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Leacock, Stephen, 1869-1944

"Frenzied Fiction"

There I lean against a pillar at the side,
with the skull in the palm of my hand, and look at it in
silence."
"Wonderful!" we said.
"I then cross over to the right of the stage, very
impressively, and seat myself on a plain wooden bench,
and remain for some time, looking at the skull."
"Marvellous!"
"I then pass to the back of the stage and lie down on my
stomach, still holding the skull before my eyes. After
holding this posture for some time, I crawl slowly forward,
portraying by the movement of my legs and stomach the
whole sad history of Yorick. Finally I turn my back on
the audience, still holding the skull, and convey through
the spasmodic movements of my back Hamlet's passionate
grief at the loss of his friend."
"Why!" we exclaimed, beside ourself with excitement,
"this is not merely a revolution, it is a revelation."
"Call it both," said the Great Actor.
"The meaning of it is," we went on, "that you practically
don't need Shakespeare at all."
"Exactly, I do not. I could do better without him.
Shakespeare cramps me. What I really mean to convey is
not Shakespeare, but something greater, larger--how shall
I express it--bigger." The Great Actor paused and we
waited, our pencil poised in the air.


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