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Ladies obtained only three repetitions. Again, in 1821, Kenney was in the field at the Haymarket, with Match Breaking, or the Prince's Present, a drama in three acts. This time he was more fortunate than in his last essays at Drury-lane, for the new comedy proved to be highly attractive, and was often repeated throughout the season. At the same theatre, in the following year, he was equally successful with John Buzzby, or a Day's Pleasure. The Haymarket seemed now to become his favorite quarterdeck. On these congenial boards, on the 7th of July, 1823, he launched one of the most popular dramas ever produced the operatic comedy of Sweethearts and Wives, which ran for fifty-one nights, and is still acted at many of the London theatres, and throughout the kingdom, as often as any play that has been written within the last century. The first actors of the principal characters were Madame Vestris, Miss Chester, Miss Love, Terry, F. Vining, and Liston. Liston's Billy Lackaday exhibited that unique buffo in all his glory. Others may have as much humour, but when shall we ever again see such an index as his face? He was a consummate artist, too, who settled all his effects beforehand, and never varied them, although the majority of unsophisticated spectators might easily suppose that he acted carelessly from the impulse of the moment. This very apparent ease is only attained by prearranged and laborious study. Herein lie the mystery and mastery of genius -the true ars celare artem, that high perfection of practical science, which reaches the end while it conceals the means.

The Alcaid, or Secrets of Office, a comic opera, in three acts, appeared at the Haymarket, on the 10th August, 1824. Here again there was great talent employed, the cast including Miss Paton, Madame Vestris, Mrs. Glover, Mrs. Gibbs, W. Farren, Liston, and Harley; but the result was very different from that of Sweethearts and Wives. With the close of the season, the Alcaid laid down his office, and has not since resumed it. Neither did he impart to us any secrets beyond two of very common Occurrence namely, that a placeman likes to keep his post, and that officious underlings are ever striving to thrust him out of

it. This opera is overloaded with action. The plot is too slight for the crowd of incidents, which are so huddled on each other, that they work up to a maze of inextricable confusion. Intrigue is the essence of Spanish comedy, and Kenney has here "laid it on with a trowel." The entire dramatis persona, masters and servants, old and young, high and low, seem to have no other object in existence.

Kotzebue's Count Benyowsky, or the Exiles of Kamschatka, has twice been attempted on the English stage. First, at Covent Garden, in 1811, translated by Charles Kemble; and again in March, 1826, at Drury-lane, as an operatic play, by Kenney. There was better acting in Kemble's drama than in Kenney's, but neither was sufficiently successful to be called for after the first season. It is difficult to understand why English managers or authors should have selected the subject, which has nothing in it either attractive or agreeable; while it is well spiced with the usual seasoning of German immorality. Kotzebue's vaunted hero is only interesting in poetical fiction. In reality he was little more than a common-place adventurer. A Hungarian, not a Pole, as the German writer represents him; and originally an officer of subordinate rank in the Austrian army. From thence he transferred his sword to the ranks of Poland, contrived to get himself en. rolled amongst the nobility of the land, fought against Russia in the struggle for Polish independence, but happened to be taken prisoner, and was exiled to Kamschatka. Contriving to escape from that remote penal colony, he next turned to France, and after many vicissitudes of fortune was sent by the authorities of the country on an undefined expedition to Madagascar. In course of time he revolted from his allegiance to France, attempted to assume the sovereignty of the island, and was slain in action against the French troops, in 1786.

In Kotzebue's play, and in C. Kemble's adaptation, Benyowsky is a married man. Athanasia, the daughter of the governor of Kamschatka, falls in love with him, reveals her passion, and obtains her father's consent to their union. Benyowsky, driven into a corner, is compelled to name the obstacle. Athanasia then declares that she will continue her affection, but

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that it shall merge into the sisterly or platonic form. Benyowsky, having first made a prisoner of the governor, effects his escape, with his brethren in conspiracy and captivity, and the infatuated fair one determines to accompany him; but he contrives to leave her fainting in her father's arms, to die of a broken heart, or subside into a new attachment, as time may determine. In Kenney's version the catastrophe is greatly improved, and he has considerably mended the moral tone of the affair, by making the hero a bachelor instead of a Benedict. play was acted eleven times. Germans, if we may judge by their dramatists, who are supposed to be the legitimate reflecters of social habits, must have very peculiar notions of domestic economy. In the Stranger, according to the arrangement of Kotzebue, Count Waldbourg takes back his "runaway wife," upon contrition, and a promise of better conduct in future. In Goethe's Stella, the hero of the piece deserts one wife to marry another, and in due course flies from the second. Both ladies follow in pursuit, meet accidentally at an inn, are drawn by some secret sympathy to each other, swear an eternal friendship, finally recover the truant, and agree most amicably to share him between them.* As in these days of universal instruction, everybody lectures upon something, why does not some modern transcendentalist of the Kantian school deliver a series of discourses, to show the philosophy upon which these strange phases of national idiosyncracy may be explained, justified, or reconciled?

In July, 1826, Kenney wrote a farce for the Haymarket, entitled Thirteen to the Dozen, in which Liston and John Reeve acted together. It was eminently successful, and although produced so late in the season, ran for twenty-three nights. His next effort, The Green Room, a comedy in two acts, brought out at Covent Garden in the October of the same year, although of superior pretensions, was much more coldly received.

Spring and Autumn, one of our author's most fortunate pieces, was first acted at the Haymarket, on the 6th of September, 1827. During the remainder of that season it had an uninterrupted run of thirty nights, which was only stopped by the close of the theatre. The attraction continued for several succeeding years.

On the 29th of October, 1827, Poole produced a comedy in three acts, on the same subject, called The Wealthy Widow, but it appeared to disadvantage after the recent and superior success of Kenney's. Poole says, in his preface, that Kenney and himself had accidentally adapted the same French piece to the English stage, and that his was written first; but as his brother author and competitor had forestalled him in the representation, he had introduced new characters, and almost entirely re-written his dialogue. Poole's comedy died in infancy,† while his rival's flourished to longevity.

With the opening of the Drury-lane season, in October, 1827, Kenney produced one of his most successful farces, The Illustrious Stranger, or Married and Buried, written expressly for the talent of Liston. The author had every reason to be satisfied with his chosen protagonist, whose humour had seldom been displayed to more advantage. But though Liston is dead, the Illustrious Stranger has found many succeeding representatives. It was said in the bills that this operatic farce was taken from a popular French drama, though the foundation of both may be traced to one of Sinbad's voyages, which had already supplied three dramatic pieces, namely, Bickerstaff's Burying, by Mrs. Centlivre, acted at Drury-lane, March 27th, 1710; Gallic Gratitude, by Dr. James Solas Dodd (an Irishman), brought out at Covent Garden, April the 30th, 1779; and Love in a Blaze, by Captain Atkinson, produced at Crow-street, Dublin, in 1800. About two months before Kenney's farce appeared at Drury-lane, it had been anticipated at the Haymarket by a comic extravaganza, in one act, on the same subject, called

See the "Rovers" in the Anti-Jacobin, for an admirable parody on this, and much similarly indecent and outrageous absurdity.

A revived version is now playing by Mr. C. Mathews, at Drury-lane.

A French farce, by Lafont, Le Naufrage, with a similar plot, was published as far back as 1710.

You must be Buried, in which the Benjamin Bowbell, or Barnaby Boxem, as he was denominated, was personated by John Reeve. But this version does not appear to have been printed, and died quietly, making no sign.

Within six months after the birth of the Illustrious Stranger the indefatigable Kenney supplied Drury - lane with a full five-act comedy, under the title of Forget and Forgive, or a Rencontre in Paris. This sample was found to be heavy and ineffective, and being withdrawn, after four repetitions, to undergo the salutary discipline of the pruning - knife, came out again in March, 1828, reduced to three acts, and re-christened Frolics in France. But there was no inherent vitality, and the attempt at resuscitation proved abortive.

During the following season, Young was regularly engaged at Drury-lane. His great success and attraction in Miss Mitford's tragedy of Rienzi, made it desirable to follow up the hit with other original characters. Walker's Caswallon, produced on the 12th of January, 1829, was comparatively a failure. On the 21st of February following, Kenney enlisted Young into the hero of his musical play, called Peter the Great, or the Battle of Pultowa.* The title marks the epoch when the action of the drama is supposed to take place. The subject was, as the Yankees say, decidedly used up;" for the reforming Czar had often figured in sceuic representations before, although until now he had never been brought on the boards in actual contact with his great rival, the northern Alexander. The time, too, was unhappily chosen, for Planche's Charles the Twelfth, one of the most complete and popular of modern dramas, and admirably acted in every part, had been produced only a few weeks before, and the run was not yet exhausted. Peter the Great only commanded six repetitions, and does not appear to have been printed. But for this comparative failure Kenney made ample

amends on the 4th of May following, by an adaptation of Auber's celebrated opera, La Muette De Portici, which was then exciting an unusual commotion amongst the musical and theatrical world of the French metropolis. Masaniello, as the English version is called, still retains powerful attraction, and is a standing dish in almost every important theatre throughout the kingdom. The sudden rise, and as sudden fall of the fisherman of Naples, had been often dramatised before, but neither the last French nor English selectors of the subject (Scribe and Kenney) appear to have drawn from any of the previous versions. Fenella, the dumb sister of Masaniello, in whom the interest centres, is entirely a fiction, and a very pleasing one, invented by Scribe for the libretto of Auber's opera, and retained with full prominence in Kenney's adaptation. As far back as 1649, a play was printed, but never acted, entitled, The Rebellion of Naples, or the Tragedy of Masaniello. It was said to have been written by a gentleman (T. B.), who was himself an eye-witness of the facts he has dramatised, as they happened at Naples, in 1647. But as he professed to write a true account of the story, he ought not to have introduced unnecessary impossibilities such as giving the hero a marriageable daughter, for which Massaniello was much too young.

In 1699-1700, D'Urfey printed The Rise and Fall of Masaniello in two parts; but it does not appear that he borrowed anything from T. B., neither have we positive evidence to show that the double drama was acted, beyond the circumstance that Penkethman's name is affixed to the prologue to the first part; and Mrs. Rogers, in the epilogue, intimates that she had performed the Duchess of Mataloni. Miss Campion, in the epilogue to the second part, speaks of herself as having represented Fellicia. D'Urfey's two plays combine a monstrous jumble of history and invention, with a disgusting superfluity of murder upon murder most elaborately transacted. He winds

*The late Mr. Morton was concerned in the authorship of this play.

Another Battle of Pultowa, an adaptation from the French, in two acts, was acted at Covent Gardea, on the 23rd of February, 1829, two days after the production of Kenney's at Drury-lane, and obtained a run of fourteen nights. In this, C. Kemble and Warde personated the King and the Czar, in opposition to Cooper and Young, at Drury-lane.

up thus:-"The scene opens, and discovers the trunk of Masaniello, headless and handless, dragged by horses, his head and hands fastened to a pole, with an inscription; and behind these the bodies of Blowzabella and Pedro (his wife and brother) hanging upon gibbets." Do the admirers of the old dramatists include honest Tom D'Urfey amongst the objects of their idolatry? He was a jolly companion, nevertheless, and was much sought after by the best company, for his conversational and vocal abilities. Nay, even crowned heads condescended to admit him to their presence, and to gather amusement from his humour. Charles the Second was more than once observed leaning familiarly on his shoulder, and humming over songs with him. That saturnine gentleman, King William III., was seen to laugh hearti y at one of his effusions, and what was still more extraordinary, ordered him a present; and the more convivial Queen Anne gave him fifty guineas for singing a lampoon to her, written expressly to ridicule a most worthy and respectable old lady, the Princess Sophia, Electress Dowager of Hanover. A very entertaining account of D'Urfey will be found in No. 67 of the Guar dian.

He was not an Irishman, as has been sometimes supposed, but descended from an ancient Huguenot family of France, who fled from Rochelle, before it was besieged by Louis the Thirteenth, and took refuge in England.

Tom Walker (as he was familiarly called), the original Macheath, an actor of rare versatility, who excelled in such opposite parts as Bajazet and Falconbridge in 1724, altered and compressed D'Urfey's two parts of Masaniello into one, and brought it out at Lincoln's-inn-Fields with a tolerable show of success, himself enacting the hero. On this occasion his brother comedian, John Leigh, commemorated him in a song of eight stanzas, in which it is said

"Tom Walker, his creditors meaning to chouse,
Like an honest, good-natured young fellow,
Resolv'd all the summer to stay in the house,
And rehearse by himself Masaniello."

From the days of Tom Walker, Masaniello slept for nearly a century, until the 17th of February, 1825, when Soane, thinking the fisherman suited to the peculiar powers of Edmund Kean, selected him for that purpose. But

the play was only acted once, and added no credit either to the actor or author. The latter has departed from fact to introduce a love episode, especially objectionable. The Examiner said, in a critical notice-"This historical play is little more than a melodrama, attended with a fault, which, from the nature of the story, is very extraordinary-that is to say, a surprising want of action. We have also to deplore a mawkish tissue of feminine interest. Why lower the ruling passion of a man in the situation of Masaniello, by a silly and improbable amour with a woman of quality, and the undesigned assassination of a too tender and prying wife?" About the time that Soane's drama appeared at Drury-lane, another, on the same subject, was exhibited at the Cobourg, written by Milner; and printed without a date; but this, too, has passed into oblivion. It was reserved for the combined talents of Scribe, Auber, and Kenney, to give Musaniello a lasting position on the stage. In a preface to a subsequent production, Kenney states that he received not a single shilling in remuneration for a play which, during a hundred representations, had filled the treasury of the theatre.

In 1831, he was invited, by the then management of Drury-lane, to furnish an adaptation of Victor Hugo's Hernani, which had been strongly pressed upon them as a highly effective play. He produced, in consequence, The Pledge, or Castilian Honour; but the result disappointed all parties. Either the dramatic strength of Victor Hugo has been over-rated by his admirers, or is not transfusible into a foreign language. Other experiments have been tried from the same source, but none have met with more than very modified success. Kenney's version of Hernani is ably executed. The play pleased, but did not attract, although well acted, and lauded in the papers. The author, in an indignant preface, complains that the parsimony of the managers (Captain Polhill and Alexander Lee), together with much unnecessary delay, and some underhand, hostile agency, destroyed every chance that might have operated in his favour. The extract is amusing and instructive. He says:—

Any reader who may happen to proceed to my fifth act, either through the four first,

or by a shorter cut, will there find the description of a scene, some of the exuberant magnificence of which may certainly, without much injury to the action, be retrenched. But he will observe that it is a night-scene

-that night is its essential feature-that it indicates moonlight-that it is the dispersing of a masquerade-that the dialogue, at almost every line, alludes to its being night, to the rising moon, to a serenade, happy dreams, falling dews, &c. What, then, will be his surprise-and if he be a dramatist, his horror-to hear that only at four o'clock on the day previous to our first representation, I discovered, by accident, that the scene which was to stand for this was a commonplace villa, producing an effect of noonday sunshine. Everybody else having left the theatre, I remonstrated with the carpenter, who told me that it was to no purpose; that the scenes which had been originally prepared for me had been otherwise applied; that they had made the best shift they could; and that their old stock could positively supply nothing nearer to my intentions. By means, however, of the exertions of Mr. Wallack, and Mr. Wilmot, the prompter, this extraordinary negligence was repaired, and a satisfactory scene substituted.

"In the fifth act will also be found allusions, numerous, emphatic, and important, to a black domino; of that act, this black domino is the theme and argument. Black it must be black as Erebus.' Mr. Macready required my presence in the wardrobe for my opinion as to some parts of his dress. I attended him, and the points in question being settled, my eye fell upon an isolated domino. It was blue: it does not, therefore, thought I, concern me. An afterthought, however, occurred, on recollection of the sunshine scene. It was as well to inquire. I did so. It was for Mr. Macready in the fifth act. 'For Mr. Macready!' said I. 'There is some mistake in your orders; that is to be a black domino.' 'It is no mistake,' said Mr. Palmer, the keeper of the wardrobe, but there is no such thing in the stock.' 'What then?' I rejoined, as it is absolutely indispensable; and were it not so, as it is too late to alter my dialogue, could you not hire one?' 'We have strict orders,' added Mr. Palmer, 'to go to no expense for this play.' 'Then,' said I, 'I will spare your half-crown, and send in one from the first masquerade warehouse.' Mr. Palmer concluded by saying, that rather than I should be so treated, he would take that responsibility upon himself. He did so, and at the hazard, it appears, of the manager's displeasure, the black domino was at length provided.

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"The risk Mr. Palmer took upon himself in the case of the domino, is not the only favour I owe to that gentleman, he having supplied, from his own private property, the armour worn by my staunch friend Cooper, as the King, who in vain tried to obtain for

his majesty in the earlier scenes even a decent dishabille.

"The term of my perplexities, however, had now arrived, and a critical trial of my patience it proved. Excited prejudice staring me in the front, and impatient zeal for a worthier post trampling hard upon me in the rear, with the laurel prepared for him, and the condemned nightcap for me, I was at length jostled into the presence of my judges, whose verdict soon added another to the many proofs I had received of their unfailing justice and generosity. This verdict was confirmed universally by the press; and even such journals as had been betrayed, I know not how, into sneers at my importunity and presumption in forcing the play upon the theatre, made me in their reports more than amends for their error, of which this statement will, I trust, altogether convince them. I am also bound to thank all the actors for their loyal and brilliant exertions on the day of trial, which banished from my mind every feeling but that of charity for the past, and better hopes for the future."

In this instance, Kenney had good cause for complaint, as authors often have, yea, and managers too, when they are led into the payment of large sums in advance, upon expectations as unsubstantial as the visions conjured up by the magic wand of Prospero. Authors, actors, and managers, incessantly and alternately find fault with and condemn each other. The three estates contrive to produce discords, and live in a perpetual state of antagonism. This form of government is not peculiarly characteristic of the dramatic microcosm, but is equally typical of the larger world, of which the theatre presents a faithfully reflected miniature.

During Madam Vestris's management of the Olympic, Kenney supplied her with three very lively, light pieces, Fighting by Proxy, Dancing for Life, and Not a Word. He also

assisted Bunn in A Good Looking Fellow, for Drury-lane, and wrote for the same theatre, The King's Seal, in conjunction with Mrs. Gore; and one of the many versions of Dominique the Possessed. A musical drama, called Hush! (a bad name, taken from a worse French one, Chut!) completely failed. Finding it so much inferior to what he expected, Kenney himself hissed loudly from the dress circle, where he had taken his post, and declared that he did not think he could have done anything so wretchedly bad. It is not often that an author is so disinterested.

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