actors—I mean all those who tried to act before me have been entirely mistaken in their presentation. They have presented Hamlet as dressed in black velvet.”
“Yes, yes,” we interjected, “in black velvet, yes!”
“Very good. The thing is absurd,” continued the Great Actor, as he reached down two or three heavy volumes from the shelf beside him. “Have you ever studied the Elizabethan era?”
“The which?” we asked modestly.
“The Elizabethan era?”
We were silent.
“Or the pre-Shakespearean tragedy?”
We hung our head.
“If you had, you would know that a Hamlet in black velvet is perfectly ridiculous. In Shakespeare’s day—as I could prove in a moment if you had the intelligence to understand it—there was no such thing as black velvet. It didn’t exist.”
“And how then,” we asked, intrigued, puzzled and yet delighted, “do you present Hamlet?”
“In brown velvet,” said the Great Actor.
“Great heavens,” we exclaimed, “this is a revolution.”
“It is. But that is only one part of my conception. The main thing will be my
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