and at the Princess Theater were doing very
remarkable work. Kean the younger had not the fire and genius of his
wonderful father, Edmund, and but for the inherited splendor of his
name it is not likely that he would ever have attained great eminence as
an actor. His Wolsey and his Richard (the Second, not the Third) were
his best parts, perhaps because in them his beautiful diction had full
scope and his limitations were not noticeable. But it is more as a stage
reformer than as an actor that he will be remembered. The old
happy-go-lucky way of staging plays, with its sublime indifference to
correctness of detail and its utter disregard of archaeology, had received
its first blow from Kemble and Macready, but Charles Kean gave it
much harder knocks and went further than either of them in the good
work.
It is an old story and a true one that when Edmund Kean made his first
great success as Shylock, after a long and miserable struggle as a
strolling player, he came home to his wife and said: "You shall ride in
your carriage," and then, catching up his little son, added, "and Charley
shall go to Eton!" Well, Charley did go to Eton, and if Eton did not
make him a great actor, it opened his eyes to the absurd anachronisms
in costumes and accessories which prevailed on the stage at that period,
and when he undertook the management of the Princess's Theater, he
turned his classical education to account. In addition to scholarly
knowledge, he had a naturally refined taste and the power of selecting
the right man to help him. Planché, the great authority on historical
costumes, was one of his ablest coadjutors, and Mr. Bradshaw designed
all the properties. It has been said lately that I began my career on an
unfurnished stage, when the play was the thing, and spectacle was
considered of small importance. I take this opportunity of contradicting
that statement most emphatically. Neither when I began nor yet later in
my career have I ever played under a management where infinite pains
were not given to every detail. I think that far from hampering the
acting, a beautiful and congruous background and harmonious
costumes, representing accurately the spirit of the time in which the
play is supposed to move, ought to help and inspire the actor.
Such thoughts as these did not trouble my head when I acted with the
Keans, but, child as I was, the beauty of the productions at the
Princess's Theater made a great impression on me, and my memory of
them is quite clear enough, even if there were not plenty of other
evidence, for me to assert that in some respects they were even more
elaborate than those of the present day. I know that the bath-buns of
one's childhood always seem in memory much bigger and better than
the buns sold nowadays, but even allowing for the natural glamor
which the years throw over buns and rooms, places and plays alike, I
am quite certain that Charles Kean's productions of Shakespeare would
astonish the modern critic who regards the period of my first
appearance as a sort of dark-age in the scenic art of the theater.
I have alluded to the beauty of Charles Kean's diction. His voice was
also of a wonderful quality--soft and low, yet distinct and clear as a bell.
When he played Richard II. the magical charm of this organ was alone
enough to keep the house spellbound. His vivid personality made a
strong impression on me. Yet others only remember that he called his
wife "Delly," though she was Nelly, and always spoke as if he had a
cold in his head. How strange! If I did not understand what suggested
impressions so different from my own, they would make me more
indignant.
"Now who shall arbitrate? Ten men love what I hate, Shun what I
follow, slight what I receive. Ten who in ears and eyes Match me; they
all surmise, They this thing, and I that: Whom shall my soul believe?"
What he owed to Mrs. Kean, he would have been the first to confess. In
many ways she was the leading spirit in the theater; at the least, a joint
ruler, not a queen-consort. During the rehearsals Mr. Kean used to sit in
the stalls with a loud-voiced dinner-bell by his side, and when anything
went wrong on the stage, he would ring it ferociously, and everything
would come to a stop, until Mrs. Kean, who always sat on the stage,
had set right what was wrong. She was more formidable than beautiful
to look at, but her wonderful fire and genius were none the less
impressive because she wore a white handkerchief round her
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