lunary acquaintances in the pit, and at a pace funereal, as if to invite an inquisition which he is seldom prepared to defy. Now there is not the smallest necessity that the Ghost should expose himself, with so much danger to the solemnity of the scene, in this barefaced manner; there is nothing in the part which calls upon him to display his person and accoutrements (both of which are generally of such a description as should court the shade) like a peripatetic brother at Bartholomew Fair. The first rule, then, to be observed by the judicious Ghost-player, is,—never to let his desire for admiration tempt him to the front of the stage, unless the mechanism of the piece compel him to transgress this salutary precept. Let the ghost always appear in the back ground; or if necessary, let him walk down the stage by the side scenes, disappearing as distantly from the proscenium as possible. In short,—let him always be the most distant point of visibility, and be as dim, as shadowy, and indefinite, as is compatible with being seen.
Now in my first place, why should not ghosts march in a mathematical right line across the front of the stage? or rather what could justify the ghost in glimmering indistinctly in at the back. He cannot indeed approach too near the foot lights, which are the only things that could supply the glow-worm’s place or warrant the allusion to it; and as to his dress crackling, or his foot catching, the apprehension is wholly idle and groundless. The armour or clothing of a ghost is not necessarily ethereal—“in complete steel,” that is the phrase; now I put it to any reasonable man to say whether a creature so habited is bound to walk as if he were in wool? Then the allusion to stumbling is beneath my notice;—and even if a false step were committed, could that be improper in a fallen spirit, who clearly must have been accustomed to it?—Mr. Umbra would keep the ghost ever in the back-ground, or set him sneaking down the side scenes on tiptoe, like a cat after a tomtit, as though forsooth the business of the scene would admit of it, or the speeches of the haunted warrant it: for instance, Horatio in the first scene says, “I'll cross it, though it blast me.” And Marcellus anon exclaims “shall I strike at it with my partizan!” Now how could Horatio intercept a ghost at a distance, or Marcellus strike at a thing out of all reach. Horatio too, in describing the visit to Hamlet, says—
A figure like your father,
Armed at point, exactly, cap-à-pè,
Appears before them,—and with solemn march
Goes slow and stately by them; thrice he walk'd
By their oppress’d and fear-surprised eyes,
Within his truncheon’s length!
There is in truth no one passage which warrants the ghost in being kept in the back-ground. He is a stately, solemn, well-informed personage that does not blink the question (except when too rudely put by Horatio); but, haying to out with a murder to son, appears in his armour and original figure, and uses no disguise. at therefore becomes of the direction of Umbra, that he be always “at the most distant point of visibility, and be as dim, as shadowy and indefinite, as is compatible with being seen.
In the second place: our Ghost-players, instead of sweeping over the stage in a suit comporting with the dignity and darkness of the scene, generally choose to flaunt it in a crimson scarf, or a blanket cloak tastily suspended from the shoulder after the manner of an hussar’s hanging-jacket, or falling over the corslet like a waggoner’s smock-frock. I speak of such ghosts as I have lately seen at our two great houses: if others of the fraternity show a better judgment in the choice of their wardrobe, they are to consider themselves as not affected by this criticism. But as for those gentlemen-ghosts who dress themselves out as if they were going to a masque or a fancy-ball, in garments foreign to their character, it is proper that I should inform them,—they quite mistake the matter. The second rule promulgated by the Ghost-player’s Guide, in allusion to this circumstance, is this, videlicet: that a ghost should wear no flaring colours whatever, but (if he must wear clothes at all) be as dark, and as dismal as an alchemist or an undertaker, as muffled and mysterious as a monk or a mourner. This hint should be directed perhaps rather to the managers than to performers, as it is not always in the power of a ghost to choose his own clothes. And I would earnestly beseech the managers of the two houses aforesaid, to convert a little of the superfluous bullion which blazes upon their scenery, and flickers upon the tops, tails, and toes, of their dancers, into a suit of apparel fit for a gentleman-ghost to appear in.
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