r her jaws from ear to ear, was particularly
becoming to me, and brought me uncommonly near to prettiness. Mr.
Ellsler groaned, but said nothing, while Mr. Bandmann sneered out an "Ach
Himmel!" shrugged his shoulders, and made me feel real nice and happy.
And when one considers that without me the theatre must have closed or
changed its bill, even while one pities him for the infliction, one feels
he was unnecessarily unkind.

Well, all went quietly until the closet scene--between _Hamlet_, the
_Queen_, and the _Ghost_. It is a great scene, and he had some very
effective business. I forgot Bandmann in _Hamlet_. I tried hard to show
shame, pride, and terror. The applause was rapturous. The curtain fell,
and--why, what, in the name of heaven, was happening to me?

I was caught by the arms and lifted high in air; when I came down I was
crushed to _Hamlet's_ bosom, with a crackling sound of breaking
Roman-pearl beads, and in a whirlwind of "Himmels!" "Gotts!" and things,
I was kissed with frenzied wet kisses on either cheek--on my brow--my
eyes. Then disjointed English came forth: "Oh, you so great, you kleine
apple-cheeked girl! you maker of the fraud--you so great nobody! ach! you
are fire--you have pride--you are a _Gertrude_ who have shame!" More
kisses, then suddenly he realized the audience was still
applauding--loudly and heartily. He grasped my hand, he dragged me before
the curtain, he bowed, he waved his hands, he threw one arm about my
shoulders.

"Good Lord!" I thought, "he isn't going to do it all over again--out
here, is he?" and I began backing out of sight as quickly as possible.

It was a very comforting plaster to apply to my wounds--such a success as
that, but it would have been so much pleasanter not to have received the
wound in the first place.

Mr. Bandmann's best work, I think, was done in "Narcisse." His _Hamlet_
seemed to me too melodramatic--if I may say so. If _Hamlet_ had had all
that tremendous fund of energy, all that love of action, the _Ghost_
need never have returned to "whet his almost blunted purpose." Nor could
I like his scene with his guilty mother. There was not even a _forced_
show of respect for her. There was no grief for her wrong-doing--rather,
his whole tone was that of a triumphant detective. And his speeches,
"Such an act!" and "Look upon this picture!" were given with such
unction--such a sneeringly, perfect comprehension of her lust, as to
become themselves lustful.