ody sat near them--it
would have seemed like an intrusion. Not a syllable was uttered.--They
were two clerks in the Victualling Office!

What I would insist on, then, is this--that for Mr. Kean, or Mr. Young,
or Mr. Macready, or any of those that are 'cried out upon in the top of
the compass' to obtrude themselves voluntarily or ostentatiously
upon our notice, when they are out of character, is a solecism in
theatricals. For them to thrust themselves forward before the scenes, is
to drag us behind them against our will, than which nothing can be more
fatal to a true passion for the stage, and which is a privilege that
should be kept sacred for impertinent curiosity. Oh! while I live, let
me not be admitted (under special favour) to an actor's dressing-room.
Let me not see how Cato painted, or how Caesar combed! Let me not meet
the prompt-boys in the passage, nor see the half-lighted candles stuck
against the bare walls, nor hear the creaking of machines, or the
fiddlers laughing; nor see a Columbine practising a pirouette in sober
sadness, nor Mr. Grimaldi's face drop from mirth to sudden melancholy
as he passes the side-scene, as if a shadow crossed it, nor witness the
long-chinned generation of the pantomime sit twirling their thumbs,
nor overlook the fellow who holds the candle for the moon in the scene
between Lorenzo and Jessica! Spare me this insight into secrets I am not
bound to know. The stage is not a mistress that we are sworn to undress.
Why should we look behind the glass of fashion? Why should we prick the
bubble that reflects the world, and turn it to a little soap and water?
Trust a little to first appearances--leave something to fancy. I observe
that the great puppets of the real stage, who themselves play a grand
part, like to get into the boxes over the stage; where they see nothing
from the proper point of view, but peep and pry into what is going on
like a magpie looking into a marrow-bone. This is just like them. So
they look down upon human life, of which they are ignorant. They see the
exits and entrances of the players, something that they suspect is
meant to be kept from them (for they think they are always liable to be
imposed upon): the petty pageant of an hour ends with each scene long
before the catastrophe, and the tragedy of life is turned to farce under
their eyes. These people laugh loud at a pantomime, and are delighted
with clowns and pantaloons. They pay no attention to anything else.