The Mirror of Taste, and Dramatic Censor Part 4

"Some faults no doubt were discoverable, the most material of which was an emotion of tenderness at times, and a querulous sensibility not proper to the character of lady Macbeth's cool, deliberate, and inflexible resolution by which the poet has distinguished her. Great allowance is due for the perturbation of the _actress_ in so perilous and trying a situation, and into these, perhaps, much of the objection just hinted may be resolved: enough however was displayed of power, judgment, and execution to warrant a prediction, that as Miss Smith has already advanced to the first cla.s.s in her profession, lady Macbeth bids fair to rank among the first of her performances."

_Master Payne._

From some English papers now in our possession, we find that the fame of this young gentleman has already reached Europe; in such sort too, as in all probability will ensure him a very favourable reception there, if he should be disposed to try the experiment. Even at this time, the intercourse between the two countries is such that nothing worthy of notice pa.s.ses in one, without being soon known in the other. English gentlemen, who were lately in America, spoke, on their return to London, in such terms of Master Payne's performances, as if they thought he would eclipse young Betty. However, we hope that the justice of his own country will prevent the necessity of merit such as his seeking encouragement in strange and distant lands.

MISCELLANY.

THEOBALDUS SECUNDUS, OR SHAKSPEARE AS HE SHOULD BE.

NO. II.

_Hamlet, Prince of Denmark._

When the celebrated Nat Lee was reproached with writing like a madman, his answer was, "_It is very difficult to write like a madman, but very easy to write like a fool_." This sentence involves two a.s.sertions; the former is proved to be true by the play now under consideration, and the latter by the numerous commentators it has produced. Doctor FARMER has obligingly exhausted all his learning to prove that SHAKSPEARE had none.

"_Animasque in vulnere ponunt._" And Mr. MALONE has thought it necessary to borrow _queen Elizabeth's ruff_, and eat beef-steaks with her maids of honour, in order, by living that age over again, to qualify himself to decypher the local allusions of our great bard. POOR MALONE! if he had ever heard the old adage, that "_none but a poet should edit a poet_," he would have saved his midnight oil, and solicited a ray from Phbus. Now, I take the road to poetry to be just as plain as the road to Clapham. In the latter journey you have nothing to do but to invoke Rowland Hill, and in the former to invoke the sacred nine, and your business is done. You are dubbed one of the elect from that time forth, and nothing but Bedlam or the mint can invalidate your t.i.tle. For myself, I can attribute my profound knowledge of the real text of my author, to no other than the following cause. On turning accidentally to volume I, page 409, of cunning little ISAAC's edition, I happened to alight upon certain antique instructions, "_how a gallant should behave himself in a playhouse_." This code of dramatic laws I found ushered in by the following sentence: "The theatre is your poet's exchange, upon which their Muses (that are now turned to merchants) meeting, barter away that light commodity of words, for a lighter ware than words, _plaudities_, and the breath of _the great beast_, which, like the threatenings of two cowards, vanish all into air." This great beast I take to be, "The many headed monster of the pit," mentioned in after times by POPE, and the renowned JOHN BULL, celebrated by me, THEOBALDUS SECUNDUS, in my dedication of last month. Be that however, as it may, I read the treatise through, and was so smitten with the accurate view it exhibited of the theatres of these days, that I immediately determined to transport myself, as well as I could, to the golden times of the _beheader of Mary Queen of Scots_. I instantly ran to the water-side, bartered for a garret, purchased the wares of a strolling company at a bargain, and I now pen this dissertation reclining on clean straw, on a stage of my own construction, and smoking a pipe of Maryland tobacco, according to the authority above quoted. "By spreading your body on the stage, and by being a justice in examining plaies, you shall put yourself into such a true scaenical authority, that some poet shall not dare to present his Muse rudely before your eyes, without having first unmasked her, rifled her, and discovered all her bare and most mystical parts before you at a taverne, when you, most knightly, shall for his paines, pay for both their suppers." If all these paines do not produce a proportionate modic.u.m of inspiration, then know I nothing of Parna.s.sus. Let us now proceed to business.

In the very first scene of this celebrated tragedy, I find matter of discussion.

_Bernardo._ Who's there?

_Francisco._ Nay, answer me--stand and _unfold_ yourself.

This word has never (_mirabile dictu_) excited a single comment; but in my opinion it implies that _Bernardo_ enters with his arms _folded_. The judicious player will remember this, and when thus accosted will immediately throw back his arms, and discover his under vestments, like the "_Am I a beef-eater now?_" in the critic.

_Bernardo._ Long live the king.

_Francisco._ Bernardo?

_Bernardo._ He.

Mr. Malone merely observes that this sentence appears to have been the watchword. So it was; but, in my mind, the watchword of rebellion. The times, as _Hamlet_ afterwards observes, were out of joint, and the ambitious _Bernardo_, as it appears to me, was desirous of mounting the throne, having doubtless as good a right to do so, as the murderer _Claudius_. The answer of _Francisco_ favours my construction. If the loyal exclamation had been pointed at king Claudius, Francisco would have said _Amen_; instead of which he says, "_Bernardo_," signifying, What! _you_ king? and Bernardo cooly answers, "_He_," signifying "Yes, _I_." _Francisco_ contents himself with replying, "_You come most carefully upon your hour_," and the rejoinder of the future monarch puts my reading out of all doubt.

_Bernardo._ 'Tis now struck twelve, get thee to bed _Francisco_.

This so exactly resembles the charge of the usurper, _Macbeth_, to his torch-bearing domestic,

_Go bid thy mistress when my drink is ready She strike upon the bell--get thee to bed._

Thus the guilt of _Bernardo_ is proved by all laws of a.n.a.logy. Here then we have two _beef-eaters_ in disguise. Ay, beef-eaters! and I'll prove it by the next sentence.

_Francisco._ For this relief much thanks: 'tis _bitter_ cold And I am sick at heart.

Thus all the editors, without a single comment--Oh the blockheads!

Listen to my reading.

_Francisco._ For this _good beef_ much thanks: 'tis _better_ cold, &c.

_Bernardo_ should in this place present an edge-bone to his friend, who should courteously accept it, like a good natured visiter, who bolts into the dining-room when dinner is half over and endeavours to avert the frowns of the lady of the house, by saying "O! make no apologies--it's my own fault--I like it _better cold_, &c. Let the property man, when this play is next acted, remember the beef. In the same scene _Bernardo_ inquires "Is _Horatio_ here?" who answers "A piece of him." Warburton, that _bow-wow_, "dog in forehead," says this signifies his _hand_, which direction should be marked. But how if his hand be not marked? It is not every player who has committed manslaughter on anybody but his author. In my opinion, an actor who scorns to be a mannerist will take it to signify his leg, which is quite as good a _piece_ of him, as his hand, and, if he be a dancer, a much better. My interpretation of this pa.s.sage is strengthened by the usage of the clown in the dramatic entertainment ent.i.tled _Mother Goose_. When the late Mr. Lewis Bologna, as Pantaloon, proffered his hand in token of amity and forgiveness, Mr. Joseph Grimaldi protruded his foot into his master's palm. His reading was certainly the right one.

In the course of conversation, _Horatio_ asks, "What! has this _thing_ appeared again to night?" which is both irreverent and nonsensical.

A _ghost_ is not a _thing_. _Macbeth_ says to that of _Banquo_, "_Unreal_ mockery, hence!" The pa.s.sage should be "Has this king appeared?"

_Bernardo._ Sit down a while And let us once again a.s.sail your ears, That are so fortified against our story, What we _two nights_ have seen.

This allusion to fortified ears, implies that the parties wore helmets that covered these organs. For we two _nights_, therefore, read "we two knights." Knights were at that time soldiers. So Joppa in his prophecy of the year 1790.

The knight now, his helmet on, The spear and falchion handles; But knights _then_, as thick as hops, In bushy bobs shall keep their shops, And deal, good lack! in figs and tripe, And soap, and tallow candles.

The ghost now enters, and retreats like _lord Burleigh_, in the _critic_.

_Bernardo._ See, it _stalks_ away.

_Walks_, if you please, Mr. _Bernardo_. I have heard of stalking horses indeed, and that of Troy made many ghosts. But _ghosts_ themselves _walk_. In speaking to it _afterwards_, _Horatio_ says, "You spirits oft _walk_." "He durst as soon have met the devil in fight," as have said "_stalk_." The shades of difference in the meaning of these two words were nicely marked in a pantomime song of the late Mr. EDWIN, in which he courteously applied the word "walk" to the softer s.e.x,

Then ma'am will you _walk_ in, sing folderol liddle, And sir, will you _stalk_ in, sing folderol liddle, &c.

The following letter received from an unknown correspondent at Boston, was intended to be placed in the biographical part of the number, by way of supplement to the life of Mrs. Warren. Having been omitted, we offer it to our readers in the Miscellany.

_To the editor of the Dramatic Censor._

SIR,

In No. II, of the Dramatic Censor, I notice with pleasure a biography of Mrs. Warren, in which, however, all mention of her appearance in Boston is omitted. That she excited _enlightened_ admiration there, the following lines may evince, which were published there soon after her decease, and in which her _voice_ is not unhappily commended.

I transcribe them, that you may hereafter insert them or not, according to your opinion of their intrinsic merit.

_LINES, ON THE DEATH OF MRS. WARREN, FORMERLY MRS. MERRY, OF THE LONDON THEATRE._

Shall Belvidera's voice no more Lend to the Muse its peerless aid, That erst on Albion's ingrate sh.o.r.e Sooth'd Otway's discontented shade?

She--to no single soil confin'd, Sought in our climes extended fame; The wreaths of either world entwin'd, And taught both continents her name.

Nor, of those strains that crowds have hail'd, Small is the praise, or light the gain; Clio can boast such sounds prevail'd, When faith and freedom pray'd in vain.

Such notes the Mantuan minstrel owns Long lur'd her Trojan from the main: And bleeding Arria, in such tones, a.s.sur'd her lord she "felt not pain."

Such notes, in Rome's delirious days, Could liberty and laws restore; Could bid "be still" sedition's waves, And faction's whirlwind cease to roar

'Twas by such suasive sounds inspir'd, The matrons press'd the hostile field; The Volscian hosts, amaz'd, retir'd; The proud Patrician learn'd to yield.

Such powers, oh had Calphurnia known, Great Julius all unarm'd had stood!

No senate walls beheld his doom, Nor Pompey's marble drank his blood!

For thee--though born to happier times, And gentler tasks than these endur'd, Thy voice might oft prevent those crimes, Which e'en thy voice could scarce have cur'd.

Although no civic aim was there, Yet not in vain that voice was given, Which, often as it bless'd the air, Inform'd us what was heard in heaven.