Footnotes:

So Francis Ardry called upon me, and right glad I was that he did so; and after we had sat conversing for some time, he said, “Did you ever see Kean?”

“No,” said I, “but I have heard both of him and of Belcher. I should like to see either, especially the latter. Where are they to be found?”

“I know nothing of the latter,” said Frank, “but if you wish to see Kean, you had better come with me where he will appear to-night after a long absence. The public are anxiously waiting for him, intending to pelt him off the stage.”

“And what has he done,” said I, “to be pelted off the stage?”

“What is very naughty,” said Frank; “breaking one of the commandments.”

“And did he break the commandment on the stage?”

“No,” said Frank, “I never heard that he broke it on the stage, except in the way of his profession.”

“Then, what have the public to do with the matter?”

“They think they have,” said Frank.

And then we went out together to see Shakespeare’s “Richard,” or rather we went to see the man who was to personate Shakespeare’s “Richard”—and so did thousands; we did not see him, however. There was a great tumult, I remember, in the theatre. The man who was to perform the part of Richard, and who it was said was the best hand for interpreting the character that had ever appeared on the stage, had a short time before been involved in a disgraceful affair, and this was to be his first appearance on the stage since the discovery. The consequence was that crowds flocked to the theatre with the firm intention of expressing their indignation. “We will pelt his eyes out,” said a man who sat beside me in the pit—for we sat in the pit—and who bore the breach of all the commandments in his face. The actor in question, however, who perhaps heard the threats which were vented against him, very prudently kept out of the way, and the manager coming forward informed the public that another would perform the part—whereupon there was a great uproar. “We have been imposed upon,” said the individual who sat beside me. “I came here for nothing else than to pelt that scoundrel off the stage.” The uproar, however, at length subsided, and the piece commenced. In a little time there was loud applause. The actor who had appeared in place of the other was performing. “What do you clap for?” said I to the individual by my side, who was clapping most of all. “What do I clap for?” said the man. “Why, to encourage Macready, to be sure. Don’t you see how divinely he acts? why, he beats Kean hollow. Besides that, he’s a moral man, and I like morality.” “Do you mean to say,” said I, “that he was never immoral?” “I neither know nor care,” said the man; “all I know is that he has never been found out. It will never do to encourage a public man who has been found out. No, no! the morality of the stage must be seen after.”

Mas tinn no slán atharlaigheas féin, Do ghluàis me trá, agus bfhéirde mé, Air cuáirt an Seóin le sócal dfhághail, “An Stafartach saímh, nach gnáth gan chéill.”