Born, at Cork, 12 May 1784. At his father’s school there, 1790–93. Family removed to London, 1793. Left home on his father’s second marriage, 1800. Served as ensign in Wilts Militia, 1804; in Tower Hamlets Militia, 1805–06. Studied medicine. M.D., Aberdeen, 1808. Resident Vaccinator to Jennerian Soc., 1808. First appeared on the stage, at Bath, 1809. Married Maria Charteris, 25 Oct. 1809. Play “Leo,” produced by Edmund Kean at Waterford, 1810. “Brian Boroihme” produced at Belfast, 1811 (at Covent Garden, 20 April 1837); “Caius Gracchus,” at Belfast, 13 Feb. 1815; at Covent Garden, 18 Nov. 1823. Kept a school at Belfast, 1812–16; at Glasgow, 1816–28. “Virginia” produced at Glasgow, 1820; at Covent Garden, 17 May 1820; “William Tell,” Covent Garden, 1825. On staff of Glasgow “Free Press,” Jan. 1823 to Dec. 1824. “The Beggar’s Daughter of Bethnal Green” produced at Drury Lane, 28 May 1828. Removed from Glasgow to Newhaven, near Edinburgh, 1830. Contrib. to “Literary Souvenir,” “Keepsake,” and other periodicals. “Alfred the Great” produced at Drury Lane, 28 April 1831; “The Hunchback,” Covent Garden, 5 April 1832; “The Wife,” Covent Garden, 24 April 1833. Acted in America, 1834. “The Daughter,” Drury Lane, 29 Nov. 1836; “The Bridal,” Haymarket, 26 June 1837; “The Love Chase,” Haymarket, 10 Oct. 1837; “Woman’s Wit,” Covent Garden, 23 May 1838; “Maid of Mariendorpt,” Haymarket, 9 Oct. 1838; “Love,” Covent Garden, 4 Nov. 1839; “John of Procida,” Covent Garden, 19 Sept. 1840; “Old Maids,” Covent Garden, 2 Oct. 1841. Wife died, Feb. 1841. Married Miss Elphinstone, 1842. “The Rose of Arragon,” Haymarket, 4 June 1842; “The Secretary,” Drury Lane, 24 April 1843. Retired from stage, 1843. Contrib. to various periodicals. Civil List Pension, 1848. One of committee for purchase of Shakespeare’s Birthplace, 1848. Joined the Baptists about this time. Entertained at banquet in Cork, May 1862. Died, at Torquay, 30 Nov. 1862. Buried in Glasgow Necropolis. Works: “The Welch Harper” [1796]; “Fugitive Pieces,” 1810; “The Senate” (under pseud. “Selim”), 1817; “Virginius,” 1820 (third edn. same year); “Caius Gracchus,” 1823; “The Elocutionist,” 1823; “William Tell,” 1825; “The Beggar’s Daughter of Bethnal Green,” 1828 (second edn., called “The Beggar of Bethnal Green,” 1834); “Alfred the Great,” 1831; “The Hunchback,” 1832; “The Magdalen,” 1832; “A Masque” [on the death of Sir Walter Scott], 1832; “The Wife,” 1833; “The Daughter,” 1837 (second edn. same year); “The Love Chase,” 1837; “The Bridal” (from Beaumont and Fletcher), [1837]; “Woman’s Wit,” 1838; “Dramatic Works,” 1838; “The Maid of Mariendorpt,” 1838; “Love,” 1840; “John of Procida,” 1840; “Old Maids,” 1841; “The Rose of Arragon,” 1842; “The Secretary,” 1843; “Dramatic Works” (3 vols.), 1843; “George Lovell,” 1847; “Fortescue” (from “Sunday Times”), 1847 (priv. ptd., 1846); “The Rock of Rome,” 1849; “The Idol Demolished by its own Priest,” 1851; “The Gospel Attributed to Matthew is the Record of the Whole Original Apostlehood,” 1855; “Dramatic Works,” 1856. Posthumous: “True unto Death,” 1866 (another edn., called “Alexina,” same year); “Brian Boroihme,” 1872 (priv. ptd., 1871); “Lectures on Dramatic Literature” (2 vols.), 1873; “Various Dramatic Works” (priv. ptd.), 1874. He edited: J. A. Mason’s “Treatise on the Climate,” 1850. Life: by R. B. Knowles, revised edn., 1872.

Personal

  When Mr. James Sheridan Knowles shall die, the newspapers will mourn the loss of the best, most successful dramatist of the day; they will discourse pathetically of the many ills, which, during life, he suffered at the hands of a public. A goodly number of obituary notices will appear, and in the place of his burial, there will be erected, by the beneficently disposed, a monument, to perpetuate the memory of so popular a dramatist. No matter if the cost of this monument would, while he lived, have relieved his distress; no matter if even then his plays shall be acted, to thin houses, for the benefit of his widow and children.

  Of all the eccentric individuals I ever encountered, Sheridan Knowles was, I think, the greatest. Judge, gentle reader, if the following anecdotes may not justify my assertion. Walking one day with a brother-dramatist, Mr. Bayle Bernard, in Regent’s Quadrant, Knowles was accosted by a gentleman in these terms:—“You’re a pretty fellow, Knowles! After fixing your own day and hour to dine with us, you never make your appearance, and from that time to this not a word have we heard from you!” “I couldn’t help it, upon my honour,” replied Knowles; “and I’ve been so busy ever since I haven’t had a moment to write or call. How are you all at home?” “Oh quite well, thank you; but come now, will you name another day, and keep your word?” “I will—sure I will.” “Well, what day? Shall we say Thursday next?” “Thursday? Yes, by all means—Thursday be it.” “At six?” “At six. I’ll be there punctually. My love to ’em all.” “Thank ye. Remember, now. Six next Thursday.” “All right, my dear fellow; I’ll be with you.” The friend departed and Knowles, relinking his arm with that of Bayle Bernard, said, “Who’s that chap?” not having the least idea of the name or residence of the man he had promised to dine with on the following Thursday, or the interesting “family at home,” to whom he had sent his love.

  He lived a long life, and did not waste it. Up to a good old age he was healthy and hearty. Macready described to me their first interview, when the actor received the dramatist in the green-room. Sheridan Knowles presented himself—a jolly-looking fellow, with red cheeks, a man obviously full of buoyancy and good-humor—and read to the great manager his tragedy of “Virginius.” “What!” cried Macready, half-pleasantly, half-seriously, when the reading was over, “you the author of that tragedy—you? Why you look more like the captain of a Leith smack!” Nature had endowed Sheridan Knowles with a rare gift, but it was not improved by learning or study, and he owed little, if anything, to his great predecessors in dramatic art. In his later days, as I have remarked, the celebrated dramatist became a Baptist minister. I regret now that I never heard him preach, although I am told it was a performance that one might have been satisfied to witness only once. But I am sure that, whatever and wherever he was, in the pulpit or on the stage, Sheridan Knowles was in earnest—simple, honest, and hearty always. His was a nature that remained thoroughly unspoiled by extraordinary success.

  I have seen my old friend Sheridan Knowles on the stage only on one or two occasions. There was much fervour and sincerity in his acting, which, however, did not greatly impress me. His emotion seemed to be always at boiling-point. Through a want of relief and transition, his style soon became tedious. Excitement at times interfered with the clearness of his utterance, which did not gain in charm by the addition of a strong Irish brogue. His unmistakable earnestness, however, recommended him to audiences with whom, moreover, he was highly popular on account of his success as a dramatist. They evidently felt, both in his plays and in his acting, that “his heart was in the right place.” Occasionally he gave lectures on elocution, with illustrative recitations. I liked him better on the platform than on the stage. On the latter he was comparatively calm, and there his delivery had more discrimination and variety.

Virginius, 1820

  The only way in which Mr. Knowles personifies our age, is in his truly domestic feeling. The age is domestic, and so is he. Comfort—not passionate imaginings,—is the aim of every body, and he seeks to aid and gratify this love of comfort. All his dramas are domestic, and strange to say, those that should be most classic, or most chivalric, most above and beyond it, are the most imbued with this spirit. In what consists the interest and force of this popular play of “Virginius?” The domestic feeling. The costume, the setting, the decorations are heroic. We have Roman tunics, but a modern English heart,—the scene is the Forum, but the sentiments those of the “Bedford Arms.” The affection of the father for his daughter—the pride of the daughter in her father, are the main principles of the play.

  It was about three o’clock one day that I was preparing to go out, when a parcel arrived containing a letter from Tait and the MS. of “Virginius.” After some hesitation I thought it best to get the business over, to do at once what I had engaged to do, and I sat down determinedly to my work. The freshness and simplicity of the dialogue fixed my attention; I read on and on, and was soon absorbed in the interest of the story and the passion of its scenes, till at its close I found myself in such a state of excitement that for a time I was undecided what step to take.

  In the scene in which the client of Appius attempts to possess himself of her, Virginia remains absolutely mute. She is mute also in the great scene of the judgment, and she seems, moreover, to have understood nothing of what has been happening, for she asks her father if he is going to take her home. From the angels and furies of Shakespeare and Corneille we have come down to a virtuous idiot, and we are told that this is a return to Nature.

The Hunchback, 1832

  After my riding lesson, went and sat in the library to hear Sheridan Knowles’s play of “The Hunchback.” Mr. Bartley and my father and mother were his only audience, and he read it himself to us. A real play, with real characters, individuals, human beings, it is a good deal after the fashion of our old playwrights, and does not disgrace its models. I was delighted with it; it is full of life and originality; a little long, but that’s a trifle. There is want of clearness and coherence in the plot, and the comic part has really no necessary connection with the rest of the piece; but none of that will signify much, or, I think, prevent it from succeeding. I like the woman’s part exceedingly, but am afraid I shall find it very difficult to act.

  A play made up of the rarest qualities of literary genius; a production which has shed a golden light on the cold and comfortless gloom of the modern theatre; a mental achievement that places its author in “the forehead of the times,” that will embalm his memory with the highest dramatic genius of England, mighty and glorious as she is in that genius—“The Hunchback,” which has acted as a dream, a talisman, on the intellect of the vast metropolis.

  “The Hunchback” is the most original and the most successful of all the productions of Knowles…. The part of Julia in “The Hunchback” has always been a favorite part with our actresses, and we have had as many Julias on our stage as we have had leading ladies, or ladies who so considered themselves, to play it. In no other part, perhaps, have so many aspirants for dramatic fame tried their ’prentice hand as in Julia, and to no other do they seem to return so fondly. It is regarded as a sort of test part, and the rising star thinks if she can shine as Julia that she need fear no further eclipse.

  No wonder the character of Julia is so popular, and so often selected by a débutante. There is an infinite variety in it; there is a double crucial test by which the actress can be judged. In the early acts, opportunities are given for the display of the highest comedy acting—the country girl, content and happy with her country life; then a change—her head is turned by the gay and novel scenes in which she finds herself placed in that first London season. The whirl of pleasure has turned her into a woman of fashion. All this wants refinement, elegance of carriage, grace in movement; in fact, all the attributes which make your Lady Townleys and your Lady Teazles.

General

  Ignorant alike of rules, regardless of models, he follows the steps of truth and simplicity, and strength, proportion, and delicacy are the infallible results. By thinking of nothing but his subject, he rivets the attention of the audience to it. All his dialogue tends to action, all his situations form classic groups. There is no doubt that “Virginius” is the best acting-tragedy that has been produced on the modern stage.

  The poetry of his dialogue is the poetry of passion: it is kindled up in him by the collision of events, and seems less proper to the man than to the scene; his language is to the purpose; it is but little ornamented. His dramas are full of impressive groupings—domestic incidents—the bustle of business—the activity of life: he subdues subject, scene, and language, to the purpose and aim of his play. In this he differs from many writers, and differs for the better. His strength lies in home-bred affections: his “Virginius,” his “Beggar’s Daughter,” and his “Wife of Mantua,” all bear evidence of this, and contain scenes of perfect truth and reality, such as no modern dramatist surpasses. He teaches the heart and is safe.

  We have seen many a barrister famed for cross-examination unable to comprehend, till the piece was half over, the drift of Sheridan Knowles’s dramas.

  This play, [“Caius”] although not one of the best from the gifted author’s pen, abounds in passages of lofty thought, and is marked by the impress of his genius with that truth of character so constantly observable in his writings. But among scenes of striking power, pathetic situations, and bursts of heroic passion, there is great inequality. Whole pages are given to the cavillings of the plebeians, who in their contentions neither sustain the dignity of tragedy nor recall the idea of the Roman people. Indeed the mob, though advancing the action but little, is too prominent an agent, whilst the familiar language of their altercations often descends to vulgarity. But in the poet’s conception and draught of Cornelia we see before us the mother of the Gracchi, the ideal of the Roman matron…. Though instances of power and pathos may be multiplied from the poet’s page, yet it must be admitted there is a want of sustained progressive interest in the plot, the fluctuation of party triumph not very actively agitating the hopes and fears of the auditors. The death of Gracchus, stabbing himself with the dagger concealed under the folds of his toga, is nobly conceived, and was startling in its effect. In Caius the passion of the more energetic parts and the tenderness of the domestic interviews laid strong hold on my sympathies, and I gave myself to the study of the part with no ordinary alacrity and ardour.

  Wrote some dramas suitable for the stage and not at all wanting in poetic conception. In his historical pieces, “Virginius,” “Gracchus,” “Alfred,” the talent of the poet does not quite come up to his subject; but his comedies “The Love Chase” and “The Hunchback,” are altogether satisfactory.

  Although his style as a poet was but weakly imitative of our elder drama, Sheridan Knowles had skill in the construction of his plots, and that quick sense of stage effect which gratifies an actor who must needs think of the figure he will make upon the stage.

  Judged by literary tests alone, Knowles’s plays cannot lay claim to much distinction. His plots are conventional, his style is simple, and, in spite of his Irish birth, his humour is not conspicuous. Occasionally he strikes a poetical vein, and his fund of natural feeling led him to evolve many effective situations. But he is a playwright rather than a dramatist.

  Knowles’ plays were a great success upon a stage which could not hold the dramatic works of much greater poets. Setting aside the dramas written for the library, a long list might be made of the plays written by greater poets—from Coleridge to Tennyson—and meant to be acted, which cannot be credited with a tithe of the success that those of Sheridan Knowles achieved. That his dramatic instinct was far greater than his poetic gift is clear, and that his success was due rather to his dramatic skill than to his poetic force is doubtless true; and yet, taking his work as it stands, it can hardly be disputed that he demonstrated the possibility of making the poetic drama acceptable to nineteenth century audiences…. His dialogue, though sometimes marred by conceits and extravagances, is generally simple, direct and vigorous, and ever bright and rapid enough to excite and sustain interest. He had a wide range in his choice of subject, and a large command of dramatic situation…. His work, whether treating of classical or modern themes, always deals with men and women, and being instinct with human interest does not fail to interest the human. He worked simply, with simple means, and depended for his success upon the natural excitement of natural emotions.

  Independently of his technical knowledge, Knowles really had that knowledge of human nature without which drama is impossible, and he could write very respectable English. But the fatal thing about him is that he is content to dwell in decencies for ever. There is no inspiration in him; his style, his verse, his theme, his character, his treatment are all emphatically mediocre, and his technique as a dramatist deserves only a little, though a little, warmer, praise.

  The respectable, but absolutely undistinguished, productions of Sheridan Knowles.

  As literature, his plays are far from remarkable. His tragedies are of little interest, and his comedies, while ingenious, are pieces of skilful mechanism rather than works inspired by the poetic spirit.