What a "luxury of wo" does this exquisite scene afford? What can Tate produce to counterbalance its value?
The next material alteration is the intrusion of love.[J] Cordelia is in love with Edgar. Why, of what an abominable taste must that man have been possessed, who in his sober senses could think of thus corrupting the noble simplicity of Cordelia's character. As for the language of love here introduced, it is about equal to what might be looked for from such a man. Take for a specimen an exquisitely pithy scene of about ten lines in the commencement of the play, in which Edgar follows Cordelia across the stage with the following pathetic stuff:
"Cordelia, royal fair, turn yet once more,
And ere successful Burgundy receive
The tribute of thy beauties from the king."—
It is too sickening: I cannot go on. Cordelia the amiable and sensible Cordelia, in love with such a whining milk-and-water fool as this! It need not be mentioned, that of course they have several unaccountable interviews, and at the conclusion of the play, Cordelia, all overjoyed at the restoration of her father, marries Edgar!
The last remarkable corruption is in the introduction of a curious piece of stage-machinery, ycleped a confidant, who, loving her mistress more than herself, like a good servant, accompanies her through wind and rain, and every other stage-horror, in a dark night, on a wild-goose chase, without any adequate or apparent object. This confidant is like every other stage-confidant.
How such a wretched jumble of inconsistencies, absurdity, and insipidity, can have been suffered ever to be performed, is a subject at once of wonder and regret. It is surprising, that Garrick never remedied the evil; a man, who had an ardent veneration for Shakspeare, and by his acting and management went some way towards doing him justice. It is rather inconsistent, that he could suffer this play to be performed instead of Shakspeare's, and yet in one of his prologues make the following assertion:
"'Tis my chief wish, my joy, my only plan,
To lose no drop of that immortal man."
Prologue to Catherine and Petruchio.
These lines too are quoted by Mr. Kemble, and prefixed as a motto to his alteration of one of Shakspeare's plays. Is Mr. Kemble not aware, how many drops of Shakspeare are lost, and how much false wine obtruded in their place, in this metamorphosis? It would be an endless task to point out all the beautiful and sublime passages omitted by Tate: but to point out all the absurdities he has introduced, would be more endless. As Mr. Kemble professes, however, such a wish, I will just remind him, before I conclude, of what perhaps he has forgotten, that the present stage-representation of Shakspeare is a disgrace to his memory; that many of his best plays are never performed; that those which are performed are exhibited in so mangled a state, as to be totally unlike Shakspeare; and that not one of his dramas is now exhibited pure and unadulterated.
I am, Mr. Editor, your's, &c.