Lord Holland then gave the health of Mr. Kemble, which was drunk with enthusiasm. After a short pause, during which he appeared much affected, Mr. Kemble rose, and addressed the company as follows: "Gentlemen, for your presence here to-day, and the honour you have done me in drinking my health, I beg leave to offer you my most sincerely grateful acknowledgments. Unused as I am to extemporaneous public speaking, it will not appear extraordinary that I should find myself embarrassed in addressing an assembly composed of men, admired for their genius, honoured for their rank, and valued for learning and talents of every kind. I shall, therefore, gentlemen, confine myself to saying, that you do me the greatest honour that can grace the retirement of any actor; and as it is a distinction that never has been shown to any of my predecessors, it makes me feel more intimately how far your favour exceeds every thing which my deserts could pretend to. Gentlemen, the terms in which you are pleased to speak of my private life, as well as of my professional exertions, are very dear to me; but on this subject it would be immodesty to say more than that I am proud to be thought deserving of the public good opinion. Your noble chairman, gentlemen, has done me the honour of attributing to me much more merit than belongs to me. His friendly feelings have led him, I fear, very much to over-rate my services to the stage. But I can truly say that, when he attributed to me a strong desire to discharge my duty fairly, in the different parts of my profession, as far as my earnest endeavours to deserve that praise could be considered as entitling me to it, so far your noble chairman has spoken of me only with justice. The manner in which you have been so kindly good as to show your solicitude that my performances may be handed down to posterity is too proud a word-but, that the memory of them should live after me, is too flattering to my feelings, not to affect my heart most deeply. I receive the gift, gentlemen, with affection, with gratitude; and it is pleasing to me to know that I shall still be remembered, even when that mark of your kindness shall have faded away; since my farewell has been celebrated by the muse that dictated the "Pleasures of Hope." -- -- - In the course of the evening, several interesting speeches were made by different individuals, who were called up by various appropriate toasts. At eleven o'clock Mr. Kemble retired, The company spontaneously rose, drank a bumper to his future health and happiness, and immediately with-. drew; and thus ended one of the proudest days that the theatrical profession ever witnessed. Of Mr. Kemble's private character we have yet said little. It was most amiable; and his family were all warmly attached to him. A scholar, and a gentleman, his manners were at once polite and unassuming. His habits were very social and convivial, and, as a proof of his good humour, he collected the various caricatures of himself which were from time to time published, and exhibited them to his friends with great glee. Of his easy jocularity and pleasantry, the following may be considered as specimens. At an early period of his life he occasionally performed in operas, although certainly not with much éclat. Once, when rehearsing his part in Richard Cœur de Lion, and attempting his song, Mr. Shaw, the leader of the band, exclaimed, “O, Sir ! how shockingly you murder the time!" "If I do," replied Mr. Kemble, "I am not so merciless as you, who are always beating it." On a later occasion, when he was superintending the rehearsal of Coriolanus, and beholding the effect of the ovation, he noticed an individual in the train, who required nothing to make him pass for a Roman but a little more decision and dignity in his deportment and gait. Mr. Kemble approached the man; and, having given him the requisite advice, said in the mild aspiratory under-tone of his voice, and with an expostulatory earnestness, as if to assure him that he had a reputation to sustain with the audience" They like you;"-adding, with a comically artless admission of comparative inferiority, "They like me!" It is scarcely possible for a man who mixes much with society to pass through life without at some time or other being involved in personal altercation and contest. Mr. Kemble's general urbanity shielded him in a great measure from unpleasant occurrences of that nature. One day, however, dining with his nephew, Mr. Henry Siddons, and a large party, at the house of a gentleman well known and highly esteemed in all the literary and political coteries of the metro polis, Mr. Henry Siddons, after the wine had freely circulated and the only guests remaining at the table were himself and his uncle, began to remonstrate with the latter for being the cause of retarding his progress in the profession of the stage, of which he was so fond, by persuading Mr. and Mrs. Siddons to endeavour to induce him to adopt some other. Mr. Kemble justified himself, and high words followed; but the friendly host successfully interfered to restore harmony. The next day Mr. Henry Siddons dined at his uncle's; and the topic having been renewed, the discussion was carried on so warmly, that Mr. Henry Siddons abruptly left the house, and sent his uncle a challenge. The impropriety of this step of course excited only a feeling of regret in Mr. Kemble's breast. He communicated the circumstance to the friend already alluded to, and by his good offices a substantial reconciliation was effected. On another occasion, at the time when the German drama was so popular in this country, and when a periodical work, called The German Theatre," edited by Mr. Benjamin Thompson, was in the course of publication, it so happened, that on the very day on which "Deaf and Dumb," translated from the German by Mr. Holcroft, was brought out at DruryLane Theatre, of which Mr. Kemble was the manager, a number of "The German Theatre" appeared, containing the same drama, translated by Mr. Thompson. In the "underlining," as it is termed, of the play-bills of the succeeding day, this coincidence was adverted to, and Mr. Thompson's publication of "Deaf and Dumb" was called "surreptitious." The consequence was, a message from Mr. Thompson to Mr. Kemble; but the friends selected by the parties being men of good sense, and finding that no personal offence was intended, soon brought about an accommodation. Mr. Kemble, when in the meridian of life, was a frequent visitor at Carlton House. His Majesty, then Prince of Wales, made him a present of a splendid snuff-box, as a testimony of his esteem. The letter of thanks which Mr. Kemble returned for this distinguished honour is said by those who have seen it to be one of the most elegantly-turned acknowledgments that was ever written. In the few productions of his pen, however, which Mr. Kemble ventured to send to the press, it must be admitted, that, although they contain occasional flashes of fancy and feeling, he was not so completely successful. Of this he himself in several instances became conscious, and in no case more painfully than after the publication of his "Fugitive Pieces;" every impression of which that he could meet with he bought up and destroyed. But, notwithstanding all his anxiety and efforts, several copies remain in existence; one of which was not long ago sold at an auction for 31. 5s. Finding, soon after his relinquishment of the stage, that the climate of England was unfavourable to a severe asthma with which he had long been afflicted, Mr. Kemble repaired to the south of France, in the neighbourhood of Thoulouse; intending, in that serene and warm air, to breathe out his last years in repose and content. It is impossible to contemplate such a man, in such a situation, without feelings which are so admirably expressed in a passage of an article in a highly respectable monthly publication*, from which we have borrowed largely in the composition of this memoir, that we cannot refrain from quoting it. - "Actors have a double mortality, and die twice. First, their mental faculties droop and become impaired, and they die from the stage, which is their public life; and then, after a few years of inglorious silence and sloth, they catch the common trick of age, and die into dust. The first death is the more severe; for that is the death of grandeur, power, bright popularity, fame. The poetry of life then expires, and nothing is left but the mere lees of prose. One night the night of retirement - makes terrible change, and holds a frightful division: on one side we see the pomp of pageant, the measured march, the robe, the gemmed crown, the lighted eye, the crowd, the brilliancy, the shout, the tri The London Magazine. |