When I first reached Dublin I found the town big with expectation of the arrival of that extraordinary meteor which had then recently risen in the theatrical hemisphere, Mr. Kean. With the powerful talents of this gentleman I was already well acquainted. I cannot absolutely say that I had seen and admired them from the first moment of his appearance in London; but I can assume to myself the credit of having early learned to feel and confess the wonderful magic of his genius. Tis true that the voice of Fame had loudly preceded his appearance in the metropolis: — we were told that we were to expect a star of no common brilliance. But we had been so often called upon to admire stars by anticipation, which, when seen, far from shining with the dazzling splendour of a Jupiter, scarcely beamed with even the puny lustre of the remotest planet in our system, — this tune had been played so often, that the notes now passed almost unheeded, or were heeded only to be ridiculed. Thus in the present instance, though I heard the sounds of the well-known trumpet, I was not disposed to be led by them; nor thought of attending the first appearance of the new phenomenon. Nay, if I must confess the truth, I even asked with something like a sneer, of a gentleman who I knew was then to be at the theatre — a person of whose taste and judgement I had a high opinion; " Well, what say you to the blazing comet with which we are all to be so much dazzled?" — "I say," he replied, "by all means go to the theatre the very next time he appears, for I will venture to affirm that you can never have seen such a performer; there has certainly been none in your days in any way to be compared with him."
This satisfied me; — I well knew my gentleman to be a nice critic in theatrical matters, more disposed to being over-fastidious than too easily pleased
Thus, notwithstanding the ardour with which I had followed him through his first campaign in London, it was not among the least objects of gratification to which I looked forward in my visit to Dublin, that I was to see him again there. I had besides been so fortunate as to become personally acquainted with him and his excellent and amiable wife, and was happy in the opportunity afforded, by meeting in a new country, of improving and increasing our acquaintance. They arrived a few days after me, and I had soon the pleasure of seeing Mr. Kean make his début upon the Dublin stage in his favourite character of King Richard the Third. I never saw a more crowded house, or an audience among whom expectation might more truly be said to be on the tiptoe.
Mr. Kean's situation was an arduous one. Mr. Kemble had been a frequent performer at Dublin, and was a great favourite there; he was even in some sort a child of that theatre, since it was from thence he came to assume the high station he so long maintained on the London boards. I would by no means wish to depreciate the talents, or detract from the well-earned fame, of any man; but while I always felt that great merit must be allowed Mr. Kemble, I equally felt that there was a something wanting to constitute him a finished performer, and that something appears to me strikingly conspicuous in Mr. Kean. Mr. Kemble's is undoubtedly fine acting; yet it is but acting: it is impossible to lose for a moment the idea that it is Mr. Kemble we see; — we can never be deluded into fancying that we have really before us Hamlet, Othello, Richard: we have only Mr. Kemble's ideas, finely painted 'tis true, of what Shakespeare designed in drawing those characters: — whereas such is the identification thrown by Mr. Kean into whatever he performs, that
If an anecdote recorded of Mr. Kemble be true, — and I have reason to think that it comes from good authority, — he himself strongly feels the art Mr. Kean possesses in so wonderful a degree of identifying himself with the character assumed — Mr. Kemble, having been present at Mr. Kean's performance of Richard the Third, was asked by one who met him coming out of the theatre when the play was over: "Well, sir, how did you like Mr. Kean?" — to which he replied — "I did not see Mr. Kean at all, I saw only Richard." I relate this because if true, as I believe it to be, it reflects equal honour upon him who said it, and him of whom it was said.
Waving the question, however, of the comparative merits of these two performers, thus much is certain, that their style of acting is almost as opposite the one to the other, as light is to darkness; consequently that where the one had been very greatly the object of admiration, the other had a formidable dike to bear down before he could hope to please. But though art may have her votaries, and the mind may awhile be dazzled with the factitious splendour she can find the means of throwing around her, nature must and will in the end prevail. The illuminated ball-room is grand, shows magnificent in the absence of the sun; but let the bright beams of that resplendent orb once intrude, farewell to the glitter of these artificial aims at splendour! they are vanished, thrown into eclipse in a moment. While numbers at Mr. Kean's first appearance in London bestowed all due admiration on his talents, the rigid votaries of art, half-astonished, half-dismayed, hung back as doubtful whether they could be justified in admiring pure nature alone. At length, however, almost all who were not too proud to recant, felt the force of nature too powerfully not to confess that the actor who follows that unerring guide, and that alone, must bear the palm from him who looks to the meretricious form of art as his polar star.
Not very different was the case at Dublin. That such talents should not make a powerful impression was impossible: yet so different was what the audience now saw, from what they had long been accustomed to admire, that even when strong bursts of applause were irresistibly drawn from them, they seemed, after the moment of enthusiasm had subsided, ready to question their own
I have now at different times and in different places seen this accomplished actor play twenty-two different characters; — twenty in London, and two others at Dublin. Among so many, some must have a decided preference over others, but I think it may truly be said that the most arduous are those in which he most excels. The more strongly the characters are drawn, the higher wrought are the feelings and passions, so much the finer is his representation of them. Richard the Third was generally considered as his masterpiece till he played Sir Giles Overreach; this is now thought to dispute the palm with Richard. For my own part, finely as I think both these characters played, there are others which afford me still higher gratification; not perhaps that the playing is intrinsically superior, but that the characters speak so much more forcibly to the heart and feelings. If I were to select that which of all others appears to me the most surprising effort of genius, I should say it is Othello. I do not indeed conceive it possible for acting to be carried beyond Mr. Kean's performance in the third act, when Iago is working the noble generous nature of
Adapted from Othello 5.2.
every where, besides, carefully impressing upon the reader that there was nothing in Othello's person to charm, but the reverse, — that it was by his mind alone Desdemona was captivated: — we shall find too wherever he is called the noble Moor, that quality applied solely to his disposition, his noble nature, never to his figure. One of Mr. Kean's very striking excellencies in this character is, that all his actions, all his gestures are truly Moorish, differing wholly from his action in other characters. He never throughout gives the idea of an European made up to represent a Moor, as is too palpably the case with most who attempt the character; he appears truly a native of another clime.If, however, I would give the first place to Othello, there are two other of Mr. Kean's performances which I must rank very, very, little below it, — Hamlet and Richard the Second. If the former be not generally esteemed one of his most successful efforts, I cannot the less think it so. The exquisite, the almost morbid sensibility of the character, — the deep affection, respect, veneration, almost adoration in which he holds his father's memory, increased in proportion to the slights he sees shown to it by others, and the suspicions hovering about his mind, he scarcely knows himself on what founded, that this revered father did not come fairly by his end, — his high-wrought moral feelings insupportably wounded, at the violation of moral principle he is witnessing, and that in one so deeply interesting to him as his own mother, — of these feelings, all resulting
Long as the play of Richard the Second had lain upon the shelf, wholly neglected and disregarded, it may almost be called a part of Mr. Kean's own creating, as much as if it had been a new piece. The character of Richard, such as it is described in history, is so perfectly contemptible, that we are altogether astonished to find it possible for the utmost sympathy and compassion towards him to be excited; — yet such is the case. The sublime sadness of the deposed monarch, his pathetic reflections upon his own fallen state, depicted as they are by Mr. Kean, strike to the very soul. Indeed I think the latter half of this play has a just claim to be classed among the most extraordinary proofs of genius he has given. That it has not become as universal a favourite as Richard the Third, can only be accounted for from the former part of the play being heavy and dragging, and that there is too long an interval when the principal character, the soul of the piece, does not appear on the stage.
In the strong passions Mr. Kean is grand, astonishing — in the last scene of Sir Giles Overreach he is almost terrifying: but, in my opinion, the still more beautiful parts of his acting are his exquisite touches of nature and feeling. By these the heart is dissolved; in these the pathetic tones of his voice, than which nothing can be finer, give him every possible support: from want of power he fails in voice sometimes, where long and violent exertion is required; and this gives many people the mistaken idea that his voice is bad. It is not so essentially; it may occasionally be rendered so by circumstances.5 — — However, this
The Crow-street Theatre is a very shabby-looking building on the outside, and stands in the midst of so many wretched dirty lanes that there is no good access to it any way. Within, it is handsomely fitted up with a profusion of paintings: — on the ceiling is Hibernia protected by Jupiter and crowned by Mars, with Mercury attending; near Hibernia is a figure representing Industry. Round the boxes are paintings, chiefly subjects from the works of Homer and from Telemachus. But paintings of this description are not well suited to decorations for a theatre; the lights are unfavourably disposed for showing them, while by a sort of reaction the dark shades indispensable in them absorbing the light, cast a gloom around which not any power of light can dispel. The Theatre is, besides, not a good one for hearing; it has too many angles, which break the sound of the voice. Notwithstanding that the size of Drury Lane is complained of, as such that it is scarcely possible for any performer to be well seen or heard, yet I must say that I have always heard Mr. Kean better there, from the superior manner of its construction, than in smaller theatres constructed less scientifically: — fine acting will always appear to greater advantage in a large theatre, where there is ample scope to give it entire effect; genius is cramped by not having sufficient space to display itself.
Though at present a great fondness for dramatic representations prevails among the Irish, it does not appear that it was a very early taste in the country; it has arisen within the last two centuries. The annals of the city mention the performance of some plays in the time of Henry the Eighth upon Hoggin Green, now College Green; but nothing is said of the nature of them: and it is likely they were no more than the mysteries or moralities about that period
It is worthy of remark, that great as was the passion of the ancient Irish for poetry, there is nothing amid all the fragments remaining of the productions of their bards like an attempt at a dramatic composition. Content to sing the praises of their heroes, they thought not of representing their great deeds by action; though this is indisputably a far more forcible means of exciting the feelings and rousing the soul to emulate the glories celebrated. But dramatic representations seem only to arise out of a considerable advance in civilization we never find them introduced in the early and barbarous ages of any country such at least as depend on dialogue, and have for their object rather a delineation of the passions than the actions of mankind, or giving the actions only as exemplifications of the passions. As far as mere action goes, we certainly do find in the dances of savage nations a sort of pantomimic representations of their battles and other events.
There is no account of any regular theatre established in Dublin earlier than the year 1635. One was then built in Werburgh-street, and the undertaking was carried on by John Ogilby, Esq. historiographer to the king, and master of the revels under the Earl of Stafford, then Lord-lieutenant of Ireland. Here were produced two new plays, by natives of the country, The Royal Master, acted in 1638, the author of which was Mr. Shirley, an intimate friend of Mr. Ogilby the manager; and Langartha, written by Henry Burnell, Esq. Neither possessed sufficient merit to be handed down to posterity; I believe the names alone are all that remain of them now extant. Langartha was taken from the Danish History of Saxo Grammaticus; it was introduced with a prologue spoken by an Amazon armed with a battle-axe, pleading in this martial array for the candour of the audience, which, if not granted freely, she seemed prepared to seize vi et armis. It is supposed that this was one of the pieces at which the Duke of Buckingham's satire was particularly levelled, in his prologue of Thunder and Lightning to The Rehearsal.
In the Great Rebellion, which broke out shortly after, the theatre, which had begun to assume a very flourishing aspect, suffered in common with the rest of the country; it was shut up by order of the Lords Justices, and never more opened. Mr. Ogilby, after experiencing much ill-fortune, went to England, where he remained till the restoration of Charles the Second, when, through the intervention of his friends, he obtained a patent for building a new theatre in Smock-alley, then called Orange-street. Two tragedies, translated from Corneille by Mrs. Catherine Phillips, Pompey the Great and The Horatii, were performed here, both of which were afterwards brought upon the London stage, but not during the life of the translator. She died in 1664.
This theatre was run up in such haste, that before the end of the year in which the patent was dated, 1662, we find it opened. In consequence, it was very slightly constructed, and only nine years after a part fell down during the time of performance. This accident, by which two persons lost their lives, occasioned another cessation of dramatic exhibitions, which was prolonged by the times of trouble that preceded the Revolution. Not till after that great event do we find any notice of their being resumed; but among the public rejoicings by which it was to be celebrated, the representation of a play was resolved on. As the regular actors had been so long dispersed, and could not be hastily re-assembled, a number of gentlemen, most of them persons in office about the Castle, agreed to take it upon themselves, and the tragedy of Othello was fixed on as the performance.
The most remarkable circumstance attending this revival of the drama was, that it was the occasion of first bringing the talents of Wilks before the public. That great performer then appeared only as an amateur; but he gained such applause in his representation of Othello, that he determined to abandon his former pursuits, and devote himself to the stage.
A taste for the drama being thus rekindled, the patent which Mr. Ogilby had enjoyed (he having now been long dead) was obtained by Mr. Ashbury, under whose management the theatre flourished exceedingly for several years. He opened it in 1692 with Othello, the principal character, performed by Wilks. Some other performers, afterwards of great eminence on the London boards, also commenced their career under Mr. Ashbury's management, as Booth and Quin. He was himself respectable as an actor; but his reputation was higher as a critic and instructor.
The greatest interruption experienced by Mr. Ashbury during his management was from an accident which happened in 1701. Shadwell's Libertine was to be performed for the first time; and, being a holiday, the house was uncommonly crowded, so that unfortunately the gallery gave way: no lives were lost, but many people were much hurt in crowding to get out. The play being very licentious, improper to have been produced upon the stage, the people, who are commonly much addicted to superstition, — and who at this period, from the troubles through which the British empire had passed during so many years, were more particularly so, — asserted that the accident was a judgement alike upon the manager for suffering such a play to be represented, and upon the audience for going to see it. Some even asserted that the lights burned blue the whole evening; while others observed an extraordinary figure more than once among the dancers, beneath whose disguise the cloven foot was plainly to be discerned; and they were confident that with this foot a little kick had been given to the gallery, which occasioned all the mischief. The effect of these superstitions was, that the theatre remained for some time almost deserted; while the play was so universally reprobated that no attempt was made for twenty years to introduce it again upon the stage; even then so much disapprobation was shown that it was soon laid aside, and no subsequent essay ever made to bring it forward. The only subject of regret in its suppression is, that it was a superstitious, not a moral feeling which occasioned it: thus much may, however, be said, that the very superstition had its origin in a sentiment of morality and religion, shocked at the immoral scenes represented: — it was a great reflection upon the manager ever to suffer the representation of such a piece. Upon the death of Mr. Ashbury in 1720 the management devolved upon Mr. Elrington, who had married his daughter.
The theatre in Smock-alley appears to have reigned without a rival till the year 1727, when a theatrical booth was opened by a foreigner, Madame Violante, for tumbling, rope-dancing, and other performances of a similar description.
After a successful career of some years, Madame Violante, beginning to find her reputation, and consequently her profits, on the decline, sold her theatre to three of her young élèves; and they, being joined by some other young performers, kept it open for a short time, not being gainers either on the score of fame or emolument; and had they not been suppressed compulsorily, would probably soon have been obliged to abandon their scheme. The proprietors of the Smock-alley theatre, alarmed at the idea of a rival, could not wait the natural death to which it was hastening, but petitioned the Lord-mayor to issue his anathemas against the performances; and His Lordship obligingly complied, without giving the matter a moment's consideration.
Though these repeated unsuccessful attempts proved incontrovertibly that Dublin was not able to support two theatres, yet the very means taken by Smock-alley to disencumber herself from one rival, was the occasion of raising her up a more powerful one on its ruins. So much were people offended at the interference of the judiciary power in a matter of public amusement, and so warmly had their sense of the indignity been expressed, that some adventurous spirits were encouraged to undertake the building of another theatre, in full confidence that the indignation which had hitherto been unavoidably confined to empty words, would joyfully embrace such an opportunity of making itself felt more forcibly. Rainsford-street was the place fixed on for this new erection. It was indeed liable to objection as a remote and inconvenient spot,
Mr. Elrington did not long enjoy the sovereignty of the Smock-alley theatre, which had devolved to him upon the death of his father-in-law: he died in 1732, being only forty-four years of age. Before his death the theatre, slightly built at first, appeared falling exceedingly to decay; and he had projected the building a new one in Aungier-street. He was even consulting with an architect upon the subject when he was seized with the first symptoms of his last illness, a malignant fever. His intentions being known, at his death a number of noblemen and gentlemen of the first distinction for fortune, talents, and learning, strongly impressed with the importance and utility of a well-conducted theatre, entered into a subscription for prosecuting the plan. A large piece of ground in Longford-street, adjoining to Aungier-street, was purchased; and not the first stone alone but the first four stones were laid with great ceremony in May 1733 by four of the principal subscribers. Under each stone were deposited medals struck for the occasion: a prodigious concourse of people was assembled; and a flourish of drums and trumpets, accompanied with the acclamations of the multitude, announced the laying of each stone. An elegant dinner for the company, with plenty of beer for the workmen and populace, concluded the ceremony.
So great was the expedition with which this building was constructed, under the superintendance of its noble projectors, that it was completely finished in ten months, and was opened with the comedy of The Recruiting Officer in March 1734. Never was public expectation raised higher than on this occasion. The proprietors and conductors were noblemen and gentlemen of the first rank and distinction in the country; they had agreed to take the supreme direction of every thing upon themselves, actuated by no views of private advantage or emolument, but solely by public spirit; for no part of the profit was to be theirs, all was to be devoted to the public service. A committee was to be chosen, who were to meet once a week for regulating the business of the theatre, and settling the pieces to be played the ensuing week. In the choice of the pieces represented they were to be particularly select; none but
Alas! how often does it happen in worldly affairs, that projects which seem commenced under the most favourable auspices terminate in disappointment while others, over which no sun appears to shed its benignant influence, but dark and lowering clouds prognosticate overwhelming evils, resist the menaced storm, till the clouds dispersing and clearing away, all terminates in prosperity and sunshine! By what extraordinary fatality it happened never could be thoroughly understood; but, flattering as these prospects appeared, not one promise held out was realized. In the first place, sad experience showed that the architect employed in the building was wholly incompetent to the undertaking; for the house was eminently defective in the two most essential points — the audience could neither see nor hear. Another mistake was, that the committee appointed a person to act under them as manager, who was almost unacquainted with theatrical affairs; — a gentleman, Mr. Swan, who might be a very good gentleman, but who showed himself wholly devoid of capacity as manager of a theatre. Mr. Swan was exceedingly fond of the drama, and had been an amateur performer; but it was soon evident that something more than mere love of the drama was requisite to fill with credit to himself, and advantage to the theatre, the arduous office he had undertaken. Even the taste and refinement of the committee began to be called in question, when they were found opening the theatre with a play which involves so little of either as The Recruiting Officer.
Here was for a while an end of the Smock-alley theatre. The rivals in Aungier- and Rainsford-street pursued their careers with unvaried emulation and varied success. The Aungier-street managers got up Henry the Eighth (with the coronation) in a style of splendour never before seen on the Irish stage. The Rainsford-street company answered this by producing The Beggars' Bush of Beaumont and Fletcher, under the title of The Royal Merchant, or Beggars' Bush, in which a mock pageant of the coronation of King Clause threw such complete ridicule on the serious one in Henry the Eighth, that the latter ceased
Those who had still an interest in the Smock-alley theatre were not deterred by seeing how much their neighbours were engaged in a ruinous concern, from determining once more to tempt fortune. Reinforced by some fresh adventurers, they had the old building pulled down, and a new one which rose from the ruins was opened on the eleventh of December 1735. This theatre is the same that exists at the present day. Thus Dublin, which had shown itself incompetent to maintaining two theatres, was now called upon to support a third. As this was impossible, one at least must fall to the ground; and the Rainsford-street was the first to experience such a fate: — from this time it was never heard of more. Aungier-street and Smock-alley both kept the field for a considerable time, like the two buckets to a well, sometimes the one uppermost, sometimes the other, running races perpetually which could first bring out any piece that had acquired popularity at the London theatres; as other theatres have since been inspired with a noble emulation which can first bring forward the melo-dramatic productions of the Boulevards at Paris. At length the managers of the Smock-alley theatre, finding themselves baffled in almost all their efforts to attain the superiority, had recourse to the introduction of rope-dancers and tumblers; and though such exhibitions were considered by all persons of taste and judgement, by all who felt interest for the honour and credit of the drama, as a profanation of the boards over which the genius of Shakespeare had long presided, yet they pleased the gaping multitude, and so far answered the purpose designed: — while it was thought a reproach to be seen in the boxes, the galleries were almost broken down by the crowds that thronged to them. To the credit of the Aungier-street managers, they abstained here from entering into a competition with their antagonists; to them alone they resigned the glory of mingling the vaulting genius of Shakespeare with the vaulting of those whose genius lay in their heels rather than their heads.
At length, after vainly pursuing this contest for some years, a compromise took place; the two companies united, and for awhile played alternately at the two theatres: in the end Aungier-street was finally closed, and Smock-alley for a long time reigned without a rival. An attempt to raise one was made in 1747
A long rivalship was then maintained between the two, with varied success; nor till after a thousand vicissitudes, till after ruining not only its founders, but several other proprietors in succession, was Crow-street finally settled in its present pre-eminence. For a time the little theatre in Capel-street, — through the excessive activity of a manager, Mr. Dawson, through the intuitive tact he seemed to possess of discerning at one glance what would suit the public taste, was raised to a distinction far above what, from its diminutive size, it could ever be thought entitled to. Such was the ascendancy it gained, that Barry, the Crow-street proprietor, after running for a considerable time a losing race against it, was glad at length to sell his property to Mr. Dawson; and he, having attained this great object of his ambition, kicked down, without ceremony, the ladder by which he had risen; — Capel-street was abandoned, and once more sunk into obscurity. It still exists as a theatre; so does Smock-alley, and a small theatre in Fishamble-street, — but they are scarcely ever opened. The latter had its origin, like Crow-street, in a music-hall, and in that character was remarkable for Handel's first Oratorio being performed there in 1741; Mrs. Cibber sang several of the songs. There is also a theatre in Peter-street, called The Royal Hibernian Theatre, originally the property of Astley, and intended
The prices of the Dublin theatre have remained the same for very near a century, perhaps much longer. In bills of that date we find the boxes five-and-fivepence, the pit three-and-threepence, the gallery two-and-twopence; that is, five, three, and two English shillings. These are the present prices, with the difference only that all the boxes are now the same price; the upper ones were then a shilling less.
A certain sum is paid annually by Government to the manager of the Theatre Royal for performing plays on particular nights in the year; such as the King's and Queen's birth-days, the King's accession, and others; when the ladies are complimented with the freedom of the boxes: these are called Government plays. This custom is coeval with the first establishment of a regular theatre. A century back these were the most fashionable nights in the year, constantly attended by the Lord-lieutenant, the Court, and all the ladies of the first fashion and distinction. So indispensable was His Lordship's attendance considered, that once on occasion of celebrating King William's birth-day, when a splendid entertainment was given by the Lord-mayor, an order was sent to the theatre for the play not to begin till the Lord-lieutenant with the nobility and gentry present could leave the Mansion-house. After Woodward and Barry had the theatre, the Government nights, for what reason no one could tell, began to decline in fashion; and they have gradually sunk, till at present no person of fashion would on any account be then seen at the theatre.