him in "Regulus," but not
understanding French was but mildly interested. "Ah," said Talma in the
account by James Kenney printed in Henry Angelo's _Pic Nic_, "I was not
very happy to-night; you must see me in 'Scylla.'" "Incidit in Scyllam,"
said Lamb, "qui vult vitare Charybdiro." "Ah, you are a rogue; you are a
great rogue," was Talma's reply. Talma had bought a pair of bellows with
Shakespeare's head on it. Lamb's belief in the authenticity of this
portrait was misplaced, as the following account from _Chambers'
Journal_ for September 27, 1856, will show:--

About the latter part of the last century, one Zincke, an artist of
little note, but grandson of the celebrated enameller of that name,
manufactured fictitious Shakespeares by the score.... The most famous of
Zincke's productions is the well-known Talma Shakespeare, which gentle
Charles Lamb made a pilgrimage to Paris to see; and when he did see,
knelt down and kissed with idolatrous veneration. Zincke painted it on a
larger panel than was necessary for the size of the picture, and then
cut away the superfluous wood, so as to leave the remainder in the shape
of a pair of bellows.... Zincke probably was thinking of "a muse of
fire" when he adopted this strange method of raising the wind; but he
made little by it, for the dealer into whose hands the picture passed,
sold it as a curiosity, not an original portrait, for L5. The buyer,
being a person of ingenuity, and fonder of money than curiosities,
fabricated a series of letters to and from Sir Kenelm Digby, and,
passing over to France, _planted_--the slang term used among the less
honest of the curiosity-dealing fraternity--the picture and the letters
in an old chateau near Paris. Of course a confederate managed to
discover the _plant_, in the presence of witnesses, and great was the
excitement that ensued. Sir Kenelm Digby had been in France in the reign
of Charles I., and the fictitious correspondence _proved_ that the
picture was an original, and had been painted by Queen Elizabeth's
command, on the lid of her favourite pair of bellows!

It really would seem that the more absurd a deception is, the better it
succeeds. All Paris was in delight at possessing an original
Shakespeare, while the London amateurs were in despair at such a
treasure being lost to England. The ingenious person soon found a
purchaser, and a high price recompensed him for his trouble. But more
remains to be told. The happy purchaser took