[53] As an instance of the manager’s happy touch in a trifling matter, we might name the State trumpets constantly “blaring” and sounding as the King approached, which offered nothing of the usual “super” arrangement. The men seemed to tramp along the street as though conscious of their own dignity, warning those whom it might concern to make way for their high and puissant lord. [54] It was publicly stated that the “mounting” of this play had cost £15,000, and that the weekly expenses were some £800. The manager wrote to contradict this, as being altogether beyond the truth; though, he added, with a sigh, as it were, that he heartily wished the second statement were true, and that the expenses could be put at so low a figure. [55] According to one writer, “an emissary was sent to Rome to acquire a Cardinal’s robe. After some time a friend managed to secure one of the very period, whereupon an exact copy, ‘both of colour and texture,’ was made. A price has to be paid for scenic splendours in the shape of the delays that they necessarily occasion. Thanks to the ingenuity of stage-carpenters and machinists, these delays at the Lyceum are reduced to a minimum time. ‘Henry VIII.’ being not one of the longest of the plays—though it is one-third longer than ‘Macbeth’—the text at the Lyceum has been treated with comparative leniency. ‘Hamlet,’ on the other hand, which comprises nearly four thousand lines, cannot on the modern system of sumptuous mounting possibly be given in anything approaching its entirety.” As a fact, very nearly one-half the play disappears from the modern acting copies. My friend Mr. W. Pollock, in a paper in the _National Review_, has justly urged in this connection that half a ‘Hamlet’ is better than no ‘Hamlet’ at all. [56] To illustrate his most recent productions, the manager is accustomed to issue what is called “a souvenir,” an artistic series of pictures of the scenes, groupings, etc. It may be added, as a proof of the pictorial interest of the Lyceum productions, that in little more than a week after the first performance of ‘Becket’ no fewer than five-and-twenty illustrations, some of great pretension, had appeared in the papers. On the first night of ‘Lear’ a marchioness of artistic tastes was seen making sketches, which were published in an evening paper. [57] One touch, which might escape the superficial, showed the fine, delicate sense of the manager. The scene where Kent is exhibited in the stocks has always suggested something grotesque and prosaic. It was here so dignified in its treatment as to become almost pathetic. I may add here that the deepest strokes of Shakespeare, not being on the surface, are apt to escape us altogether, save when some inspired critic lays his finger on them. The faithful Kent at the close is brought to his master’s notice, who does not recognise him. Here Lamb points out how noble is Kent’s self-sacrifice in not bringing himself to the King’s recollection.