would the nation you have the arrogance to despise, what guerdon would France bestow upon a Gallic Shakspeare? Why she would cast his image in solid gold, and fall down on her knees, and worship it as a god, as surely as the curtain unveiled it each night in its proper temple. She would all but drink the blood of him who dared to play King Hamlet in buckram and a blanket. I firmly trust you will never see a tragedy worth three hours’ eye-sight, till you make the ghost of Hamlet fit to be looked at; for it is you who keep the key of the wardrobe, not the manager. Only show one tithe of the ill-humour and destructiveness that you exhibit on every frivolous occasion, and King Hamlet will doff both blanket and buckram in a much greater hurry than he ever assumed them. The Ghost ought to appear in a complete suit of armour: I should not contend that it be “steel,” though the text so advises us, because this would be herhaps superfluous on account of the distance; but it should be a splendid and entire suit of warlike panoply,—burnished tin we will say. The effect might be heightened, if necessary, by a thin, gauzy, sombre raiment thrown over the armour, which would give a cloudy, indefined to the figure; but by attending to the first of always keeping in the back ground, this part of the paraphernalia might be dispensed with. A crest of black and waving plumes would confer altitude and majesty where these qualifications rarely exist, scilicet, in the persons of ghost-players in general, who are for the most part fat little fellows of about five feet and an inch, with Canopus bellies and bandy legs.
To the above remarks I have but this to add, with a particular view to the play of Hamlet,—that the manner in which I have sometimes heard the Ghost utter the word “Swear!” when the prince invites Horatio and Marcellus to swear upon his sword, is a gross infraction of the decorum which should always be observed on the stage; it is bellowed the side-scene by some fellow or other with a throat like a trombone, or in the tone of an enraged alderman.” The voice should come from under the stage, as the text plainly expresses, and the greatest possible care should be taken to manage this scene, so as that the audience shall not laugh, instead of quake, through its representation.
LINES
Written beneath a Picture of Love riding on a Tiger.
So Love has conquer’d! say what opiate dew
Quell’d that fierce spirit thus—what mighty spell
The fragrant flower-wreath round that dark neck threw
And bound him in its links of Asphodel?
’Twas the enchanter Love—who carelessly
Chased by the dark woodside a summer fly,
When forth he sprang—but sank resistlessly
Beneath the mighty magic of that eye;
And there he knelt—his fiery lip scarce breathing,
While Love's light chains were round his proud neck wreathing.
And young Love leap’d upon his living throne,
While slowly pass’d the beauteous monster on:
His blue eye sparkling with a conqueror’s joy,
Proud of his triumph rode the wanton boy.
Yet Love beware! that dark eye's fire is sleeping,
Calm and deceitful as the deep blue sea:
Kindle it not; or thou hast cause for weeping :—
No charm of Love can spell-bind Jealousy.
