On Wednesday, October 11, 1882, the delightful piece was brought out. From the excellent acting of the two principal performers, and the beautiful “setting” of the whole, it was destined to become one of the most popular and acceptable of the Lyceum _répertoire_. By a curious delusion, owing no doubt to the recollection of the lavish splendours of ‘Romeo and Juliet,’ some critics pronounced that it had been brought out with but a moderate display of scenic resources. The truth was that the play had been “mounted” with as much state as it would properly bear. Some scenes were equipped in an unusually lavish and superb style. The general effect, however, was harmonious; indeed, the happy tact of the manager was never displayed to such advantage as in seizing on what might be termed the proper key of the piece. When we recall, with a pleasant enjoyment, these various Lyceum spectacles, we find that there is no confusion of one with the other, that each has a special, distinct note, and thus is started a train of impressions, delightful for their variety, which enrich the chambers of the memory. There was one scene which, for its splendour and originality, was to be talked of for many a day, viz., the beautiful interior of a church at Messina—the “Church Scene,” as it was called. The art displayed here, the combination of “built-up” scenery with “cloths,” the rich harmonious tintings, the ecclesiastical details, the metal-work, altars, etc., made an exquisite picture.[32] The well-known passage of the interrupted bridal was “laid out” with extraordinary picturesqueness, much emphasis being given to the religious rites. It was felt, however, that the genuflections before the altar were introducing rather too awful a suggestion, though the intention was, no doubt, reverent. It must be admitted by all whose memories wander back to that performance, that the vision of this “Church Scene” rises before them with an almost pathetic significance, owing in some part to the touching, sympathetic acting of Miss Millward. By this emphasizing of the state and publicity of the scene, the crowds and rich dresses and ecclesiastical robes, the “distressful” character of such a trial for a young bride was brought out in a very striking way. All eyes, as it may be conceived, were drawn to the figures of Benedick and Beatrice, as portrayed by Irving and Ellen Terry. Their scenes were followed with a delighted interest, and their gay encounters of wit and flirtation gave unalloyed pleasure. Irving threw a Malvolian gravity over the character, alternated by a certain jocoseness.