Part 11 (1/2)

”To draw apart the body he hath killed, O'er whom his very madness, like some ore Among a mineral of metals base, Shows itself pure; he weeps for what is done.”

These lines are omitted in the acting-versions. Perhaps, if they were inserted, many actors might consider it necessary to show more concern for the death of Polonius than has. .h.i.therto been the stage practice.

The fifth scene, Globe edition, is the second scene in French's, and the fourth in c.u.mberland's. I think it would add to the dignity of Horatio's character if, as directed in the second quarto, the Queen and Horatio entered with ”a gentleman,” who brings news of Ophelia's mental derangement. Horatio is not a servant, nor even a gentleman-in-waiting; but a visitor from Wittenberg. The Queen, having lost her son, would naturally seek the society of his bosom friend. The stage-direction in the first quarto for Ophelia's entrance should be noticed; I should like to see it inserted in the acting-edition: ”_Enter_ Ophelia _playing on a lute, with her hair hanging down, singing_.” This, no doubt, is how she appeared on Burbage's stage. I can imagine Ophelia entering as if she were wandering about the corridors of the palace singing and muttering to herself unconscious of what she was saying, where she was going, or to whom she was speaking; the imbecility of a pretty young girl who had been, at one time, fond of her songs as of her sewing. In the acting-edition the stage-direction for the second entrance describes her as being ”_fantastically dressed with straws and flowers_,” but there is no similar direction in the quartos or folio. Ophelia has very little time allowed her to go anywhere, and certainly not beyond the palace precincts, where she might not find straws or daisies. Shakespeare may have intended the flowers to be imaginary ones to which she refers that the audience may antic.i.p.ate her ramble beyond the palace to make garlands in the meadows.

Songs were rarely sung on the stage unaccompanied, and it must be remembered that Ophelia was a court lady, more accustomed to handle the lute than to pick wildflowers. The third scene of the fourth act, being the fifth scene in the Globe edition, I have never seen acted on the stage. The omission is, perhaps, not important, except that the spectators are left ignorant as to the cause of Hamlet's return. From the fourth act 303 lines have been omitted in the acting-version.

Coming now to the fifth act, the stage-direction for Ophelia's burial, both in the Globe and acting-editions, is as follows: ”_Enter_ Priests, _etc., in Procession, the corpse of_ Ophelia, Laertes, _and_ Mourners _following_, King, Queen, _their Trains, etc._” This direction is hardly consistent with Hamlet's description, ”Such maimed rites.” I should prefer the direction in the first quarto: ”_Enter_ King _and_ Queen, Laertes _and other_ Lords, _with a_ Priest _after the coffin_.” The absence of religious ceremony should attract the attention of the audience as much as it does Hamlet's. I should like to see only _one_ Priest present, and the coffin borne by soldiers or villagers, not by monks or nuns. It is often the stage practice for the Priest to stand over the grave with a book in his hand and intone his lines (replies to Laertes' questions) as if they were part of the burial service. A rather erroneous conception of Shakespeare's churlish Priest, who objects to the funeral taking place on sacred ground, and refuses even to approach the grave.

In the first quarto, at the words ”What's he that conjures so,” is written the stage-direction, ”Hamlet _leaps in after_ Laertes,” and I find that Oxberry's edition has the same direction, only inserted a little lower down. I presume, therefore, that the elder Kean did actually leap into the grave. Our modern Hamlets would object to this business as undignified, and perhaps it is; but, at the same time, Hamlet's public apology to Laertes in the last scene requires some marked movement of his in this scene. He owns himself that he was in a towering pa.s.sion. Laertes may handle Hamlet roughly, but not till Hamlet has interfered with him.

None of our stage Hamlets appear in the churchyard in any change of costume. From the familiar way in which the clown talks to Hamlet, and Hamlet's declaration, ”Behold, 'tis I, Hamlet, the Dane,” I imagine that Shakespeare intended Hamlet to be dressed in some disguise in this scene.

When Hamlet, writing to the King, says, ”Naked and alone,” he may not only mean unarmed, but stripped of his fine clothes, so that it would not be inappropriate for him to appear at the grave in some common sailor's dress. In the second scene in this act Hamlet says, ”With my sea-gown scarf'd about me,” a line that also would furnish some excuse for change of costume. Both in the first quarto and the folio the lines, ”This is mere madness,” etc., are spoken by the King. The acting-edition follows the second quarto, and gives the lines to the Queen. The King had good reason to impress upon others the belief that Hamlet is mad; and when the villagers hear the taunt they should shun the lunatic.

The second scene is divided in the stage-version; and now that it has become the custom to lower the curtain for each change of scene, I would suggest that the churchyard-scene be changed at once to the hall where the duel takes place. The forcing of this duel upon Hamlet by the King would be better shown by the King and all the court coming down to Hamlet than Hamlet's going to them. It is the difference between his going to meet death and death coming to him.

In this second scene of the acting-edition there is a line of the King's omitted, which, perhaps, if it were inserted, would cause an alteration in the stage-business connected with it. The King says: ”Give me the cups,”

showing that more than one cup is brought to the King, one of them, probably, containing the poison. In this cup the King places his jewel, to insure Hamlet's drinking out of it. On the stage it is the common practice to use only one cup, and to imagine that the pearl contains the poison.

I have before expressed my regret that the play should end at Hamlet's death. Shakespeare would have considered the play unfinished, and even the partisans of stage effect would lose nothing by the introduction of Fortinbras. The distant sound of the drum, the tramp of soldiers, the gradual filling of the stage with them, the shouts of the crowd outside, the chieftain's entrance fresh from his victories, and the tender, melancholy young prince, dead in the arms of his beloved friend, are material for a fine picture, a strong dramatic contrast. Life in the midst of death! Was not this Shakespeare's conception? From the last act 219 lines have been omitted.

The acting-editions of Shakespeare's plays are worth examining by students in order to ascertain how far they are consistent with the author's intention. Since the chronological order of the plays has been fixed with more or less certainty, the study of Shakespeare has become much easier, and his dramatic and poetical conceptions are more accurately realized than they ever were before. The time has now come when our acting-editions could be profitably revised. Eminent actors may prefer, perhaps, arranging versions from their own study of the text, but there must always exist a standard version for general use in the profession. I should like to see existing a playbook of ”Hamlet” which has been altered and shortened by a joint board of actors and scholars. It should have a carefully written introduction describing minutely the play as it is believed the author conceived it. There should also be a short sketch of the persons represented, with hints to the actor where to look in omitted pa.s.sages for glimpses of character; besides notes on obscure pa.s.sages, unfamiliar expressions, and different readings; and a description of costume and scenery most appropriate to the play. Such a book might be the beginning of a new era for the Shakespearian drama on our stage, and, by stimulating actors to study their parts from an artistic point of view, and less from a theatrical one, it would enable the public to appreciate Shakespeare in the only place where he can be properly understood, and that is the theatre.

”KING LEAR.”[13]

When I opened the newspapers to read the criticisms on a recent performance of ”King Lear,” and found that the first comments made were in praise of the costumes, the scenery, and the music, then I knew that once more Shakespeare and tragedy had failed to a.s.sert themselves in the English Theatre. Charlotte Bronte, the novelist, who was educated in Brussels, and saw Rachel in one of her greatest impersonations, once astounded a London dinner-party by saying that the English knew nothing about tragedy. In her diary she writes: ”I have twice seen Macready act, once in 'Macbeth' and once in 'Oth.e.l.lo.' It is the fas.h.i.+on to rave about his splendid acting; anything more false and artificial, less genuinely impressive than his whole style, I could scarcely have imagined. The fact is the stage system is altogether hollow nonsense. They act farces well enough; the actors comprehend their parts and do justice to them. They comprehend nothing about tragedy or Shakespeare, and it is a failure. I said so, and by so saying produced a blank silence, a mute consternation.” Unfortunately, Charlotte Bronte's reproach still remains true. Perhaps, had she continued to protest, the public would then have recognized the truth of her remarks. As it was, she never again referred to the subject. Like most of our literary men and women, then and now, she preferred to remain discreetly silent upon all matters connected with Shakespeare and the stage.

Last night, in a London theatre, Charlotte Bronte's words were forcibly brought back to my mind. I have once seen a great rendering of the part of Lear, but it was given by an Italian, Signor Rossi. I have seen the whole play correctly rendered, with every character a vivid realization of the poet's conception, but this was at a performance in the Court Theatre at Munich. For thirty years I have been a constant playgoer, and seen the best art this country can produce, but never can I say that I have seen English tragedy on the English stage. The cause is not far to seek. We have actors in abundance, and some of them creative artists; yet we have no tragic actors, because we have no school in which to develop them.

Until we can set apart a theatre for the exclusive use of cla.s.sical drama and its interpreters, we cannot hope to have tragedy finely acted. A tragedy in verse is the severest test of the artist's powers, of his physical flexibility in voice and face, of his training and sensibility.

When, therefore, I heard who was going to essay the greatest tragic role that has ever been written, the result was a foregone conclusion: exit Shakespeare and enter the Producer.

Yes! He is the hero of the moment, as all our newspapers have told us, only it is unfortunate, in the interests of art, that to the praise there should have been added no discernment. Macaulay has said that the sure sign of the general decline of an art is the frequent occurrence, not of deformity, but of misplaced beauty, and whatever beauty has been put into the production is undoubtedly misplaced. We can accept accuracy in scenery and costume when the play itself is historically accurate--that is to say, when it has been written to show the difference between two periods as that of British and Norman, or when it defines some distinctive characteristic of race relating to its morals or manners. But what is there in ”King Lear” that suggests such a remote period as 800 B.C.? We are told in the programme that Shakespeare purposely removes the story from Christian times to give the tragedy its proper setting in ”a remote age of barbarism, when man in wanton violence was at war with Nature.” The story, however, belongs to one of the popular fables of European literature. Like ”Cinderella,” it was in all probability transplanted into our country from a foreign source. In its application it is universal, and marks no special epoch or nationality, nor is there in the story or its characters anything out of keeping with a Christian age. Have there been no ungrateful daughters, no adulterers, no b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, no tyrants, no jealous lovers since the years B.C.? The motive for crime remains pretty much the same to-day as it did before the Christian era, and will continue to remain the same until the economic conditions of human existence are readjusted. It is contrary to history and experience to suppose that in Shakespeare's time dramatists deliberately aimed at ill.u.s.trating not only the customs but also the morals of a barbaric age. If we do not to-day tear out the eyes of our enemy, it is because we have discovered some less clumsy way of revenging our injuries. But because our manners are more refined, it does not follow that our morals are purer. The story of ”King Lear,” as Shakespeare has set it forth, is one that may happen to-day in any kingdom and any home. This is what the producer has failed to grasp, and why his scenes and costumes do not ill.u.s.trate his play.

Throughout the performance the spectators' eyes are at variance with the spoken words. Did the early Britons have stocks? Were there such persons as marshals, heralds, knights, drums, and colours? Did beldames walk the villages, and were there wakes and fairs in market-towns? Why was fish eaten on Fridays? Had ”Bessy” crossed the bourn? How did the ballads become known a thousand years before they were written? Needlessly is the attention distracted by these anachronisms which upset the spectator's equanimity in a play that is pulsating with ever-living human emotion.

Then, again, costume is an essential adjunct in drama, as an indication of character. We know at a glance a man's rank, his wealth, and his taste, by the aid of his clothes, provided always that we are familiar with the period in which the apparel was worn. But put the men into bath-sheets or into night-s.h.i.+rts, and we cannot tell the master from the servant. As a fact the producer has put all his characters into dressing-gowns--showy ones, doubtless--while the hair of the men is as long as that of the women. In vain do we seek among these s.e.xless creatures for our familiar characters, to know who is who. Where is the king, the earl, the peasant, the knave, the soldier, the civilian? There are slight distinctions in the costumes worn by these characters, but to the uninitiated they are meaningless. Infinite variety in character and situation is created by the author, and none shown by the producer owing to the choice of an archaic period. How the spectator longs for sight of the fool's cap, bells and bauble, of the herald's tabard, and the knight's armour; to see a girl as a girl, and a man as a man, and to know which is the lady and which the queen!

A country squire, whose hobby was horses, once told me that although at twenty he thought himself a good judge of a thoroughbred, after fifty more years of experience he hesitated a long while in determining a nag's good points. It is the same with the student of Shakespeare; the oftener he has read one of the poet's plays, and the more study he has given to it, the longer he hesitates to criticize. The art of the dramatist is too thorough and too subtle to be lightly discussed. To all stage-managers who wish to mend or improve Shakespeare I say: ”Hands off! Produce this play as it is written or leave it alone. Don't take liberties with it; the man who does that does not understand his own limitations!” Let us uphold that there is but one rule to be followed when it becomes necessary to shorten one of the poet's plays; and that is to omit lines, but never an entire scene.

Shakespeare, of all his contemporaries, unless it be Ford, gave to his dramas--especially to his later ones--unity of design; so that each scene has a relation to the whole play. But in the preparation of this stage-version of ”King Lear” it must be admitted that no rule, no method, no love, nor respect has been shown; and, what is the least pardonable fault, no knowledge is apparent. Scenes and pa.s.sages have been torn out of the play, just as children might tear up bank-notes, regardless of the value of the parts to the whole. No matter if the story to modern minds is unintelligible, the characters incoherent, and the ethics of the play unconvincing, the management presumes that, as everything in ”King Lear”

took place among the early Britons, eight hundred years before Christ, only the costumes and scenery of the producer can be expected to elucidate the barbarities of the play or its people.

Stowed away in an odd corner of the drama, Shakespeare generally introduces some words to indicate his point of view, and, in regard to ”King Lear,” his view is thus expressed:

”EDMUND: This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune [often the surfeit of our own behaviour], we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and stars; as if we were villains by necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion ... and all that we are evil in, by divine thrusting on” (Act I., Scene 2).

And Shakespeare repeats the warning in ”Coriola.n.u.s”: