THE FIRST AND LAST APPEARANCE.
Mr. Henry Augustus Constantine Stubbs (or as he distinguished himself on his new visiting cards, H.A.C. Stubbs) had taken up his abode in one of the demi-fashionable squares, among judges, physicians, barristers, and merchants, at the north side of the metropolis. Being the only lawfully begotten issue of his father, when the frail Angelina made it impossible he should have any brothers and sisters, he succeeded, by will, to three-fourths of the late Mr. Jonathan Stubbs's property, and, by oxalic acid, to the remaining fourth;[5] the affair being too sudden to permit of any further testamentary dispositions, or of any of those benevolent codicils, which sometimes have the effect of tapering down primary bequests, like Prior's Emma, "fine by degrees and beautifully less." Upon a fair computation, after a few trifling legacies were paid, and all debts satisfied, young Mr. Stubbs might calculate his inheritance, in India stock, Bank stock, houses, canal shares, and exchequer bills, at nearly eighty thousand pounds.
His education had not been neglected; that is to say, his father sent him, at nine years old, to one of those suburban seminaries for "young gentlemen," usually kept by elderly gentlemen, who know what it is to have been deprived of similar advantages in their own youth. They feel, therefore, a laudable gratification in enabling the rising generation to pluck some of that fruit from the tree of knowledge which they themselves never tasted at all. Here he remained till he was nearly seventeen; and here he acquired a little French, a little Greek, a little Latin, a little mathematics, a little logic, and a little geography, "with the use of the globes." In short, he brought away with him a little learning, for the obtaining of which his father had not paid a little money. He subsequently enlarged his Lilliputian stock of ideas, by assiduously prosecuting his studies at home, three days a-week, and three hours a-day, when he was attended by masters in elocution, Italian, boxing, fencing, and the other sciences. This eager cultivation of his mind he pursued till he was two and twenty, and then took his station in about the third degree of fashionable society, as a scholar and a man of taste. His father had determined he should be a gentleman, and therefore very properly guarded against the "anachronism," as he used to call it, of giving him a profession. It is believed, (at least it has been inculcated,) that there exists, in every human mind, a master, or ruling passion—a predominating inclination towards some particular object or pursuit. Mr. Henry Augustus Constantine Stubbs, was in this respect, as well as in many others, like the rest of his species. He had his ruling passion, and, but that his father had made him a GENTLEMAN, he was sure nature had intended him for the Roscius of his age. From his earliest childhood, when he used to recite, during the Christmas holidays, "Pity the sorrows of a poor old man," and astonish his father's porter (who had a turn that way himself) with his knowing, all by heart, "My name is Norval, on the Grampian hills,"—to his more matured efforts of, "Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors," or, "My liege, I did deny no prisoners,"—the idea of being an actor had constantly fascinated his imagination.
It was a natural consequence of this theatrical ardour, that Mr. Stubbs eagerly cultivated the acquaintance of tragedians, comedians, managers, and dramatic writers. It was his supreme delight to have them at his table; and as he kept a good table, gave good wines, and excelled in his cuisine, it was a delight he could command whenever he chose. He had the entré, also, of the green-room at both theatres, and acquired an intimate knowledge of all the feuds, rivalries, managerial oppressions, intrigues, burlesque dignity, and solemn plausibilities, of that mimic world. Living thus in an atmosphere electrical, as it were, with excitement, it is no wonder that, by degrees, he became less and less sensitive with regard to that ambiguous difficulty which had hitherto impeded the gratification nearest his heart.
It happened one morning while Mr. Stubbs was sipping his chocolate and reading, in the Morning Post, a criticism upon a new tragedy which had been most righteously damned the night before, that his intimate friend Mr. Peaess, the manager of —— theatre dropped in. After the usual salutations were exchanged, and Mr. Peaess had remarked that it was a fine morning, and Mr. Stubbs had added that it was a windy one, Mr. Stubbs fell into a brown study. His mind laboured with a gigantic purpose. It was a moment on which hung indescribable consequences.—Shall I? Will he? Yes!—yes!—And he did! He imparted to his friend, the manager, his resolution to make his FIRST APPEARANCE. He fixed upon Hamlet, chiefly because the character was so admirably diversified by Shakspeare, that it presented opportunities for the display of an equal diversity of talent in its representative.
He made no secret of his intention among his friends, and one, in particular, was privy to his whole course of preparation. This was Mr. McCrab, a pungent little personage, whose occasional petulance and acrimony, however they might rankle and fester in more sensitive natures, were never known to curdle the bland consciousness of self-esteem which dwelt, like a perpetual spring, upon the mind of Mr. Stubbs. Mr. McCrab was himself an amateur actor; he had also written a tolerably successful comedy, as well as an unsuccessful tragedy; and he was, besides, a formidable critic, whose scalping strictures, in a weekly journal, were the terror of all authors and actors who were either unable or unwilling to dispense turtle and champagne.
Mr. Stubbs, it should be mentioned, considered himself a profound reader of Shakspeare, and believed he had discovered many hitherto concealed beauties in the wonderful productions of that writer. He prided himself, too, upon the critical acumen and philosophical penetration with which he had elicited various qualities intended by the poet to belong to his characters; and he had often said if he had been an actor he should have established quite a new method of playing several of them. He was now about to become an actor, and he resolved, in his very first essay, to introduce one of his novelties, or new readings. What this was, will be best explained in the following conversation, which took place between himself and Mr. McCrab upon the subject.
"Depend upon it, my dear McCrab," said Stubbs, taking down a volume of Shakspeare from his shelves, "depend upon it, I am borne out in my opinion, novel as it is, by the text of the immortal author himself; and I shall stuff the character when I play it. I maintain Hamlet ought to be"——"A Falstaff in little, I suppose," interrupted McCrab. "No," rejoined Stubbs, "he should not be exactly corpulent—but rather embonpoint, as the saying is—sleek—plumpish—in good condition as it were."
"You talk of the text of Shakspeare as your authority," replied McCrab,—"I will appeal to the text too—and I will take the description of Hamlet by Ophelia, after her interview with him. What is her language?
'Oh what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
The expectancy and rose of the fair state:
The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
The observed of all observers.'
This eulogium paints in distinct colours what should be the personation of Hamlet on the stage. It demands, not a little fellow, five feet five, by three feet four, as you will be, if you stuff the character as you call it, but rather what Hamlet himself describes his father to have been,
'A combination, and a form indeed.
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man.'"
"Never mind my height," said Stubbs, elevating his head, and raising his chin an inch or two out of his neckcloth.—"Garrick, you know, was none so tall; and yet I fancy he was considered a tolerably good actor in his day. But you remember the lines of Charles Churchill,
'There are, who think the stature all in all,
Nor like a hero if he is not tall.
The feeling sense all other wants supplies—
I rate no actor's merit from his size.
Superior height requires superior grace,
And what's a giant with a vacant face?'"
"Very true," answered McCrab, "and, to follow up your theory, were I asked, what is an actor? I should answer,
''Tis he who gives my breast a thousand pains:
Can make me feel each passion that he feigns;
Enrage, compose with more than magic art,—
With pity and with horror tear my heart.'
But, come; let me hear your reasons for believing that Hamlet ought to be a portly gentleman. I see you are ready with them."
"I am," said Stubbs, "and I'll bet the receipts of the house, on my first appearance, against those of your next comedy, that I convince you I am right before I have done. Now, mark,—or, as Horatio says,
'Season your admiration for awhile,
With an attent ear, till I may deliver,
Upon the witness of these same pages,
This marvel to you.'
Ha! ha! that is apt," continued Mr. Stubbs, with a simper.
"For God's love, let me hear," added McCrab—"I hope that's apt too."
"If," said Mr. Stubbs, looking exceedingly grave, "if, I say, we take the first soliloquy of Hamlet—almost the first words he utters—we shall find a striking allusion to his habit of body; and not only shall we be struck by the allusion, but, I contend, the whole force and meaning of the passage are lost, unless the speaker can lay his hands upon a goodly paunch, as he exclaims,
'Oh! that this too too solid flesh would melt.
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew.'
We are not to suppose Hamlet speaks metaphorically, but physically; and his corporeal appearance should be an illustration of his words. He is already weary of the world—he wishes to die—but 'the Everlasting has fixed his canon against self-slaughter,' and, therefore, he prays for natural dissolution, by any wasting disease, which may 'thaw' and dissolve his 'too too solid flesh.' This, perhaps, you will consider merely conjectural criticism: plausible, but not demonstrative. I own it has a higher character in my eyes; and, unless I am greatly mistaken, even the ghost of his own father glances at his adipose tendency, when he says,
'I find thee apt
But duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
That roots itself in ease on Lethe's wharf,
Wouldst thou not stir in this.'
That is, according to my reading, 'fat as thou art, thou wouldst be duller than the fat weed of Lethe if you did not bestir yourself in this business.' Observe, too, with what propriety Shakspeare has here employed the word 'stir,' it being a well-known fact that corpulent persons have a strong disinclination to locomotion. And Hamlet himself, (in his interview with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,) makes a pointed allusion to the indolence and lethargy which so commonly accompany obesity. 'I have of late,' he says, 'but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth, foregone all custom of exercises, and, indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition,' &c. &c. Now what is this, I would fain know, if it be not the natural complaint of a man suffering under the oppression of too much flesh? or, as he afterwards expresses it, with another allusion to his fatness, 'to grunt and sweat, under a weary life?' You have quoted the language of Ophelia in support of the common notions with regard to the personation of this character; but you forget the remarkable expression she uses when describing to her father the unexpected visit of 'Lord Hamlet,' while she was 'sewing in her closet:
'At last, a little shaking of mine arm,
And thrice his head thus waving up and down,
He raised a sigh so piteous and profound,
As it did seem to shatter all his bulk,
And end his being.'
What say you to this?—His bulk! The sigh was so profound, that it seemed to shatter even his bulk! I fancy I might rest my case here, and win my wager, eh? But I am too skilful a general to throw away my strength at the beginning of a battle. If I have not already beaten you from your last strong hold—from your last defence—I have a corps de reserve, which will at once decide the victory. You remember the concluding scene, I suppose—the fencing bout between Hamlet and Laertes? What do you think of the following little bit of dialogue?
'Laertes.—A touch—a touch,—I do confess.
King.—Our son shall win.
Queen.—He's fat and scant of breath. Here,
Hamlet, take my napkin—rub thy brows
——Come, let me wipe thy face!'
Do you not imagine you see the pursy Prince, purring and blowing and sweating with the exertion he had made, and 'larding the lean earth,' like another Falstaff almost? Nay, the very words, 'Come let me wipe thy face,' are addressed by Doll Tearsheet to Falstaff, when he was heated by his pursuit of Pistol:—'Alas, poor ape, how thou sweatest! Come, let me wipe thy face.' Hem!" (quoth Mr. Henry Augustus Constantine Stubbs) "I have done—and pause for a reply."
"You'll be horribly laughed at," said McCrab, "if you do make Hamlet a fat little fellow."
"Shall I?" exclaimed Stubbs, with a contented chuckle, and rubbing his hands "shall I be horribly laughed at?"
"Ay," replied McCrab, "and gloriously gibbetted the next day, in all the papers, for your Sancho Panza exhibition."
"Pooh!" ejaculated Stubbs, "pooh! pooh! what care I for the rascally papers? Don't I know what sort of critics they are who guide the public taste, and fulminate their mighty WE in the columns of a newspaper."
(To be concluded in our next.)