ormer instances, a less violent announcement
of her feelings would be far more forcible and far more natural.
Besides, the actress has not yet reached the time when she wishes to
depict her greatest misery: that climax is reached when she wakes in the
vault and finds not only Tybalt "festering in his shroud," but her
Romeo, her husband, a bloody corpse at her feet. If ever the
ungovernable shriek of dying despair be allowable on the stage, it must
be at such a time, when Juliet falls upon the still warm body. Even the
effect of such a wild performance at the very climax and end of a
tragedy may be questioned; but there can be little doubt that the great
violence exerted before in describing her horrible suspicions merely,
deprives the actress of power to throw increased stress into her
performance as the play moves to its close, and she is confronted with a
far more horrible reality.

As though she feels that her power of melodramatic declamation has been
weakened, Miss Neilson in the graveyard seems to rely more on
melodramatic action. And it is very melodramatic. She rises from Romeo's
body, where she has flung herself, where it would be natural she should
remain to kill herself, and standing at some distance from the corpse,
stabs herself openly with a stage dagger, then falling, drags herself
slowly, accompanied by soft music, back to the body, and there at last
expires. How much more effective would this part become if more were
left to the beholder's imagination! Great artists generally avoid open
stabbing on the stage, as it almost invariably produces the impression
of trickery. We may see the gleaming blade and the arm descending to
strike the blow, but it is best not to see the weapon pretending to
enter the victim's body; and this can always be avoided by proper
management. When Ristori as Medea murdered her children at the base of
Saturn's statue, the other actors grouped around and screened the act
from the view of the audience: when the crowd opened again, the bodies
were discovered lying on the steps of the pedestal. The death of Juliet,
instead of bringing tears to all eyes, as Miss Neilson undoubtedly could
make it do, is thus rendered ineffective by over-acting; and when she
drags herself six or eight feet along the stage, prostrate and stabbed,

Oh, 'tis dreadful there to see
A lady so richly clad as she,
Beautiful, exceedingly!

On the last evening of her engagement Miss Neilson appeare