Like all the other
things of the theatre, they are not what they pretend to be, nor what
they would have the audience think them. The "book of the play" is
something of a mystery. Let us take for granted, however, that it is
rarely interesting to the reader, that it is not one of those volumes
which, when once taken up, cannot again be laid down--which thrill,
enchain, and absorb. For otherwise what might happen? When some
necessary question of the play had to be considered, the actor,
over-occupied with the volume in his hand, fairly tied and bound by
its chain of interest, might forget his part--the book might ruin the
play. Of course such an accident could not be permitted. The
stage-book is bound to be a dull book, however much it may seem to
entertain Brutus and Henry, the Stranger and Bisarre, Hamlet and
Joseph Surface, Imogen and Lydia Languish. It is in truth, a book for
all stage-readers. Now it is a prayer-book--as in the case of Richard
III.; and now, in "The Hunchback," it is "Ovid's Art of Love."
According to the prompt-book of the play, Modus is to enter "with a
neatly-bound book.
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