the audience to damn it, though they might not go again to see it."[1] Imprudences and deficiencies are certainly not lacking in his theatrical writings; but it must be owned that he has superior and saving tact in the construction of his works, and in their practical adaptation to the conditions of the stage—a quality wherein so many dramatists are wholly wanting. It was well for his renown as an author that he took to the boards as an actor; so becoming versed in the "whole duty of man" behind the green baize and proscenium, and, like Molière, turning his talents to purposes of utilitarian gain as well as glory.[2] In one sense, therefore, it is flattering, though in another, and surely a higher sense, it is the reverse, to say that he is not a writer of closet plays.
To effect even a steeple-chase of the most harum-scarum kind through his dramatic territory, in its integrity, being quite impracticable, we propose to take direct notice, in the present instance, only of his later dramas, beginning with the "Maid of Mariendorpt"—selecting this section of his plays partly as comprising those with which the public are least familiar, and partly as the ripest if not the worthiest productions of his genius.
First, however, to enumerate his earlier theatrical essayings. In his twentieth year, the ardent Milesian perpetrated on paper a tragedy yclept "The Spanish Story," and four or five years afterwards he followed it up by a play called "Hersilia:" both are closet plays—by which we do not mean that they are for reading, but simply that they are not for acting. A little later he wrote "Leo; or, the Gipsy," which, with Kean for its chef, or bright particular star, met with decided success on the Waterford boards. This was followed by "Brian Boroihme" (revived in London in 1837), "Caius Gracchus," and "Virginius"—of which the last elicited from Charles Lamb the flattering éloge,
…. With wonder I
Hear my old friend (turned Shakspeare) read a scene
Only to his inferior in the clean
Passes of pathos, with such fence-like art,
Ere we can see the steel, 'tis in our heart.
Then came "William Tell," "The Beggar of Bethnal Green," "Alfred the Great," and the "Hunchback." "The Wife; a Tale of Mantua," and "The Wrecker's Daughter," came next; and then "The Love Chase," and "Woman's Wit; or. Love's Disguises." He acted loyally on the principle, "Be the theme still dear woman!"[3]—her charms, her caprices, her constancy, her passion, her devotion, her purity, her unselflshness—the varying aspects of her whole nature, from the mood of "uncertain, coy, and hard to please," to that of "ministering angel." The poetry in which he conveys his sentiment, though not sparkling, as
- ↑ "New Spirit of the Age."
- ↑ "Ce fut alors que Poquelin, sentant son génie, se résolut de s'y livrer tout entier, d'être a la fois comédien et auteur, et de tirer de ses talents de l'utilite et de la gloire."—Voltaire: Vie de Molière.
- ↑ A writer in the Dublin University Magazine (Oct, 1852) remarks that in portraying female characters, Mr. Knowles's excellence is universally admitted—so truthful, exquisitely delicate, and tender is the genius displayed in his pictures of the parity of woman's heart. The following anecdote is characteristic: "I wish." said a lady to him on one occasion, "I could speak on behalf of my sex, and thank you as you deserve, for the way in which you have drawn us." "What else could I have done, my dear madam?" said Knowles, in his own hearty way; "God bless you, I painted them as I found them."
