THE MURDER OF "MACBETH."
Not a hiss was heard, not an angry yell,
Though of both 'twas surely deserving—
When, cruelly murdered, Macbeth fell
By the hand of the eminent Irving.
He murdered him, lengthily, that night,
With his new and original reading.
Till his efforts left him in sorry plight,
And the sweat on his brow was bleeding.
Five different garments enclosed his breast,
Five brand-new dresses were found him,
Though in never a one did he look at rest,
Though the people might sleep around him.
Many and long were the words he said,
Till we wished in fervent sorrow,
We could only get home to our welcome bed,
And we vowed not to come on the morrow.
We thought as he quivered, and gasped, and strode,
And made us long for our pillow,
That a taste of his tragic genius he owed
To our cousins far over the billow.
Even there, though his fame before has gone;
He may find it melt in a minute;
But little he'll reck, if they let him act on
In a play with a murderer in it.
But half the heavy play was o'er
When we seized the chance for retiring,
And left him grovelling about on the floor,
With his friends all madly admiring.
Sadly we thought as we went away,
From his acting so dreary and gory,
That the eminent I, if he's wise will not play,
Macbeth any more, if for glory.
The Figaro, 16th October, 1875.
This critic, who left the theatre before the tragedy was half over, was, of course, eminently qualified to point out the shortcomings of Mr. Irving in the part of Macbeth, But perhaps the critic had forgotten that the leading character has one, or two, rather strong situations towards the end of the play, which he should have witnessed before condemning the actor.