Mr. Benson, the enterprising young Lessee of the Globe Theatre, on two evenings of the week affords a spectacle of the greatest possible interest to every Shakspearian student. His Hamlet is rather given to noisy declamation when greatly moved, but, barring this, seems to be a thoroughly good-natured harmless creature, who, as fond of dabbling in private theatricals, would probably be hailed as an acquisition at the Meistersingers Club and cognate institutions. The innovations introduced into the action relieve the gloom of the Tragedy. Take for instance, the treatment of Ophelia, which is full of quiet humour. That she should look as old as Hamlet's Mother, is of course, accidental, and is purely attributable to the Globe Gertrude being exceptionally comely and youthful, still it has a very quaint effect. But the idea of the unfortunate maid, after she has committed suicide, being carried à la Guy Faux into the throne-room with a sort of "See what we have found" air, is broadly comic. The funeral with its "maimed rites," is also very funny. Apparently, the Bishop (whose garb, by the way, seems to be a compromise between an eccentric Jewish Rabbi and that of a decidedly demented Roman Catholic Priest) has "contracted" for the procession, with the result of collecting together a heterogeneous company, consisting of modern High Church curates, a few members of some humorous Confraternity, and a sprinkling of other amusing grotesques. But the fun reaches its climax, when the body of Ophelia herself is produced in, what seemed to me to be, a hamper! The above example of what is being done twice a week in Newcastle Street, Strand, will show how well worthy of the scholar's notice is the present revival of Hamlet at the Globe Theatre. As actors, Mr. Benson's company are not entirely satisfactory. As thinkers, however, they are worthy of the greatest possible respect. Under these circumstances, it is to be hoped, that should they ultimately, for sufficient reason, decide to give up acting, they will yet resolve to continue what they do so well, and, in three words—go on thinking.
(Signed)
Bene Vestitus.
Covent Gardening Prospects.—The prospectus of the Italian Opera Season lies on Mr. Punch's table; but though this is its attitude, there is no reason to doubt the truthfulness of its statements. More anon. En attendant, we may say that the stage-management, in the hands of Augustus Druriolanus, is a guarantee for the excellence of the mises-en-scène, of the misses-en-scène, and of the "hits"-en-scène.
MODERN TYPES.
(By Mr. Punch's Own Type-Writer.)
No. V.—THE DILETTANTE.
