Kean, but had he not bestowed upon it the most perfect cultivation, he would never have been the consummate artiste he was.

In 1820, he paid his first visit to America. In New York as much as eighteen dollars were paid for the choice of a box to hold nine persons. He reaped a golden harvest by his tour, and returned to Drury Lane for the following season. He appeared as Hastings, Sir Pertinax Macsycophant, Wolsey, Don Felix, none of them good performances. In Miss Baillie's "De Montfort," however, he scored a success.

In 1822, the Drury Lane management brought Young from Covent Garden. The announcement that the two tragedians were to appear together as Othello and Iago created an immense excitement; places were secured six weeks in advance. Here were the representatives of the two opposing schools -the classic and romantic, into which the theatrical world was divided-brought face to face, thus affording a fine opportunity for impartial judgment upon their several merits.

"Since Quin and Garrick, or Garrick or Barry," says Dr. Doran, "no conjunction of great names moved the theatrical world like this. Both men put out all their powers, and the public profited by the magnificent display. Kean and Young acted together-Othello and Iago, Lothaire and Guiscard, Jaffier and Pierre, Alexander and Clytus, Posthumus

HIS CONTEST WITH YOUNG.

211

and Iachimo, eliciting enthusiasm by all, but none so much as by Othello and Iago.'

وو

The "Examiner" critic writing of this performance, characterises Kean's acting as infinitely surpassing all his former efforts:

"How shall we convey," he 66 says, an idea of these performances to those who were not present at them, and who will, we greatly fear, never have another opportunity of seeing such? For it is not in human nature to reach the pitch of excellence attained by Mr. Kean on the two occasions, without some extraordinary, involuntary stimulus, or sustain itself there for any length of time even with that stimulus."

What a contrast there must have been between the chiselled face, fine figure and sonorous voice of Young, and the gipsy features, small stature and hoarse tones of his rival. But one flash of those marvellous eyes would thrill an audience more than all the stately finished elocution of the Kemble School.

It had been arranged that they should alternate these two parts, but after playing Iago to Young's Othello, Kean refused to comply with this condition : "I will rather throw up my engagement," he said,

"and you may seek your redress in the law courts.

I had never seen Young act. Everyone has told me he could not hold a farthing rushlight to me, but he can! He is an actor, and though I flatter

myself he could not act Othello as I, yet what chance should I have in Iago after him with his d- musical voice. I tell you what: Young is not only an actor, such as I did not dream him to be, but he is a gentleman. Go to him, tell him then from me that if he will allow me to keep Othello and Jaffier I shall esteem it a personal obligation. Tell him he has made as great a hit in Iago as ever I did in Othello."

But Kean could never reconcile himself to a rival, and he was particularly irritable against Young. "How much longer am I to play with that Jesuit?" he demanded of the managers.* *

* So excessive was his jealousy that even the applause won by a foreign actor was insupportable to him. While at Paris, he went to see Talma in Orestes. The ovation was tremendous; Kean was of course loud in his praises. "Ah,” replied Talma, "if you are so pleased with Orestes, you must see me to-morrow night in Cinna; that is a far finer performance." When they returned home, Mrs. Kean was enthusiastic about the great French tragedian. The next morning her husband quitted Paris; he could not endure to witness such a second triumph.

CHAPTER III.

EDMUND KEAN-HIS FALL.

His First Introduction to Mrs. Cox-The Trial-A Death BlowSecond Visit to America-The Boston Riot-His Re-appearance in London-Charles Kean's First Appearance-Edmund in "Ben Nazir"-The Wreck of Genius-William BeverleyBrave to the Last-His Last Moments-His Death-His Burial--Dr. Doran's Eulogy.

WE

E now approach the saddest portion of this sad story, for, in spite of the dazzling brilliance of a few of its epochs, it is wholly sad; yet even the struggles and miseries of his earlier years are less melancholy to contemplate than the waste of magnificent opportunities which disgrace the period of his high fortunes; for in the first we could still hope for better things, but in the last we can only anticipate worse.

While he was playing at Taunton in 1818, a lady was observed to faint away in a stage-box: no uncommon occurrence, as we have seen. She was conveyed into the green-room, and Kean showed her great attention. She proved to be the wife of a London Alderman, named Cox, who was staying

in the town for a time. Kean was invited to their hotel, and afterwards to their house in London. This was the commencement of an unhappy intimacy. It would appear that the lady's conduct had not previously been quite immaculate; that the passion began, at least, on her side, and, if Kean was not a Joseph, she was something of a Mrs. Potiphar. The husband was strangely blind, allowed her to visit the actor in his dressing-room; and, when he was bankrupt, accepted money for his necessities supplied by Kean. By-and-by, through some strange negligence, a packet of letters was found; an action for crim. con. commenced, and full damages were awarded the injured (?) husband. The press denounced Kean in the most ferocious terms, and called upon the public to drive him from the stage. The public, with that love of hunting down any one or any thing in misfortune, which is the inherent cruelty of human nature, was not slow to respond to the appeal. The audience that once hung breathlessly upon his lips, and greeted him with shouts of acclamation, now howled and hissed, and would not hear him. Dauntless as ever, he gave them scorn for scorn, insult for insult, as daringly as ever he did the poor yokels who offended him in his strolling days. But such a contest could not but terminate in his own discomfiture; his friends and patrons fell from him, his wife and child left him. In the provinces he was received with