No one, however, anticipated the reality.

On the night fixed for his appearance the house was crowded to suffocation.
The playbills had given out that "an amateur of fashion" would for that
night only perform in the character of Romeo; besides, it was generally
whispered that the rehearsals gave indication of comedy rather than
tragedy, and that his readings were of a perfectly novel character.

The very first appearance of Romeo convulsed the house with laughter.
Benvolio prepares the audience for the stealthy visit of the lover to
the object of his admiration; and fully did the amateur give the expression
to one sense of the words uttered, for he was indeed the true representative
of a thief stealing onwards in the night, "with Tarquin's ravishing
strides," and disguising his face as if he were thoroughly ashamed of
it. The darkness of the scene did not, however, show his real character
so much as the masquerade, when he came forward with hideous grin, and
made what he considered his bow, - which consisted in thrusting his
head forward and bobbing it up and down several times, his body remaining
perfectly upright and stiff, like a toy mandarin with moveable head.

His dress was outre in the extreme: whether Spanish, Italian, or English,
no one could say; it was like nothing ever worn. In a cloak of sky-blue
silk, profusely spangled, red pantaloons, a vest of white muslin, surmounted
by an enormously thick cravat, and a wig a la Charles the Second, capped
by an opera hat, he presented one of the most grotesque spectacles ever
witnessed upon the stage. The whole of his garments were evidently
too tight for him; and his movements appeared so incongruous, that every
time he raised his arm, or moved a limb, it was impossible to refrain
from laughter: but what chiefly convulsed the audience was the bursting
of a seam in an inexpressible part of his dress, and the sudden extrusion