 
 tisanship was indescribable. The " Malonites,'' 
 whose leader had been vehement in exposing the 
 gross imposture, calling out at particular passages 
 " Henry the Sixth !" or some of Shakspeare's plaj^s, 
 from which they insinuated it had been copied. 
 Kemble's behaviour, it must be said, was unfair and 
 disloyal ; and this Ireland's own account, as well as 
 that of one of these witnesses, distinctly proves. As 
 he delivered the line, "And when this solemn mockery is 
 o'er" he illustrated it with a sort of grimace and 
 grotesque gesture, which produced a frightful yell 
 from the pit ; and as soon as something like silence 
 was restored, he repeated the same line, in the same 
 tone, and with the same illustration. This behaviour 
 makes us incline to take the side of Colman in the Iron 
 
 * This account will be found in Notes and Queries.
 
 The German Drama. 341 
 
 Chest dispute, and of other victims whom Kemble 
 treated much in the same fashion, excusing himself 
 on the ground of illness, " taking opium pills," and 
 the rest. Such behaviour was disloyal, and very 
 different from that of Garrick in similar cases. After 
 that night the spurious Shakspearian drama was never 
 heard of. 
 
 By these rash experiments it will be seen that the 
 management was scarcely consulting the dignity of 
 their theatre. But behind the scenes the whole was 
 in a state of utter disorganization. All sorts of rash 
 experiments were tried. Kemble himself was even 
 exhibited in an opera, and sang excruciatingly. 
 Retirements were taking place. Mrs. Kemble, a 
 pleasing actress, was withdrawn from the stage by 
 her husband ; and Bensley, one of the last few rem- 
 nants of the old days, made his farewell, and retired 
 to enjoy the charge of a barrack. But Kemble's 
 own situation was growing unendurable. No money 
 was to be obtained from Sheridan, and discreditable 
 scenes, worthy only of a country theatre, were taking 
 place behind the curtain of the classic Drury Lane. 
 Actors and actresses would send word that they would 
 not play that night unless their arrears of salary were 
 paid up. The very upholsterers and drapers declined
 
 342 The Kembles. 
 
 to supply their wares on Mr. Sheridan's order ; but 
 it was a tribute to Kemble's good name, that they 
 consented to do so if he gave them the guarantee of his 
 word. His good nature and zeal for his office induced 
 him to comply, and he was generally not allowed to 
 suffer. But Sheridan once actually permitted him to 
 be arrested through his own default ; theu the patience 
 of the manager at last gave way, and perhaps wel- 
 comed an awkward accident, which presented him 
 with an opportunity for withdrawing. After such an 
 affront, he felt that his authority could have no weight, 
 and he resigned. The proprietor, however, treated 
 brother and sister impartially ; and Mrs. Siddons, in 
 her weary round through the country, makes bitter 
 complaint of his treatment. 
 
 " Here I am, sitting close in a little dark room, in 
 a little wretched inn, in a little poking village called 
 Newport Pagnell. I am on my way to Manchester, 
 where I am to act for a fortnight ; from whence I am 
 to be whirled to Liverpool, there to do the same. From 
 thence I skim away to York and Leeds : and then, when 
 Drury Lane opens — who can tell ? for it depends upon 
 Mr. Sheridan, who is uncertainty personified. I have 
 got no money from him yet ; and all my last benefit, a 
 very great one, was swept into his treasury ; nor have I
 
 The German Drama. 343 
 
 seen a shilling of it. Mr. Sicldons has made an appoint- 
 ment to meet him to-day at Hammersley's. As I came 
 away very early, I don't know the result of the confe- 
 rence ; but unless things are settled to Mr. Sicldons's 
 satisfaction, he is determined to put the affair into his 
 lawyer's hands." 
 
 It might have been expected that after such dis- 
 honest treatment she would have withdrawn from 
 the theatre. But this would not have distressed 
 Sheridan, who was now depending on quite a different 
 order of attraction. He was besides degrading her 
 by exhibiting her in wretched halting pieces. In 
 one of these — Thomson's Edward and Eleanor a — 
 there was a tragic situation so ridiculous, where two 
 babies in long clothes were brought in to their dying 
 mother, that the house roared at the grand exertions 
 of the actress. This was not the first occasion of 
 such irreverence. Only a short time before Miss 
 Burney had complied with the invitation given to 
 her at Lady Cork's rout, and had written a piece for 
 Mrs. Siddons. It must have been a most diverting 
 performance, having three bishops for the heroes. The 
 audience roared through it, from the moment the 
 king said, loftily, " Bring in the bishop !" which was 
 an ordinary tavern phrase. But the actress's dying
 
 344 The Kembles. 
 
 scene, when she was brought from behind a hedge " on 
 an elegant sofa," caused convulsions of laughter. 
 
 She was again pursued by the old calum- 
 nies, and this combination of ill-fortune, failure of 
 attraction, failure of salary, and slanders, was sufficient 
 to justify the morbid tone of her spirits at this time. 
 " One would think," she wrote, " I had already 
 furnished conjectures and lies sufficient for public 
 gossip ; but now the people here begin again with 
 me. They say that I am mad, and that that is the 
 reason of my confinement. I should laugh at this 
 rumour were it not for the sake of my children, to whom 
 it may not be very advantageous to be supposed to 
 inherit so dreadful a malady ; and this consideration, 
 I am, almost ashamed to own, has made me seriously 
 unhappy. However, I really believe I am in my 
 sober senses, and most heartily do I now wish myself 
 with you at dear Streatham, where I could, as usual, 
 forget all the pains and torments of illness and the 
 world. But I fear I have now no chance for such 
 happiness." 
 
 This was probably another morbid delusion ; for 
 no reasonable person could for a moment suppose that 
 she was insane. 
 
 The theatre was unlucky in other ways. A for-
 
 TJie German Drama. 345 
 
 tunate actress had captivated one of the leading 
 noblemen of the country, Lord Derby, and in less 
 than three weeks from his wife's death the marriage 
 was arranged with an indecent haste that did not 
 augur well for the happiness of the future. In those 
 days the ladies of the stage might fairly count on such 
 alliances ; and the actresses of our time must put to 
 the account of the decaying system they help to sup- 
 port, the loss of such brilliant chances. Kemble's 
 quarrel with Colman had driven the latter to the other 
 house, where he was producing such a capital and 
 attractive comedy as the Heir at Law, while he later 
 vamped up for Druiy Lane such a spectacle as Blue 
 Beard. Cumberland, too, was writing for the same 
 theatre. But sans money, sans management* sans 
 comedy, the improvident owner's luck was not to fail 
 him, and the familiar Castle Spectre — dear to school- 
 boys — a supernatural drama of a most interesting 
 sort, and which will always keep its hold upon a 
 large class of playgoers, was to fill the treasury and 
 stave off difficulty for the present. The secret of this 
 success and of its permanent attraction, is that it was 
 written with faith, and thus far represents a genuine 
 feeling. The mind of " Monk" Lewis, its author, was 
 charged with the wild and original legends of Ger-
 
 346 The Kembles. 
 
 many, then a novelty to England; and this strong 
 impression colours every line of the drama. Putting 
 it beside some of our modern attempts in the same 
 direction, which have no such feeling to support 
 them, we see the superiority of the older piece, which 
 is full of colour, and, in spite of its ghostly atmo- 
 sphere, excites our sympathy and interest. None of 
 our " sensation" scenes — falling through bridges, being 
 run over by railway trains — can be put beside the 
 exciting escape of Percy through the tower window 
 while the guards play dice : and the whole melange of 
 soft music, oratories, white-robed ghosts, and tyrant 
 oppressors is excellently blended. This whetted the 
 public taste for the German school of horror in its 
 least disagreeable shape ; but, by-and-by, the same 
 source was to be heavily drawn on, for the lugubrious 
 misery of Mrs. Haller and her gloomy spouse. 
 
 There was an association connected with the Castle 
 Sjjeclre not altogether so pleasant; the appearance 
 of the dignified tragic actor in the poor melodramatic 
 part of Percy, and he must have felt his position un- 
 dignified, as the unbounded applause followed his 
 agile scramble through the window of the dungeon. 
 But he always professed to be what is called in the 
 slang of the profession a general " utility actor," and
 
 77*e German Drama. 347 
 
 Boaden says, " would do anything."* His sister car- 
 ried out the same principle. It seems incompre- 
 hensible ; nor could the pressure of the management 
 be urged as the chief reason. For it is well known, 
 whatever be the force of agreements or stage custom, 
 great performers cannot be dealt with according to 
 any rigorous construction of their bonds ; and Keinble 
 and his sister could readily have withstood any pressure 
 which would force them into parts unworthy of their 
 dignity. But this easiness or indifference was ex- 
 posing them to free criticism, to a fatal comparison 
 with their greater selves, and invited a familiarity of 
 treatment which was sure to tell upon their grander 
 performances. 
 
 * " The Castle Spectre has at length appeared, and I write directly 
 to give you my opinion of the incident mentioned in my last, 
 which might be something like yours. The piece itself is very 
 wild and fanciful, like the celebrated novel of its author. The 
 plot and plan you -will read in all the newspapers ; the appearance 
 of the Ghost at the end of the fourth and fifth acts had as great an 
 effect upon the audience as anything I ever saw, producing a 
 tumult of applause." Thus Mrs. Siddons wrote to her friend 
 Whalley.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Account of Mrs. Siddons's engagement by GarricJc, vol. i. p. 45. 
 
 FT would seem that Garrick was not satisfied with the 
 report of his agent, King ; but, in the month of August, 
 1775, sent down a second emissary to make further observa- 
 tion. This was the Rev. Mr. Bate, a clergyman of strong 
 intelligence, vigorous style, and of a strength of muscle still 
 more vigorous ; for he could box and bruise and fight duels ; 
 write " slashing" articles, and was besides well up in stage mat- 
 ters. His letters containing the report of his little expedition 
 are to be found in the British Museum, and are singularly 
 interesting and vivacious. 
 
 After travelling along " some of the cursedest cross-roads 
 in the kingdom," the clergyman arrived at Worcester, and 
 there saw " the theatrical heroine" for the first time, playing 
 Rosalind. He stood at the side wings of the theatre, which 
 he described as a sort of barn ; the stage about three yards 
 wide. Yet under all these disadvantages he was enchanted 
 with her playing, and at once pronounced that she would be 
 a valuable addition to the ranks of Drury Lane. 
 
 She was, indeed, very close upon her confinement, but Mr. 
 Bate was inclined to pronounce that, making all allowance 
 for her condition, she had ordinarily a very fine figure. " Her 
 face was one of the most strikingly beautiful for stage effect 
 that I ever beheld; but I shall surprise you more when I 
 assure you that these are nothing to her action and stage 
 deportment, which are remarkably pleasing and characteristic.
 
 Appendix. 349 
 
 In short, I know no woman who marks the different passages 
 and transitions with so much variety, and, at the same time, 
 propriety of expression. In the latter f humbug' scene with 
 Orlando she did more with it than any one I ever saw, not 
 even your divine Mrs. Barry excepted." At first it seemed 
 to him that her voice was "rather dissonant," and " somewhat 
 grating in the unimpassioned scenes," but this wore away as 
 the business became more interesting. " She is," goes on the 
 clergyman, as you have been informed, " a very good breeches 
 figure." She plays the Widow Brady, he is informed, ad- 
 mirably. " Nay, he should not be surprised if, from her ease 
 of figure and manner, she made the proudest she of either 
 house tremble in genteel comedy. Nay, beware yourself, great 
 little man, for she plays Hamlet to the satisfaction of the 
 Worcestershire critics." 
 
 Mr. Bate, it is evident, was quite captivated by her style, 
 
 and he at once wrote a note to her husband, whom he describes 
 
 as " a damned rascally player but a civil fellow," intimating 
 
 his business. He begged that Garrick would not think him 
 
 too precipitate ; but in truth, he had heard that some Covent 
 
 Garden emissaries were hanging about, and it was necessary 
 
 to strike at once. Accordingly, after the farce was over, they 
 
 both waited on him. He found them very humble, and willing 
 
 to leave all and everything to Mr. Garrick, as indeed we 
 
 miffht well imagine. He could discover in her all the diffi- 
 
 dence that attends on merit, though of course how soon it 
 
 might be corrupted by bad example at Drury Lane, " added 
 
 to rising vanity," he could not say. She had been on the 
 
 stage from her very cradle, " which," says Mr. Bate, " though 
 
 it surprised me, gave me the highest opinion of her judgment 
 
 to find she had contracted no strolling habits." The company 
 
 was to return to Worcester for the race week, when he was 
 
 to see her again. 
 
 Two days later — namely, on August 19, the agent wrote
 
 350 
 
 Appendix. 
 
 again. The husband, Siddons, who seems to have been almost 
 servile in his humility, only desired to be employed in any 
 manner. He was more tolerable as an actor than Mr. Bate 
 had thought at first. His young Marlow was far from 
 despicable, neither was his figure or face contemptible. It 
 was evident in short that he wished to be " thrown in" with 
 his wife. " You can station him," says Mr. Bate, " so as to 
 satisfy the man without burdening the property." But a 
 suspicion of the negotiation had been whispered ; the manager 
 was surly at his players being decoyed away, and refused to let 
 her appear ; but Mr. Bate was determined to persevere. 
 She had given him a list of her characters, which ran — 
 
 Jane Shore. 
 
 Alicia. 
 
 Roxana. 
 
 Grecian Daughter. 
 
 Matilda. 
 
 Pelvidera. 
 
 Calista. 
 
 Monimia. 
 
 Juliet. 
 
 Cordelia. 
 
 Horatia. 
 
 Imogen. 
 
 Marianne. 
 
 Lady Townly. 
 
 Portia. 
 
 Mrs. Belville. 
 
 Violante. 
 
 Rosalind. 
 
 Mrs. Strickland. 
 
 Clarinda. 
 
 Miss Aubrey. 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Widow Brady. 
 
 The characters underlined were those she considered her 
 strong ones, and in which she desired to appear. And it will 
 be remarked how completely Garrick is vindicated by these 
 letters from the charges of jealousy, trying to keep her back, 
 &c. Bate wrote that " he was strongly for her making her 
 first appearance in Rosalind," and his favourable report was 
 founded on her playing in that comedy character. But in 
 her list, out of thirteen tragedy characters she had marked 
 only three, and those such second class ones as Alicia, the
 
 Appendix. 351 
 
 Grecian Daughter, and Belvidera, making no mention of Lady 
 Macbeth, Isabella, or Queen Katharine. Whereas out of her 
 comedy characters, amounting to ten, she had marked no less 
 than four, of which one was Portia, the character chosen for 
 her debut. It is perfectly plain that at this time her repu- 
 tation was for comedy, and that on the strength of this 
 reputation she was engaged for Drury Lane. 
 
 When Mr. Bate saw the pair again, all was arranged ; but 
 they submitted to Mr. Garrick some very modest requests, 
 which they hoped he would be gracious enough to grant. 
 1st. As they were ready to attend him at any moment, would 
 he not be pleased " to allow them something to subsist upou 
 when they came to London previous to their appearance. 
 2nd. Whether he had any objection to employ him in any 
 situation where he is likely to be useful." Mr. Bate urged 
 warmly that their requests should be granted, "for," he says, " it 
 would be unjust not to remark one circumstance in favour of 
 them both. I mean the universal good character they have pos- 
 sessed here for many years on account of their public as well as 
 private conduct in life." They were anxious also to know 
 "when it was his wish that they should attend him." "I 
 beg you/' urged their warm advocate, Mr. Bate, "to be very 
 particular as to this, that they may arrange their little matters 
 accordingly." She was also " the most extraordinary quick 
 study imaginable." 
 
 Siddons appears through the transaction as a very poor and 
 obsequious creature. He writes piteously to Bate about the 
 delay, and his style corresponds. He had considered the 
 matter concluded, and had given the manager notice, " so that 
 if anything had happened and we had not been engaged it 
 would have proved a very unlucky circumstance. However, 
 sir, your letter hath removed my apprehensions and set me 
 right again. I am very agreeable that Mrs. Siddons should 
 be brought to bed in the country" — this delicate matter
 
 352 Appendix. 
 
 having figured much in the negotiation, for Mr. Garrick 
 wished to open the season with his new actress. A month 
 later her husband was able to write to Mr. Garrick himself 
 the joyful news, " You will be surprised when I tell you she 
 was brought to bed, having been taken ill unexpectedly when 
 performing on the stage, and early next morning produced 
 me a fine girl. Both are doing well." He begs to be allowed 
 to stay a little while, " for Mrs. Siddons counting so much 
 longer than he had expected, he had left some private little 
 matter undone. Most gratefully does he acknowledge Mr. 
 Garrick's goodness, for he had just seen Mr. Dunwoody as 
 Mr. S. had directed, and had made bold to take 20^., which 
 he hopes will meet his approbation/' 
 
 They were duly engaged, but unluckily these delays pre- 
 vented her appearance until the season had begun : another 
 piece of ill luck in the transaction. The last letter in this 
 interesting series is a dismal one. She had appeared at Drury 
 Lane, and had failed, as we have seen. The news had spread 
 of the change of proprietorship, and on February 9, 1776, 
 Mr. Siddons writes a timorous appeal to Mr. Garrick. " I 
 make bold/' he wrote, " to trouble you with an epistle in 
 which I venture to solicit your friendship and endeavours for 
 our continuance at Drury Lane. We have been doubly un- 
 fortunate at our onset in the theatre. 1st, that particular 
 circumstances prevented us from joining it at a proper time, 
 and thereby rendered it impossible for us to be employed in 
 the business of the season, when our utility might have been 
 more observed." This complacency must have amused Garrick, 
 as well as-the husband's conceit of placing himself on a level 
 with his gifted wife. I cannot find Mr. Siddons's name in 
 any of the bills of the performances ; so he must have been 
 cast for some character scarcely rising above that of super- 
 numerary. " 2nd, that we are going to be deprived of you as 
 manager, and going to be left to those who perhaps may not
 
 Appendix. 353 
 
 have an opportunity this winter of observing us." There is 
 a world of anxiety and suspense under these few lines, and it 
 is evident that they had a sort of presentiment that they were 
 about to be cast adrift. But here we seem to discover a trait 
 of Mrs. Siddons's character. She herself, as has been pointed 
 out in the text, ought to have applied to Garrick personally. 
 She might have been too proud, or felt herself aggrieved by 
 what she fancied was his unfair treatment. Or, what is not 
 improbable, the conceit of her husband might have made him 
 fancy that his application would carry far more weight. He 
 begged of Garrick to get them this engagement. All they 
 asked was a small sum, " no more than what I think we may 
 decently subsist on, and appear with some credit to the pro- 
 fession — that is, SL for Mrs. Siddons, and 21. for myself. This 
 I flatter myself we shall loth be found worthy of the first 
 year ; after that we shall wish to rise as our merits shall de- 
 mand." Here was the same conceit. From this piteous 
 demand we can imagine their despair when the fatal news of 
 dismissal came. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 vol. i. * 23
 
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