CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE LIBI^MP JAN 2 fKB 7 1960 M P 960 J Y ^^jaso ^p PRINTED irflU. S. M NO. 23233 Cornell University Library The original of tiiis bool< is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013146554 Cornell University Library PR 2890.T65 The views about Hamlet, and other essays 3 1924 013 146 554 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET AND OTHER ESSAYS THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET AND OTHER ESSAYS BY ^^ ALBERT Hf TOLMAN BOSTON ASTD NEW TOEK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY ^\)t Stiber^ibe pw^0, Cambcitige 1904 ^ COPYRIGHT I9D4 BY ALBERT H. TOLMAN ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Published Aprils tqo4 TO MY HOME-MAKER PREFACE In preparing this book for the press, I have been greatly helped by the valuable criticisms and sug- gestions of my friend Mrs. Ella Adams Moore, of The University of Chicago. I wish to express to the following persons also my gratitude for gen- erous assistance: Mr. Edward Tolman, Dr. Hor- ace Howard Furness, Dr. W. J. EoKe, Eev. F. E. Dewhurst, Professor J. M. Manly, Professor F. J. MiUer, Professor F. A. Blackburn, Professor G. C. Howland, Professor Camillo von Klenze, Pro- fessor A. M. Elliott, Professor Anna S. Morse, Dr. Eleanor P. Hammond, Miss Maude L. Radford, and Mr. S. B. Gass. A. H. T. The Univebsity of Chioaoo, February 12, 1904. CONTENTS THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET 1 I. The Command to Eevenge . . .5 n. " Taint not thy mind " 11 III. "Nob contbivb against thy motheb aught" 32 IV. The Traces in " Hamlet " of an Oij>eb Plat 33 V. Hamlet as the Mouthpiece op Shakespeabb 41 Conclusion 44 THE AUTHOR'S COMMENT IN " VANITY FAIE " 49 STUDIES IN MACBETH 71 I. One Phase of Macbeth's Chaeacter . . 73 II. The Knocking at the Gate .... 79 ni. Why is the Sleep- Walking Scene in Prose ? 83 IV. The Wobds of the Sleep-Walking Scene . 84 V. The Show op Eight Kings ... 88 VI. The Weird Sisters 89 VII. Did Shakespeare represent the Weird Sis- ters AS Witches ? 95 LANIER'S "SCIENCE OF ENGLISH VERSE" 105 SHAKESPEARE'S STAGE AND MODERN ADAP- TATIONS. With three illustrations ... 115 THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF ENGLISH SOUNDS . 141 THE FINNISH "KALEVALA" AND THE EPIC QUESTION ... 173 HAMLET'S " WOO 'T DRINK UP EISEL ? " . . 189 SHAKESPEARE AND "THE TAMING OF THE SHREW" . . 203 X CONTENTS SHAKESPEAEE'S "LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON" • 243 L The View that the Play called "Love's Laboue's Won" has been Lost . . 255 II. " Love's Labour 's Lost " .... 257 III. "A MnJSUMMBK-NlGHT's Dbbam " . . 262 IV. "The Tempest" . . ... 268 V. "All's Well That Ends Well" . . 270 VI. "Much Ado About Nothing" . • 282 VIL " The Tamiho of the Shrew "... 292 Conclusion ... .... 311 ENGLISH SURNAMES 315 Plaoe-Names 320 Surnames from Baptismal Names . . . 322 Surnames of Rank, Office, and Occupation . 328 Nicknames 380 Conclusion 335 THE STYLE OF ANGLO-SAXON POETRY . . 337 The Metre 339 I. Conciseness and Energy .... 343 II. Repetition of Thought with Variation of Expression 345 III. Disconnectedness . . ... 361 rV. Freedom from the Sensual and Idealiza- tion OF THE Common 370 V. Seriousness 376 VI. Tenderness .... . . 378 Conclusion . 381 NATURAL SCIENCE IN A LITERARY EDUCA- TION 383 yWh& POE ACCURATE? 397 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET i "Veeily, given a printing-press upon German soil," says Dr. Fumess, "and lo! an essay on Hamlet." England and the United States, as might be expected, vie with Germany in contributing to the literature of this play. AH the sister nations of Europe, too, have their own essays on Hamlet. Numberless are those who confidently take up the task enjoined on Horatio by the dying Prince : — " Eeport me and my cause aright." . It behooves one, therefore, who would put forth another paper upon Hamlet to show cause at the outset why he should not be looked upon as a pub- lic enemy. My apology must be that it is not so much my purpose to write a new essay upon this play, as it is to classify and interpret the essays which have already been written. I desire to lighten the bur- den for those who study the literature concerning 1 Reprinted with changes from vol. xiii. (1898) of the PuUica- tions of the Modern Language Association, BaltimoTe. The writer has been constantly indebted to the great Vario- rum edition of Harnlet, by Dr. H. H. Furness, two vols., Phila^ delphia, 1877. Each criticism here referred to can be found in that work unless otherwise stated. Much help has also been received from Professor Loening'a admirable book, Die Hamlet-TragSdie Shakespeares, Stuttgart. 4 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET Hamlet, and at the same time to help those who are simply readers of the play. Attention will he confined for the most part to the central mystery of the drama, namely. Why does Hamlet delay to revenge the murder of his father, and so to fulfill the conmiand of the Ghost ? Was his delay real, or only apparent? Was it blameworthy, or blame- less? Three separate questions should be borne in mind in discussing the central problem of this drama. First, how many possible lines of explanation can be found for what seems to be the weak and pro- crastinating conduct of Hamlet ? Practically the same as the preceding, so far as we can see, is a sec- ond inquiry. What theories of the play have as a matter of fact been put forward by critics ? As we proceed, and especially at the close of the paper, a third question will naturally present itself, namely, How far are the various explanations that have been offered, or partial explanations, compatible with one another, or even complementary ; and how far are they antagonistic, or even completely irreconcilable ? The failure of critics to keep this question clearly before them has perhaps caused as much confusion as any fact connected with the study of the drama. A commentator has often sought to overthrow the opinion of a predecessor by pre- senting considerations entirely compatible with those which had been emphasized by his fellow-inter- preter. THE COMMAND TO REVENGE 5 I. THE COMMAND TO REVENGE A threefold command is laid upon Hamlet by tte ghost of his father : — " If thou didst ever thy dear father love — (1) Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder. But, howsoever thou pursuest this act, (2) Taint not thy mind, (3) nor let thy soul contrive Against thy mother aught." ^ I. V. 23-86. Let us direct our attention, for a time, exclusively to the first injunction of the Ghost, the solemn adjuration to revenge, leaving the remaining com- mands to be considered later. The weight of emphasis seems plainly to rest upon this first man- date. The two qualifying commands come at the end of the closing speech of the Ghost ; and the first one of them, " Taint not thy mind," is not present at all in the earliest version of the play, the First Quarto. ^ It is possible to hold that what has been printed above as the second' and third commands is really a single mandate. This interpretation may be defended. A regular meaning of " nor " is and not. The words " Taint not thy mind, nor let [= and let not] thy soul contrive against thy mother aught " may be looked . upon as two parallel forms of a single command, the first ex- pression being more general and the second more specific. This is substantially the explanation of L. Pr. in a review of this paper in the Jahrbuch of the German Shakespeare Society for 1898 (vol. xxxiv. p. 416). Compare these words from the Twenty-Fourth Psalm : " Lift up your heads, ye gates ; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors." It seems fair to say, however, that the pre- sumption is against this unaccustomed use of " nor." 6 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET At the beginning of our inquiry a difficulty meets us which has probably caused more or less trouble to every student of " Hamlet." What is the moral standing-groimd of the play ? What are its ethical presuppositions ? What standards of right does it take for granted ? Ought Hamlet to have accepted revenge, — an immediate, violent, bloody revenge, — as his one, all-inclusive duty ? Those students of the play who make especially prominent the iirst command of the Ghost say " Yes." Should he have accepted the testimony of the Ghost as final and conclusive ? In any case, should the conduct of the King when witnessing the play have put an end to all doubt and hesitations, and led to imme- diate revenge ? Those who accent the command to revenge wiU say " Yes " to one or both of these questions. According to this view, Hamlet is to be conceived as living at a time when the right and duty of blood-revenge is unquestioned. We are to accept on this point the passionate standards of the natural man. Hamlet is driven forward by the command of his father and by his own burning desire for vengeance. His task is, as Taine puts it, " to go quietly, and, with premeditation, plunge a sword into a breast." If we adopt this view of the situation and of Hamlet's character, what are the possible explana- tions of his delay in securing vengeance ? The fol- lowing have been more or less clearly put forward by various critics : — 1. An excessive tendency to reflection. c£Ve THE COMMAND TO REVENGE 7'eakness of will. 3. An unhealtliy or a disturbed emotional nature, or both. TMs explanation takes two forms : — a. A deep-seated melancholy is a fundamental characteristic of Hamlet's nature. h. The discovery by Hamlet of the Ues, hypo- crisies, infidelities of life has brought with it a sickness of heart which paralyzes the powers of action. That is, an extreme moral sensitiveness is the important emo- tional quality. It is clear that these two statements, a and 6, do not antagonize each other ; it is entirely possible to accept them bpth. i4> Suspicion of the Ghost, and doubt of the iiL truth of his revelation. C_§/ An overpowering love for Ophelia. 6. A clear or a lurking consciousness of mental derangement. 7. Interest in playing the role of madman. 8. A wish to be a reformer, to set right his time. 9. Bodily infirmity. (JO) Cowardice. The first three of the above explanations are closely affiliated; they naturally complement one another. They agree in representing Hamlet's dif- ficulty as personal, subjective : the first suggestion would make the defect in his nature an intellectual one ; the second would make it volitional ; the third, emotional, temperamental. The attentive reader 8 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET will note that these three separate suggest^Tcauses may fairly be looked upon to some desj^e as dif- ferent ways of saying the same thin^T By an ex- cessive tendency to reflection we mean excessive in proportion to the activity of the omer powers, es- pecially the powers of action ; by weakness of will we may mean simply weakness in proportion to the activity of the other powers of the mind under the given circumstances. To say that a man reflects too much is practically to say that he decides, acts too little. And accompanying all reflection and voli- tion, but deeper than they, are the great tides of , the emotional being and the Gulf Stream of tem- perament. It is very natural, therefore, if any one of these first three suggestions is accepted, to give some weight to all of them. Students of the play, how- ever, have often championed a single one of these considerations, without recognizing the others. It is along the lines just indicated that the first great critics of Shakespeare interpreted the char- acter of the Danish Prince. Coleridge pointed out Hamlet's " great, almost enormous, intellectual ac- tivity," — what Vischer calls the " excess in Hamlet of a reflective, meditative habit of mind." Among the many scholars who have followed the great English interpreter in making prominent the tend- ency of Hamlet to lose himself in reflection, I will mention Hazlitt, Dowden, and Hermann Grimm. Taine and others, who speak of Hamlet's " too lively imagination," also belong here. THE COMMAND TO REVENGE 9 Goethe, in his famous criticism of the play, ap- parently intended to attribute to Hamlet both weak- ness of volition and extreme moral sensitiveness; but infirmity of wiU seems to have been most pro- minent in his thought. To him the tragedy tells the story of " a gj^at deed laid upon a soul unequal to the performailje of it." Richard Grant White characterizes Hamlet as " constitutionally irreso- lute, purposeless, and procrastinating." Lowell and Schlegel also emphasize his lack of will power. Loening looks upon Hamlet's melancholy tem- perament as the fundamental fact in his nature. His tendency to lose himself in gloomy reflection and especially in bitter self-condemnation, his un- willingness to make decisions, and, his inability to set before himself and carry out any consistent, premeditated line of effective action, — these char- acteristics Loening considers to be but natural manifestations and accompaniments of this melan- choly temperament. This iuterpreter wisely makes Hamlet's emotional nature the primary fact. " Thought is deeper than all speech, Feeling deeper than all thought." Loening points out that "great intellectual activity" does not necessarily tend to keep one from acting, and calls to mind Caesar's judgment upon Cassius, — " He thinks too much : such men are dangerous." A settled, constitutional aversion toward decision and action seems to be the deeper cause underneath Hamlet's " excessive tendency to reflection." 10 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET A German critic, Sievers, holds that Hamlet is kept from acting hy what I have above called ex- treme moral sensitiveness. Sievers says : — " Hamlet is indeed a costly vase fuU of lovely flowers, for he is a pure human being, penetrated by enthusi- asm for the Great and the Beauti^, living whoUy in the Ideal, and, above all things, fidlof faith in man; and the vase is shattered into atoms from within, — this and just this Goethe truly felt, — but what causes the ruin of the vase is not that the great deed of avenging a father's murder exceeds its strength, but it is the discovery of the falseness of man, the discovery of the contradiction between the ideal world and the actual, which suddenly confronts him : ... in short, Hamlet • perishes because the gloomy background of life is sud- denly unrolled before him, because the sight of this robs him of his faith in life and in good, and because he now cannot act." It is an unimportant fact that the present writer agrees vnth the innumerable company who have accepted some form of that general theory of the play with which we have so far been dealing. Some mediation is necessary, to be sure, between the various views that have been outlined. More- over, this line of interpretation needs, I think, to be supplemented at a number of points ; but it should not be given up. We should be especially careful not to look upon Hamlet's character as de- fective solely upon the intellectual, the volitional, or the emotional side. This drama, like real life, knows nothing of the sharp lines of division between inteUeet, feeling, and will, once dear to psychology. THE COMMAND TO REVENGE 11 It is well to remind ourselves before we go far- ther that Hamlet does act with great decision and energy at several points in the play. Those who accept the view of Werder, to be explained later, contend that Hamlet's true character manifests itself unchecked by circumstances in these vigorous measures. Loening's explanation of these out- breaks, and also of the frequent violeace of Ham- let's language, is that the Prince has in his nature a passionate strain, " a choleric element." Under sudden provocation, and with an opportunity for action immediately before him, Hamlet can be bold and decisive. He warns Laertes, in the struggle over the body of Ophelia, that there is in him " something dangerous, which let thy wiseness fear." We pass now from these more fundamental sug- gestions to the fourth possible ground for delay in- dicated above, Hanilet!s^ fear that the Ghost ma^ have deceived him. ^This is usually accepted as having much weight. Just before the close of Act II. the hero says : — " The spirit that I have seen May he the devil : and the devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape ; yea, and perhaps Out of my weakness and my melancholy, As he is very potent with such spirits, Abuses me to damn me." n. ii. 627-32. Loening points out, however, that all the remain- ing portions of the soliloquy in which these words occur take for granted the entire truth of the Ghost's revelation and the guilt of the King. This 12 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET fact seems to show that Hamlet's suspicion of the Ghost is only a pretense, in which he tries to find both a justification for the two months of inaction that have elapsed since the revelation of the Ghost was made to him, and an additional reason in favor of the proposed play. The next reason for delay that has been sug- gested is connected with the Jove, interest of the play. At the beginning of Act II. Ophelia tells Polonius of the meeting " so piteous and profound " which has just taken place between the Prince and herself. This passage, with others, has suggested the opinion that the devotion of the hero to her affects him so deeply, so absorbs his soul, that it furnishes an additional explanation of his dilatori- ness. A certain Dr. Woelffel probably stands alone in looking upon " the failure of Ophelia to respond to Hamlet's love in all its depth and ardor " as " the turning point in the tragedy." Goethe's evil interpretation of the character of Ophelia seems to me entirely uncalled for ; and some other German critics have been eager to outdo their master. It may be that Goethe's explana- tions prove some impurity of mind — but not in Ophelia. For us, as for Laertes, " from her fair and unpolluted flesh " the " violets spring." But little space can be given here to what Furness calls " the one great insoluble mystery of Hamlet's sanity." The various opinions range all the way from the conviction of Hudson and others, that the Prince is not sane, to the view of Fumess, " that THE COMMAND TO REVENGE 13 he is neither mad nor pretends to be." Lowell speaks of Hamlet's "perpetual inclination to irony " ; and Weiss would make this the explana- tion of most things that have seemed to many to indicate a feigning of insanity. I accept the usual view that Hamlet is not mad and that Jie does feign madness ; lack of sanity is not therefore for me an explanation of his delay. Hamlet's soid is indeed violently agitated by the words of the Ghost ; but the pretense that his mind is diseased seems to me a device, taken up at first on the impulse of the moment, by means of which he both avoids decisive action and makes it possible to give safe though veiled utterance to his tumultu- ous feelings. , Hamlet's words to Laertes before the fencing-bout (V. ii. 237-255) constitute one of the strongest arguments of those who insist that he is deranged. The force of this speech, however, is not entirely clear. That one's words shall convey the truth to the listener may well be called a higher standard of veracity than that one shall merely teU the truth; and it can fairly be argued that, even if Hamlet knows himself to have been entirely sane, his words are well adapted to convey to Laertes the truth about his responsibility for the death of Polonius. A few students not only accept the mental de- rangement of the hero as a fact, but consider it to be so constant, serious, and deep-seated as to fur- nish the sole and the sufficient explanation for all 14 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET the irregularities of his conduct. An article by Mr. Oakeshott seems to advocate this opinion.^ Except for those who take the somewhat extreme position just indicated, the question whether Ham- let's madness is real or pretended is perhaps not of central importance in the interpretation of the drama. Grimm and Lewes have argued very for- cibly that it is not possible to make up one's mind on this point, and that Shakespeare did not intend to have us do so. I believe that the debate on this topic concerns largely the use of terms, the defini- tion of madness ; and that it often indicates no fun- damental difference of opinion between the opposing sides. Hamlet is sane enough to be the responsible hero of a great tragedy. He is not sane enough to be pronounced rational by the experts : few are. The following words of Edwin Booth have great force, and they come from one to whom all are glad to listen : — " To my duU thinking, Hamlet tjrpifies, uneven or im- balanced genius. But who can tell us what genius of any sort whatever means ? The possessor, or rather the pos- sessed, if he is, as in Hamlet's case, more frequently its slave than its master, is irresistibly and often uncon- sciously swayed by its capriciousness. Great minds to madness closely are allied. Hamlet's mind, at the very edge of frenzy, seeks its relief in ribaldry. For a like reason would my father open, so to speak, the safety valve of levity in some of his most impassioned moments. At the instant of intense emotion, when the spectators 1 " Hamlet. Prom a Student's Notebook," The Westminster Review. Reprinted in the Eclectic Magazine for August, 1897. THE COMMAND TO REVENGE 15 were enthralled by his magnetic influence, the trage- dian's overwrought brain would take refuge from its own threatening storm beneath the jester's hood, and while turned from the audience he would whisper some silliness or ' make a face.' When he left the stage, however, no allusion to such seeming frivolity was permitted. His fellow-actors who perceived these trivialities ignorantly attributed his conduct at such times to lack of feeling, whereas it was extreme excess of feeling which thus forced his brain back from the very verge of madness. Only those who have known the torture of severe mental tension can appreciate the value of that one little step from the sublime to the ridiculous. My close acquaint- ance with so fantastic a temperament as was my father's so accustomed me to that in him that much of Hamlet's ' mystery ' seems to me no more than idiosyncrasy." ^ Probably all who think that Hamlet makes a pre- tense of madness will agree that the interest which he takes in this feigning helps to keep him from positive action. An English writer, Boas, says : — " Hamlet becomes absorbed in the intellectual fascina- tion of his r61e ; he revels La the opportunities it gives him of bewildering those about him, of letting fly shafts of mockery, here, there, and everywhere. But these verbal triumphs are Pyrrhic victories, which draw him further and further from his legitimate task." " That Hamlet, shocked by the evil about him, de- sires to open the eyes of his generation to its cor<-^ ruptness and to act as a reformer, has been thought- to be implied in the couplet, — ^ Quoted in the Chicago Becord-HercUd for July 2, 1903. — ' ^ Shakspere and His Predecessors, New York, 1896, p. 398. 16 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET " Jhe time is out of joint: O cursed spite, That ever I was bom to set it right I " ~ I. V. 188-9. Profes sor Brandl thinks that this desire has force in keeping the hero back from action. ^ The words seem to the present writer to be a violent expres- sion of Hamlet's antipathy toward the task which the Ghost has laid upon him. It is believed by some that bodily weakness helps to keep the Prince from action. The Queen says of Hamlet at the fencing-bout, " He 's fat, and scant of breath " (V. ii. 298). There are other expres- sions in the play which have been taken to indicate that the Prince is not sound of body. Loening thinks that the evidence points to an internal fat. ness, fatness of the heart ; and he believes that this physical infirmity helps to explain the inactivity of the hero. This word " fat " has been a stone of stumbling. Although there is no authority for any other word, . " fat " has been looked upon either as a misprint for " hot " or " faint," or as referring to the physi- cal appearance of Burbage, the first actor to play this role. At least one interpreter, Kohrbach, has looked upon Hamlet as a plain coward, and has found in this fact alone the decisive reason for his inac- tion. While other scholars make this consideration less prominent, there are many who find in the Prince some measure of cowardice. 1 Shakspere, BerUn, 1894, pp. 151, 154. TAINT NOT THY MIND 17 II. "TAINT NOT THY MIND" If we look now at the second command of the Ghost, — " Bnt, hoirsoeTer thou porsnest this act, Taint not thy mind," I. V. 84-5. what further considerations offer themselves as pos- sible explanations of Hamlet's delay? Certainly we must consider the following : — l._A filial desire and purpose to obey this in- junction, " Taint not thy mind." 2. Conscientious scruples against blood-revenge, and an instinctive shrinking from it as barbarous. - 3. A special aversion to killing one who, though stained with crime, is the brother of Hamlet's father, the husband of his mother, and his King. 4. A sensitive fear of the Prince that the at- tainment of the crown is his real object, or wiU seem to be. 5. .A_clear perception on the part of Hamlet that, if he shall kill the King, he wUl be unable to justify the act in the eyes of the Danish people. ^''T^ A desire to expose, disgrace, and dethrone thfe-King, and so punish him before the world, and a belief that this is what the Ghost really commands. We have already noted that some scholars do not consider that the words " Taint not thy mind " constitute a separate mandate, but that they are merely introductory to the injunction, " nor let thy soul contrive against thy mother aught." The 18 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET acceptance of this view would modify some things that will he here said ; but the considerations taken up in this second division of the paper would neces- sarily receive attention, however we interpret these words. AU will admit the force of the first motive men- tioned, Hamlet's desire to obey this injunction of his father. The difficulty lies solely in interpreting the command. The second ground suggested as an explanation of Hamlet's conduct is that he has con- scientious scruples against blood-revenge and an in- stinctive aversion to it. If we accept these motives as conceivable and consistent with the play, then Hamlet finds himself confronted with an intensely tragic dilemma. The long-accepted interpretation of his character put forth by Goethe and Coleridge, taken by itself, seems deficient in dramatic power. Professor Corson well asks, "Where is the drar matic interest to come from, with such an irre- deemable do-nothing for the hero of the drama as Coleridge represents Hamlet to be ? " ^ •The opinion that Hamlet is held back from action by conscientious scruples was forcibly put by a writer in the " Quarterly Review " in 1847. Hamlet accuses himself either of " Bestial oblivioD, or some craven scruple Of thinking too precisely on the event," IV. iv. 40-1. and he seems to reveal his secret questionings of heart when he asks Horatio, even after the King has tried to take his life, — 1 Introduction to Shakespeare, Boston, 1893, p. 218. TAINT NOT THY MIND 19 " is 't not perfect conscience, To quit him with this aim ? " V. ii. 67-8. Loening seems to have shown, however, that the context forbids us to look upon the line, — " Thus conscience does make cowards of ns all," m. i. 83. as a proof that conscientious scruples keep Ham- let from acting. But the line does imply that the Prince is sensitive to moral considerations. The opinion just outlined was set forth in the " Quarterly Review " as opposed to the explana- tion " that the thinking part of Hamlet predomi- nates over the active " ; but it is not necessary to look upon the two interpretations as antagonistic. Both together may be better than either alone. A great objection to the view now before us is that it makes the Ghost assign to Hamlet what may fairly be called an impossible task; but is there not a contradiction at this point in the play too deeply fixed to be denied or overlooked ? If Hamlet determines at the same time to secure re- venge and to keep his mind untainted, has \e not adopted contradictory principles of action, if we give to the words " revenge " and " taint not thy mind " their natural meaning ? He who sets be- fore him as his chosen task the accomplishment of blood-revenge must fling to the winds aU other considerations ; he who is determined, howsoever he pursues his course, not to taint his mind, can- not seek that " wild justice," revenge. Whetiher or 20 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET not Hamlet clearly perceives the fact, may not this inherent contradiction, this fixed dilemma, be an important cause for his delay ? By this explana- tion, we have an irresistible force, the passionate desire for vengeance, encountering an immovable obstacle in Hamlet's conscience, made more firm by the warning conmiand, " Taint not thy mind." Is not this the tragic conflict ? In this view Hamlet is not " the natural man," neither is he the Christian minister of justice. He is " in a strait " betwixt the two, yielding now to one impulse, now to another. It is noticeable that both Christian and natural sentiments appear freely in this play, and almost side by side : — " Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long." I. i. 158-60. " Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder." I. V. 25. I am very glad that Taine has said so bluntly that Hamlet's task is simply " to go quietly, and, with premeditation, plunge a sword into a breast." How many readers believe that all the ethical pre- suppositions of the play, its entire moral atmos- phere, find adequate expression in this doctrine of assassination? Moreover, if Hamlet's task is so simple, there seems to be no fitness in the words, " howsoever thou pursuest this act." After a most elaborate argument on this point, Loening accepts as his own the following statement of Vischer : — TAINT NOT THY MIND 21 " That blood-revenge is an unquestioned and sacred duty is absolutely taken for granted in this tragedy ; the man who opposes this opinion has no longer any claim to understand the play." Loening admits, however, that the mediaeval church looked upon private revenge as sinful. The doctrine of Purgatory, too, came from the Church. What wonder that the Ghost, escaping from pur- gatorial fires, speaks to Hamlet words of warning as well as words of incitement? The command " Taint not thy mind " is not in the First Quarto ; why is it present in the later fersions ? What do these words mean, if Hamlet is free to put an end to the King's life in any way that he may choose? There can be no doubt, I think, that Shake- speare practically takes for granted in his plays the moral standards of his own age. Just as we are to explain from the peculiar legal status of cer- tain English cities of Shakespeare's own day Shy- lock's words, — " let the danger light Upon your charter and your city's freedom," — Merchant of Venice, IV. i. 38-9. so we are to interpret our play, on the whole, by the moral standards of Shakespeare's England. Francis de BeUeforest, a French gentleman, prob- ably wrote his version of the story of Hamlet in 1570. This version is believed to be the source from which Shakespeare took the story. The earliest known copy of the English translation of Belleforest bears the date 1608. Though BeUe- 22 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET forest distinctly states that he is giving an account of an early time when the Danes were " barbarous and uncivil," the following passage from the Eng- lish version, one of several that could be cited, will show that the incompatibility between Christianity and the finest morality on the one hand, and the practice of blood-revenge on the other, was clearly felt in Shakespeare's day, and could well be sug- gested to him by the very work from which he is supposed to have taken this particular story : — " . . .he that will follow this course must speak and do all things whatsoever that are pleasing and accept- able to him whom he meaneth to deceive . . . ; for that is rightly to play and counterfeit the fool, when a man is constrained to dissemble and kiss his hand whom in heart he could wish a hundred feet depth under the earth, so he might never see tiim more, if it were not a thing wholly to be disliked in a Christian, who by no means ought to have a bitter gall or desires infected with revenge." ^ The beginning of Bacon's essay on Kevenge also helps to support the opinion that in Shakespeare's time blood-revenge was sometimes looked upon as an unworthy thing. The essay opens with these words : " Revenge is a kind of wild justice, which the more man's nature runs to, the more ought law to weed it out." Moreover, the Prince can in no way bring the King to any sort of judicial duel, or judgment of God, but must kiU him treacherously, must stab ^ Furuess, vol. ii. p. 95. TAINT NOT THY MIND 23 him in the back, if not literally, at least practically. This fact would make actual blood-revenge very distasteful to one possessing real fineness of feel- ing. What wonder if the warning cry rings in Hamlet's ears, " Howsoever thou pursuest this act, taint not thy mind ! " The view that Hamlet is held back from acting by " the secret voice of conscience, and the shrink- ing of a delicate soid from an assassination in cold blood" is supported by Eichardson and Ulrici, by passages in the earlier writings of Hudson, and by the French critics Mezieres and Courdaveaux. The last writer says : " Seek, outside of this expla- nation, one that explains everything, and you will seek in vain." The third suggestion noted above, that Hamlet has a special aversion to killing his father's brother, his mother's husband, and his King, will seem to most persons about as wrong-headed a view as could weU be put forward. Certainly it is most natural to look upon these considerations, especially the last two, as the strongest incitements to revenge. However, those who make much of the fineness of Hamlet's nature are liable at times to approximate this untenable position before they are aware of doing so. Some commentators believe that Hamlet's fear that the crown shall seem to be his object is an im- portant reason for his delay. Some passages in the latter part of the play may be adduced in support of this position. Hamlet says, — "I eat the air. 24 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET promise-crammed " (HI. ii. 99) ; and later in the same scene complains, — " I lack adTancement. Bosencrantz. How can that 1)6, when yon have the Toice of the king himself for yonr succession in Denmark ? Hamlet. Ay, bnt sir, ' While the grass grows,' — the proverb is something mnsty." UL ii. 354-9. Personal disappointment may add to Ms bitter- ness when th^ Prince calls Claudius " a vice of kings ; A cntpurse of the empire and the mle. That from a shelf the precious diadem stole, And put it in his pocket I " m. iv. 98-101. To his bosom friend Horatio, Hamlet is very ex- plicit. It is a crowning wrong to himseU that the King has " Fopp'd in between the election and [his] hopes." V. ii. 65. The most important theory of this drama that has been put forward in recent years explains Ham- let's conduct entirely from the nature of his task. According to this view, his mission is to depose and disgrace the King, and thus set matters right before the world, and not merely to put an end to his life. The adulterer, murderer, and usurper inust taste the full bitterness of a felon's death. This theory, suggested by Ziegler in 1803, put with great force by Klein in 1846, and accepted by L. Schipper in 1862, was given full and adequate ex- pression by Karl Werder in 1875. Hudson and Professor Corson accept this general position. TAINT NOT THY MIND 25 I mil let Werder present his own case. He "I deny, first of all, . . . that it is possible for Hamlet to dare to do what the critics . . . almost unanimously require of him. . . . The situation of things, the force of circumstances, the nature of his task, directly forbid it. . . . We are in the secret, we sit, as the public, in the council of the gods. But the Danes j do not know that Claudius is the murderer of his bro-| ther, and are never to be convinced of it if Hamleli slays the King, and then appeals for his vindicatior to a private communication which a ghost has made tc him. . . . " But what now has Hamlet in truth to do ? What is his real task ? A very sharply defined duty. . . . Not to crush the King at once, . . . but to bring him\ to confession, to unmask, and convict him : this is his t first, nearest, inevitable duty. As things stand, truth I and justice can be known only from one mouth, the mouth of the crowned criminal, ... or they remain hidden and buried till the last day. This is the point ! Herein lie the terrors of this tragedy, — its enigmatical horror, its inexorable misery ! The encofflned secrecy of the unprovable crime : this is the subterranean spring, whence flows its power to awaken fear and sympa- thy. .. . " Killing the King before the proof is adduced woidd be, not kUling the guilty, but killing the proof; it would be, not the murder of the criminal, but the murder of Justice ! . . . " Upon the one side, a well-defended fortress, and without, a single man, who is to take it, he alone. So stands Hamlet confronting his task ! " Hamlet's outcry at the close of the first act 26 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET may be interpreted as supporting the view of Wer- der: — " The time is out of joint : O cnrsed spite, That ever I was born to set it right ! " I. V. 188-9. The usual explanation of the stabbing of Po- lonius is that Hamlet takes him for the King. This view seems to make the following words of the Ghost to Hamlet, a few moments later, uncalled for, imless we accept the theory of Werder : — " Do not forget : this visitation Is but to whet thy almost blnnted purpose." m. iv. 110-1. However, Loening's interpretation of this inci- dent seems preferable on the whole. The cries of Polonius for help excite Hamlet to a fury of anger against the unknown intruder who has thus treach- erously learned his secret, and he instantly makes a thrust through the arras at the hidden enemy. When the Queen asks, — " me, what hast thon done ? " Hamlet's first answer is, — "Nay, I know not." Then, apparently, the Queen's excited manner arouses his suspicion and causes him to ask, — "Is it the King?" According to Loening, it is to this thought, which first entered his mind after the fatal stab had been given, that Hamlet refers in the words, — " Thon wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell ! I took thee for thy better." in. iv. 25-32. TAINT NOT THY MIND 27 One advantage of Werder's view is, that what most students regard as Hamlet's pretense of madness is at once adequately motived. This device enables him " to give some vent to what is raging within him " without awakening suspicion ; and possibly, " shotdd any favorable opportunity offer itself," "more active operations against the enemy than would be permitted to a sane man " may be toler- ated in one supposed to be mad. This view also exalts and ennobles our conception of Hamlet's character. AU the familiar charges against him fall to the ground. The Prince whom we aU love and pity now claims also our unqualified admiration. As good and wise as he is Ul-fated, he stands forth almost without " spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing." The drama becomes almost en- tirely a tragedy of Fate, not a tragedy of Character. AU must grant, too, that the situation and the progress of the action, as Werder outlines them, are intensely tragic. So deeply does the writer feel this that he has often wished that Shakespeare might have written this " Hamlet " also. Says Hudson, in presenting this conception of the play : — At " The very plan of the drama, as I unders^nd it, is to crush all the intellectual fragrance out of Hamlet, between a necessity and an impossibility of acting. The tremendous problem, the terrible dilemma which he nas to grapple with, is one that Providence alone can solve, as Providence does solve it at the last." ^ But I must renoimce Werder and all his works. ' School edition of Hamlet, p. 21. 28 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET The natural impression which the drama as we have it makes upon an unprejudiced reader is not con- sistent with this new explanation. "Werder does noi-give the natural interpretation to the first commission of the Ghost, the demand for revenge. He makes up for this, so to speak, by forcing the meaning of the second command also. To revenge does not naturally mean " to bring to confession, to unmask, and convict " ; and the words " Taint not thy mind " are most naturally inter- preted as an incitement to Hamlet to obey scrupu- lously the promptings of his conscience, not as a warning to guard his reputation. In spite of an amount of soliloquy which is un- exampled in dramatic literature, this theory is obliged to assume that Hamlet fails to express the one purpose which fiUs his mind. After explaining what seems to him to be the real situation when Hamlet discovers the King at prayer, Werder says : " Hamlet, it is true, does not himself say this, — no ! But the state of the case says it instead." This form of speech is significant of Werder's en- tire method. He is constantly explaining to us his own vie|r of "the state of the ease" ; he makes httle effort to prove that Hamlet holds the same view. The Prince is mistaken, then, when he taunts him- self with " unpacking his heart." This he cannot do ; at every point " the state of the case " must be called in to speak for him. It must be admitted, though, that the words of the hero when he comes upon the praying King are looked upon by very TAINT NOT THY MIND 29 few persons as a truthful, or at least as a full, ex- pression of his mind. What Hamlet actually says in his soliloquies, also, is decidedly at variance with what " the state of the case" is supposed to be saying for him. Werder's interpretation of the first part of the so- liloquy beginning " O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! " ( II. ii. 576) is, that the hero re- lieves his agony by " falling out with himself " and uttering unjust reproaches. Concerning Hamlet's sharp arraignment of himself after he learns the destination of the troops of Fortinbras, Professor Corson says with admirable frankness : " It must not be explained on the theory of Hamlet's indis- position to action, much as it may appear to sup- port that theory." Dramatic soliloquy is largely a conventional de- viceloF informing the audience concerning the state of mind of the speaker. In most places where Shake- speare represents his characters as thus thinking aloud they certainly would not naturally do so in real life. If we can explain away a mass of such utterances, and suppose that the solitary speaker is systematically untrue to his real thought, then the interpretation of dramatic soliloquy becomes not merely a fine art, but one so superfine as to be al- together beyond the reach of merely human powers. The play before the King may, apparently, i achieve two results if entirely successful : it may convince Hamlet of the Ghost's integrity and of the truth of his story ; and it may surprise the King ^ 30 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET into some kind of public confession (II. ii. 617-21, 62T-8; III. ii. 85-7). Those " inclined to the Werder view naturally consider that the central purpose of this device is to obtain some sort of con- fession from the King. This result is not secured, yet Hamlet seems to regard his experiment as highly successful. He has been more concerned in satis- fying his own doubts than in inducing the King to confess. I cannot believe, however, that the Prince has set either of these purposes before him in any genuine, earnest way. Both are pretenses. He has. never really questioned the honesty of the Ghost, and he has little hope of any open confession from the King. Hamlet delights in torturing the King by means of the play ; and he really betrays him- self in order to have that pleasure. Apart from his desire to punish the King in this way, the play is hardly more than a plausible excuse for doing nothing. Loening insists with reason that Shakespeare would not have allowed the King to meet death imtU after he had been branded before the world, if this were looked upon as the punishment which justice demanded, and if this had been enjoined by supernatural visitations. There is a strong presumption against a theory which asks us to believe that Goethe and Coleridge misunderstood this play completely, and that they have been followed in their error by the great mass of the students of Shakespeare. Everything which TAINT NOT THY MIND 31 they said about " Hamlet " is to be considered false, and pretty much everything which they did not say is to be accepted as true. Of course, a disputed question cannot be settled by an appeal to authority ; but there is a weighty presumption against the new view, at least in the extreme form in which it is usually stated. In some milder and limited statement, it may perhaps be compatible with the opinions that it seeks to displace. Werder himself imwittingly recognizes that a heavy burden of proof rests upon him when he says : " That this point for a century long should never have been seen, is the most incomprehensible thing that has ever happened in aesthetic criticism from the very beginning of its existence." We have noted, how- ever, that there were Werderites before Werder. Baumgart says with great cogency : — " Where does the Ghost or Hamlet speak of punish- ment merely, and of the necessity of a previous unmask- ing ? It is revenge alone that the Ghost calls for, and swift revenge that Hamlet promises. . . . That the conviction wrought by the play is to lead to any measure looking to the public arraignment of the King, there is not a word to intimate. There is nothing in the whole piece which hints at any plan of Hamlet's, or at any intention to form one." The popularity of Werder's theory seems to me to be parallel to that of certain Confessions and Creeds. These have often been widely accepted because more logical and self-consistent than the very Scriptures which suggested them, and which they sought to explain. 32 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET III. "NOE CONTRIVE AGAINST THT MOTHER AUGHT " . The third command of the Ghost must now be considered : — " nor let thy sonl contrive Against thy mother aught : leave her to heaven And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, To prick and sting her." I. T. 85-8. If we try to make this command prominent in explaining Hamlet's course, the following grounds for his inaction suggest themselves : — 1. A desire and purpose to obey this injunction of his father. 2. Affection for his mother, and a desire to save her from the shame of exposure. So far as the writer knows, Tschischwitz is the only critic who has given a central place to these motives as really determining Hamlet's conduct. I quote his comment upon the following passage : — " 0, most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets ! It is not nor it cannot come to good : But break, my heart ; for I must hold my tongue." I. ii. 156-9. " Observe well that Hamlet is forced by Ms piety to maintain this silence in presence of the courtiers under all circumstances, even after the appearance of the Ghost. It is not until his heart really breaks that he breaks this silence also, and gives Horatio permission to proclaim what has happened." TRACES OF AN OLDER PLAY 83 Some other commentators look upon this line of argument as having some force. Weiss has said : — " The question of revenge becomes more difficult to settle, especially as it involves widowing his mother ; and it is noticeable' that the father himself, who after- wards deplored Hamlet's irresolution, had previously made suggestions to him [rather, imposed a command upon him] which hampered his action by constraining him to feel how compUcated the situation was." In point of fact, however, to prove the King guilty of the murder of his brother would not ne- cessarily involve the exposure of the Queen. The Prince is simply forbidden to take vengeance upon his mother. Indeed, in the First Quarto, where the situation is the same as in the later form of the play, Hamlet implores the Queen : — " Mother, but assist me in roTenge, And in his death your infamy shall die." The Queen replies : — " Hamlet, I vow hy that majesty That knows our thoughts and looks into our hearts, I will conceal, consent, and do my best. What stratagem soe'er thou shalt devise." IV. THE TKACES IN HAMLET OF AN OLDER PLAY In attempting to interpret " Hamlet " by any explanation or combination of explanations derived from a study of the drama itself, some difficulties and discrepancies remain to trouble the student. 34 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET In the present division of this paper and in the following one, we shall take up certain considera^ tions that are not drawn from the play itself. The noble words of King Thoas in Goethe's " Iphigenie " almost make us forget that he sacri- fices captive strangers upon the altar. Goethe accepted the old story, but he has refined the char- acter of Thoas ; hence, while it is assumed that the King acts barbarously, he speaks nobly. May there not be some clashing of this sort in our " Hamlet," since the play is based upon a crude old tale of blood and revenge ? Shakespeare was also embarrassed by the fact that the theatre-going public had already a definite conception of the story of the Prince and of his character. As already indicated, an account of the life of Hamlet appeared in a French prose work by one Belleforest, " Histoires Tragiques," and was writ- ten in 1570. The Elizabethan "Hamlet" is be- lieved to be based upon this form of the story. The tale is known to go back as far as the " Historia Danica" of Saxo Grammaticus, who wrote about 1200. In BeUeforest, Hamlet kiUs his uncle, and then goes to England, whence he returns "with two wives." Beginning with 1589 we find numerous allusions to an English play upon the story of Hamlet. This work has been lost. It seems to have been a tragedy of blood and vengeance. Unlike the story in BeUeforest, but like that in Shakespeare, this tragedy had a ghost. The cry of the Ghost in this TRACES OF AN OLDER PLAY 35 lost play, " Hamlet, revenge ! " is often quoted by writers of the time. A few students have conjec- tured that this drama was a youthful production of Shakespeare ; a German scholar, Sarrazin, is con- fident that Thomas Kyd was its author.^ The im- portance for us of this vanished play consists in the proof which it furnishes that a distinct concep- tion of the character of Hamlet and of the story of his life had possession of the stage before Shake- speare took up the subject. Dr. Latham goes so far as to say that " long before it came under the cognizance of Shakespeare," the character of Ham- let was " as strongly stamped and stereotyped " as were those of Medea, Orestes, and Achilles upon the Greek stage. As a practical application of this doctrine, he argues that " the pretendedness " of Hamlet's madness is as unquestionable " as the reality of that of Orestes." In 1603 was published the first version of our " Hamlet," the so-called First Quarto. This is somewhat more than half as long as the later play. The outline of the action is substantially the same as that which we know ; but the Queen, as already indicated, repents of her sin, and offers to assist Hamlet in securing revenge. Strangely enough, the First Quarto has been considered by some com- petent critics to be better fitted for stage presenta- tion than the later versions. The texts of the Second Quarto of 1604 and of the First Folio of 1623 are for the most part the 1 Thomas Kyd und sein Kreis, Berlin, 1892. 36 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET same ; these give the play in the form with which we are all familiar.^ As compared with the First Quarto, these versions make only slight changes in the story ; but the astonishing fullness of thought and poetry which distinguishes this play appears for the first time in the Second Quarto. That the gradual development of this drama into its present form might easily give rise to contrar dictions in the final text will be clear if we look for a moment, just by way of illustration, at the question of Hamlet's age. There is nothing in the First Quarto which re- quires us to believe that " young Hamlet " is over nineteen or twenty years of age. The skuU of Yorick, who played with him when he was a child, has been in the ground only " this dozen year." In the later text we learn that Hamlet's age is thirty (V. i. 153-77), and that Yorick's skull has "lain in the earth three and twenty years." In spite of this, however, many things remain in the accepted text which seem to make Hamlet a youth of not more than twenty : among these are his wish to return as a student to Wittenberg, the election of Claudius as king without the bestowal of any consideration upon the claim of Hamlet, the prob- able age of his mother when she yields to guilty passion, and especially the language of Laertes when he speaks to Ophelia concerning the Prince. Mr. Wilson Barrett, the actor, thinks that the age ' Vietor's parallel edition of the three texts of the play is heartily commended (Marburg', 1891). TRACES OF AN OLDER PLAY 37 was given as thirty for the convenience of some actor who was "incapable of looking the youth- ful prince." ^ Many scholars, however, accept on this point the opinion expressed by Dr. Fumi- vall:2 — " I look on it as certain, that when Shakespeare be- gan the play [and while he was composing the version preserved for us in the First Quarto], he conceivd Ham- let as quite a young man [following the accepted story and the tradition of the stage]. But as the play grew, as greater weight of reflection, of insight into charac- ter, of knowledge of Ufe, &c., were wanted, Shakespeare necessarily and naturally made Hamlet a formd man ; and, by the time that he got to the Grave-diggers' scene [in writing the version of the Second Quarto], told us the Prince was thirty, — the right age for him then. . . . The two parts of the play are inconsistent on this main point in Hamlet's state." ° Perhaps it ought to be said here that several other minor discrepancies have been noted in the play. It is impossible, for example, that Horatio has been at Elsinore some two months before he meets Hamlet (I. ii. 138, 161-76). Again, it is four months after the death of Hamlet's father when the mad Ophelia sports with wild flowers. Did the dead king take a nap in a Danish orchard . in mid-winter ? and was it his " custom always of the afternoon " ? The fact that Hamlet knows at 1 Lippineott's Magazine, vol. xlv. ' The vpriter of this article is responsible for the passages in brackets : these bring out more explicitly what is supposed to be the thought of Dr. Furnivall. 8 Furness, toI. i. p. 391. 38 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET the close of Act III. that he is to be sent to Eng- land (III. iv. 200) is very puzzling. The King has only just decided upon that course (IIL i. 177 and IIL iii. 4, fall upon the same day), ami there seems to have been no opportunity for the hero to get this information. Two months after Laertes left home Hamlet says, " I have of late . . . for- gone all custom of exercises " (IL ii. 306-^) ; about ten days or two weeks later, according to Daniel's estimate of the time, the Prince declares to Hora- tio, while speaking of the proposed fencing-hout, " Since he ^Laertes] went into France, I have been in continual practice " (V. ii. 220-1). It is hard to see, also, at the beginning of Act V., why Horatio has told Hamlet nothing about the fate of Ophelia. It is hard to understand this, whether we suppose that Hamlet ha« inquired about her, or that he has not. Probably the only explanation is that it best suits the purpose of the dramatist to have the hero learn of Ophelia's death in the manner represented in the play. The explanation of Dr. Fumivall concerning the age of the hero suggests that some more central difficulties in the play may perhaps be explained in a similar way. Are there in the drama as a whole unconformable strata ? Sarrazin and others, among the Germans, Kenny in England, and Pro- fessor March and Mr. John Corbin in this country have made use of this method of explanatiwi. Perhaps tiie last-named writer is Hie one who goes farthest. He says : — TRACES OF AN OLDER PLAY 39 " Shaksp^re'8 happiest additions to the old tragedy of iblood were precisely contradictory to its vital structure as a drama. Wherever Hamlet is in action his charact^ dates back to the lost play : the Shaksperean element has to do almost exclusively with the reflective, imagi- native, humane traits of his portraiture." *' "When Hamlet is in action he is to be judged by the standards of the tragedy of blood and revenge. It is only in his speech and manner that the Shaksperean conception shines forth. In this fact lies the root of most of the dis^gp^^e.ments among the modern critics and actors." ^ The faqb that the old trsigedj delighted its audi- ences with these horrors may well be the main reason why the six principal characters, together with Eosencrantz and Guildenstern, are killed dur- ing the play, —^ five of them, if we include Polo- nius, meeting death before our eyes. The easy fashion in which the Prince consigns to destruction his former sclioolfeUows, Eosencraiitz and Guild- enstern, may come from the- old play. Perhaps the difficulty in finding a motive for Hamlet's action in pretending madness admits in part a similar explanation. In the story as given by Belleforest he feigns madness because " perceiving himself to be in danger of his life." Victor Hugo interprets our play in the same way ; but where in the text does it appear that this is the motive ? May it not be that the feigning of insanity is a feature which Shakespeare accepts from the traditional story and 1 The Elizabethan Pamlet, Scribners, 1895, pp. 49, 84. 40 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET from the older play, but of which he makes little constructive use ? It is noticeable that that portion of Act I. Scene v., which foUows the entry of Horatio and MarceUus, has in the First Quarto practically the same form as in the two later texts. It may well be that a familiar scene in the lost version is here closely followed. Now for the bearing of aU this upon our main topic, the reasons for Hamlet's dUatoriness. The above discussion naturally suggests that Shake- speare, while retaining the crude story of revenge that was fixed in the public mind, gradually deep- ened and refined the character of Hamlet until it clashed with that story. Conscientious scruples against blood-revenge, I admit, are utterly foreign to the original tale. In spite of changes and additions, it may well be that the dramatist was so hampered by the fixed outlines of the accepted story that he was prevented from motiving the inactivity of the Prince as fully as he could otherwise have done. The energetic Hamlet retained from the old play accords but badly with the reflective, halting hero of a more intellectual age : the new wine bursts the old bottles. Brandes says, in connection with this topic : — " The old legend, with its harsh outlines, its mediaeval order of ideas, its heathen groundwork under a varnish of dogmatic Catholicism, its assumption of vengeance as the unquestionable right, or rather duty, of the indi- vidual, did not very readily harmonise with the rich life of thoughts, dreams, and feelings which Shakespeare THE MOUTHPIECE OF SHAKESPEARE 41 imparted to his hero. There arose a certain discrepancy between the central figure and his surroundings. . . . But Shakespeare, with his consummate instinct, man- aged to find an advantage precisely in this discrepancy, and to turn it to account. His Hamlet believes in the ghost and — doubts. He accepts the summons to the deed of vengeance and — delays. Much of the original- ity of the figfure, and of the drama as a whole, springs almost inevitably from this discrepancy between the mediaeval character of the fable and its Renaissance hero, who is so deep and many-sided that he has almost a modern air." ^ The loss of the pre-Shakespearean " Hamlet " makes it impossible to say just how much weight should be given to this line of argument. V. HAMLET AS THE MOUTHPIECE OF SHAKE- SPEAKE AU lovers of Shakespeare must admit the force of these words from KJreyssig, a German critic : " From the rich troop of his heroes, Shakespeare has chosen Hamlet as the exponent, to the spec- tators and to posterity, of all that lay nearest to his own heart." The American poet-critic, Jones Very, speaks of " the tendency of Shakespeare to overact this particular part of Hamlet, and thus give it an obscurity from too close a connection with his own mind." 2 Though Kiimelin goes too far in this particular direction, the following words concerning Shake- ' William Shakespeare, one-vol. edition, p. 367. ' Poems and Essays, p. 62. 42 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET speare's tendency to make Hamlet his own moutii- piece have much force : — " We must not fail to see that this use of the legend enters into the dramatic subject and into the course of the action as a somewhat foreign and disturbing ele- ment ; we must perceive that the legend, whose essential features the play stiU keeps, is in itself httle fitted for the interpolation of an element so subjective and so modern." Let us look at some specific passages in iJie play that are evidently the personal utterances of Shake- speare. The reference to the child-actors, added in the First Folio, is clearly a " local hit " ; it comes from the dramatist, not from Hamlet and Eosen- crantz (II. ii. 353-79). The character of Osric is undoubtedly a satire on certain affectations of Shakespeare's own day. That Shakespeare himself is speaking when Hamlet instructs the players in the art of acting seems certain. Though Loening defends it ingeniously, the passage has no vital con- nection with the plot. The real reason why we have the lines is that Shakespeare had some tiiiogs to say concerning the proper carriage, gesture, and elocution of an actor ; and no man will ever know how much strutting ajid bellowing the world has escaped because of this simple text-book of histri- onics, known and read of all men. The Sonnets of Shakespeare, in which he " un- locked his heart," echo with striking distinctness some of the complaints of the melancholy Prince of Denmark. The connection is especially marked THE MOUTHPIECE OF SHAKESPEARE 43 between the sixty-sixth Sonnet and some portions of the soliloquy beginning " To be or not to be." Brandes points out that the following lines of the soliloquy just mentioned are " felt and thought from below upwards, not from above downwards, and that the words are improbable, almost impos- sible, in the mouth of the Prince " : ^ — " For who would bear the whips and scorns of jdme, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contnmely, The pangs of despised love, the law's deJay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin ? " in. i. 70-6. In any performance of " Haml^," that pearl, the Grave-diggers' scene, is sure to be presented (V. i, 1-240) ; but it has no dramatic justification, — that is, the action is in no way advanced. These are the deep musings of Shakespeare's own mind and heart, and we do not estimate them according to their purely dramatic valae, Our love for this play springs largely from the fact that Shakespeare, disregarding strictly dra- matic considerations, has given ireely to Hamlet the charm, the warmth, and the bomndlessness of his own nature. The bearing of this discussion upon our central inquiry may be stated as follows : our impression of Hamlet's dilatoriness is intensified by his long soliloquies and by his abundant comments upon the ' William Shakespeare, one-Tol. edition, p. 365. 44 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET various problems of life ; but these utterances are in part the personal outpourings of Shakespeare himself, not called for by either the plot of the piece or the characterization : the hands are the hands of Esau, but the voice is the voice of Jacob. CONCLUSION The Teutonic mind naturally looks upon the por- trayal of character as the real purpose of the drama, and as " its own excuse." It is probably safe to say that Shakespeare has given in "Hamlet" the ultimate example of character-portrayal in drama. The completeness with which the nature and dis- position of the Prince, his entire mental and moral being, are put before us is something which we are accustomed to find only in the wide-ranging, loosely constructed novel, not in the intense, concentrated, and sharply limited drama. Dramatic criticism is inclined to insist that only those characteristics of the hero should be made prominent which really influence the course of the action ; and that these characteristics should be unmistakable; According to this standard " Ham- let" is certainly faulty, ^hat the play is marked by an excess of monologue seems to be recognized by the omission from the First Folio of some of the utterances of the hero, including the sermon on drunkenness (I. iv. 17-38), and even the power- ful soliloquy upon seeing the army of Fortinbras (IV. iv. 32-66 ; H. 9-31 are also omitted). Certain features in the management of the action have CONCLUSION 45 also been pronounced by Goethe and others to be " extremely faulty." But it is not especially because of its defects that the world is not likely to see another " Hamlet " : its marvelous excellences are a more conclusive reason. None but himself can bend the bow of Odysseus. Before the reader decides which one of the pos- sible reasons for Hamlet's inactivity he wiU adopt in making up his own theory of the play, let him ask himself, " Can I not accept a good number of them ? " In many cases they are not exclusive and contradictory, but should be looked upon as com- plementary and harmonious. The large number of these reasons of itself makes it clear why there are so many opinions concerning the character of the hero. One critic accents one motive ; another, another. Superficially their views may seem to themselves and others to be irreconcilable, while at bottom they may be largely at one. Not only is it hardly possible for two critics to agree upon the same interpretation of the play ; but one cannot altogether agree with himself for two successive readings. The considerations in- volved are so numerous that the reader is hardly able to give due weight to all of them ; it is inevitable that he should be somewhat at the mercy of his mood. At my present stage of development, my own theory as to the reasons for Hamlet's dilatoriness is somewhat as follows : I accept the first three groimds for Hamlet's delay indicated under 4he 46 THE VIEWS ABOUT HAMLET first general, division of this paper, namely : an excessive tendency to reflection, weakness of will,_ and_eapecially a mekmcholy temperament and ex- treme sensitiveness. I find myself varying in the degree of emphasis vi^hich I give to these different factors, but I am not inclined to look upon the hero's excessive tendency to reflection as something really primary and causative. Under the second general division of the paper, I accent Hamlet's conscientious scruples against blpodTrevenge, and his natural aversion to killing the King. It seems to me entirely reasonable and natural that all these qualities should be associated in one person. I be- lieve further that Shakespeare was hampered in some measure by the fixed outlines of the accepted version of the old story ; also that the fact that the dramatist expresses freely through the mouth of the Prince his own thoughts and feelings intensi- fies the impression of weakness and dUatoriness which Hamlet makes upon us. I give less promi- nence to the other considerations that have been mentioned, though I look upon some of them as having a measure of force. I oppose the purely objective explanation of Hamlet's delay advocated by Werder and some others. The problem of Hamlet ! Who shall altogether solve it ? Even while we cherish the vain hope of doing this, some passage from the play comes to mind which accords but poorly with our elabo- rate solution. And then a princely form and care- worn face rise up before us, and the pale lips say CONCLUSION 47 haughtily : " Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me ! You would play upon me : you would seem to know my stops : you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass : you would pluck out the heart of my mystery ! " THE AUTHOR'S COMMENT IN "VANITY FAIR" THE AUTHOR'S COMMENT. IN "VANITY FAIR" In speaking of the novels of Anthony TroUope, a few years ago, Mr. HoweUs praised that writer's " simple honesty and instinctive truth." Neverthe- less, the critic teUs us, Trollope " was so warped from a wholesome ideal as to wish at times to be like the caricaturist Thackeray, and to stand ahout in his scene, talking it over with his hands in his pockets, interrupting the action, and spoiling the illusion in which alone the truth of art resides." ^ Let us look for a time at the feature of Thack- eray's art here referred to as it appears in " Vanity Fair." What shall we say of his frequent turning aside from his tale to grieve or to jest over human foUy, to teach or to preach concerning man and Ufe? So far as there is any " body of doctrine " con- cerning the art of fiction, this practice is looked upon as a mistake. Aristotle, who wrote, as Mr. Bliss Perry has said, " with one eye on Kipling and Hardy," discusses in his "Poetics" just this same art of fiction. The ancient critic praises Homer as " the only poet who appreciates the part he should take himself," and tells us that the poet 1 Criticism and Fiction, p. 75. 52 AUTHOR'S COMMENT IN VANITY FAIR in his own person should speak as little as pos- sible. Thus the father of literary criticism and Mr. Howells, a living practitioner, are at one in this matter. For even old Mr. Osborne in "Vanity- Fair," who " called kicking a footman down stairs a hint to the latter to leave his service," would find no difficulty in inferring from the passage al- ready quoted the opinion of Mr. Howells concern- ing comments by the author in a work of fiction. A teacher and novelist of our own day puts the matter more formally in these words : ^ " In a nar- rative the conditions are : first, that the story shall be told in a dramatic, straightforward way ; sec- ondly, that the characters shall reveal themselves wholly in action, which is done by dialogue and brief incidental descriptions on the part of the author. There should never be a general application of bits of analysis necessary to present individual actors. A moral should never be directly inculcated." The simplest and the commonest way in which Thackeray turns aside from his story is by uttering in his own person some general truth suggested by a particular situation or by the general course of events. For example : — " About their complaints and their doctors do ladies ever tire of talking to each other ? " (Vanity Fair, XXV.) " When women are brooding over their children, or 1 Mary Harriott Norris, in a note to her school edition of SUaa Marner. AUTHOR'S COMMENT IN VANITY FAIR 53 busied in a sick-room, who has not seen in their faces those sweet angelic beams of love and pity ? " (LXI.) " In this vast town one has not the time to go and seek one's friends ; if they drop out of the rank they dis- appear, and we march on without them. Who is ever, missed in Vanity Fair ? " (LXI.) There are few if any story-tellers who do not indulge in short generalizations comparable to those just quoted. Perhaps Jane Austen, with her in- stinctive rightness of artistic method, is as free from them as any English novelist. The present writer has been unable to find a single one in " Pride and Prejudice." It is the worldly-wise Charlotte Lucas, and not Miss Austen, who tells us in that book that " in nine cases out of ten, a woman had better show more affection than she feels," and that " happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance." In " Mansfield Park," « Emma," and " Persuasion," this author occasionally allows herself to generalize ; and her few comments of this sort are very spicy, very Jane-y, as these specimens wiU show : — "... that favoring something which everybody who shuts their eyes while they look, or their understandings while they reason, feels the comfort of." (Mansfield Park, XI.) " Human nature is so well disposed towards those who are in interesting situations, that a young person who either marries or dies is sure of being kindly spoken of." (Emma, XXII.) Mr. HoweUs, whom we have found very severe toward the more obtrusive forms of author's com- 54 A UTHOR'S COMMENT IN VANITY FAIR ment, is himself somewhat fond of dispensing wis- dom in the form of brief generalizations. " As they walked they sent those quivers and thrills over their thin coats which horses can give at will." (The Quality of Mercy, I.) " She bent to look over the book with.him, and he felt the ungovernable thrill at being near the beauty of a woman's face which a man never knows whether. to be ashamed of or glad of, but which he cannot help feel- ing." (Ibid, xn.) " We are each of us good for only a certain degree of advance in opinion ; few men are indefinitely pro- gressive." (Ibid. VII.) Is it worth while to treat seriously these morsels of proffered wisdom ? Suppose that the author does glance at a larger truth suggested by a character or a situation. Variety is the spice of fiction, as of life ; and at any rate, the law of fiction, like other law, cares not for trifles. It must be granted that generalizations coming in strictly explanatory passages may be either neces- sary or helpful in making important matters clear to the reader. Each case, also, should stand on its own merits ; it would be impossible in a few words successfully to generalize about generalizing. We admit, moreover, that brief generalities of the kind that we have quoted above may constitute but a slight element in an elaborate novel. Yet it is in them that we can isolate and study in its sim- plest form that bacillus commentarius which infects English fiction, and which has done much to lessen AUTHOR'S COMMENT IN VANITY FAIR 55 its artistic quality. A fundamental question is, Has the novelist some things to tell us that are better than his story, and separable from it ? We think not. If any novel-reader is so lacking in com- mon observation and so deficient in generalizing power as to be unable to infer that the quivers and thrills which run over the coats of a particular pair of horses are something " which horses can give at will," then let him die in his sins. It mat- ters not. For the author to play the showman, to draw the morals and state all the suggested truths for his reader, seems too much like taking away from him his inalienable right to chew his food. And however spicy, novel, and valuable these nug- gets of wisdom may be, is it well that they should interrupt the narrative itself? Is the writer's phi- losophy a better thing than his story ? And even if it be better, should it be separated from the story ? Will that philosophy be more effectively set forth in the abstract, or in a living form? It seems more in accordance with the nature of a work of fiction, more plainly a fulfillment of the law of its being, and decidedly more effective, that the truth there presented shall take on flesh ; that without a par- able, or apart from his parable, the novelist shall not speak unto us. Brief generalizations by the author are not a grave matter. But the novelist who yields to the itching desire to display his wisdom in philosophi- cal form is not likely to content himself long with tiny maxims slipped in at the joints of the story. 56 AUTHOR'S COMMENT IN VANITY FAIR A single sentence is not enough. Little essays ap- pear. The pleasure that the writer finds in airing his own reflections in his own person easily tempts him at times to steal from liis own characters choice opportunities for commenting upon interesting subjects. The persons of the comedy are hushed up and driven off the stage, while the dramatist comes forward and discourses about experiences like the one just witnessed in the play, or upon some topic suggested thereby. A passage in Jane Austen's " Persuasion " concerning the beauties of Lyme, and one in " Northanger Abbey " in praise of novels, are illustrations of this. Each of these comes from the author in her own person, not from the actors in the story. Thackeray is sometimes guilty in " Vanity Fair " of thus steahng from his own characters. We learn " that Miss Sharp had no kind parent to arrange these delicate matters for her, and that if she did not get a husband for herself, there was no one else in the wide world who would take the trouble off her hands." (HI.) We are then treated to a spicy little disquisition upon some of the common methods of husband-hunting of which Miss Sharp was unable to make use. But for this essay, Rebecca's own thoughts and feelings at this interesting point would probably have been set forth more sharply and fully. In another place, instead of the raptures of Thackeray over " that beautiful Rhineland " we ought to have been given those of the impression- able Mrs. Amelia Osborne. As it is now, Amelia AUTHOR'S COMMENT IN VANITY FAIR 57 sketches the scenery, but is not permitted to praise it. Thackeray will not even allow Joseph Sedley, just returned from India, to eulogize good porter. Surely, if Jos is to talk at all, here is his chance. But no : — " The landlord said it did his eyes good to see Mr. Sedley take off his first pint of porter. If I had time and dared to enter into digressions, I would write a chap- ter ahout that first pint of porter drunk upon Eng- Ush ground. Ah, how good it is ! It is worth while to leave home for a year, just to enjoy that one draught." (LVIII.) If it be allowable to speak thus freely of a novel- ist to whom we are all indebted, one may say that the decline and fall of George Eliot well illustrates the danger which threatens the writer of fiction who indulges in comment. In her successive novels the inserted sermons and dissertations kept growing longer and more nuinerous, until at last the im- pertinent story was dropped out altogether, and the pure juice of the grape " with no allaying Thames " was bestowed upon us in " The Impressions of Theophrastus Such." But in the true scale of lit- erary values, how many of " Such " are equivalent to one " Adam Bede " ? The headings of the chapters in " Vanity Fair " numbered thirty-six and thirty-seven are : " How to Live Well on Nothing a Year " and " The Sub- ject Continued." It is clear that the true theme of this part of the book is, — how Becky and Kawdon actually did live on nothing a year. In 58 AUTHOR'S COMMENT IN VANITY FAIR these two chapters Thackeray very naturally wan- ders off at times in pursuit of the more general subject suggested by his title. Sometimes the little essays pass into preaching, into moral exhortation ; and sometimes the entire comment is a brief homily. In the first of the fol- lowing cases the author carefully legitimates his sermon by passing it through the mind of his char- acter. " It may, perhaps, have struck her that to have been honest and humble, to have done her duty, and to have marched straight forward on her way, would have brought her as near happiness as that path by which she was striving to attain it. But, — just as the children at Queen's Crawley went round the room where the body of their father lay ; — if ever Becky had these thoughts, she was accustomed to walk roimd them, and not look in." (XLI.) Contrast with this the following : — " Sick-bed homilies and pious reflections are, to be sure, out of place in mere story-books, and we are not going (after the fashion of some noveUsts of the present day) to cajole the public into a sermon, when it is only a comedy that the reader pays his money to witness. But, without preaching', the truth may surely be borne in mind, that the bustle, and triumph, and laughter, and gayety which Vanity Fair exhibits in public, do not always pursue the performer into private life, and that the most dreary depression of spirits and dismal repentances sometimes overcome him." Etc. (XIX.) Here Thackeray puts forth a sermon as Mr. AUTHOR'S COMMENT IN VANITY FAIR 69 Joseph Jefferson's Rip Van Winkle takes in spirits, — after first declaring flatly that he won't. The personal utterances of a novelist may be made very attractive if they have the charm of humor and a winning style. Thackeray gives to his comments a spice and variety which mollify the sternest critic. It is largely this infinite diversity and deftness of handling which so charm his read- ers that they are willing to defend this feature of his novels against all attacks whatever. To address remarks directly to a character in the story is a naive device, well known to Chaucer, that may be defended as enhancing the illusion, if used in moderation. " Oh, thou poor panting little soul ! " — says our author to Amelia — " The very finest tree in the whole forest, with the straightest stem, and the strongest arms, and the thickest foliage, wherein you choose to build and coo, may be marked, for what you know, and may be down with a crash ere long." (XIII.) Again : " Poor simple lady, tender and weak — how are you to battle with the struggling violent world? " (L.) Thackeray is very fond of illustrating a point by telling a brief parallel anecdote. The fact that the comment takes the narrative form lessens the sense of interruption ; we are still listening to a story, even though it be " another story." When the quarrel between George Osborne and his father improved the pecuniary prospects of the Osborne sisters, and caused them to "rise not a little in their own esteem," the following anecdote, with 60 AUTHOR'S COMMENT IN VANITY FAIR some intrusion of the author's personality, effec- tively sets forth and interprets the whole situation: " It was but this present morning, as he rode on the omnibus from Richmond ; while it changed horses, this present chronicler, being on the roof, marked three little children playing in a puddle below, very dirty, and friendly, and happy. To these three presently came an- other httle one. ' Polly,' says she, ' your sister 's got a penny.' At which the children got up from the puddle instantly, and ran off to pay their court to Peggy. And as the omnibus drove ofE I saw Peggy with the infan- tine procession at her tail, marching with great dignily towards the stall of a neighboring lollipop-woman." (XXIII.) The emotional outbursts of the author often have a simplicity and spontaneity that take away in whole or in part the .impression that one is reading a comment. " By heavens it is pitiful, the bootless love of women for children in Vanity Fair." (L.) " O you poor secret martyrs and victims, whose life is a torture, who are stretched on racks in your bedrooms, and who lay your heads down on the block daily at the drawing-room table ; every man who watches your pains, or peers into those dark places where the torture is administered to you, must pity you — and — -and thank God that he has a beard." (LVII.) A remark or complaint is sometimes represented as coming from a reader of the story, from " Jones," or " some unknown correspondent," or " some carp- ing reader," etc. At times the reader is directly AUTHOR'S COMMENT IN VANITY FAIR 61 addressed; and perhaps no form of comment is more skillfully individualized and diversified than this. The author directs his remarks to " you," or to " you the reader," " brother reader," " my dear and civilized reader," " fair young reader," " my son," "friend," "my friend," "mesdames,"" ladies," " Miss Smith," " my dear Miss Bullock." It may he questioned whether any little sermon in the book is more effective than one vrhich is addressed to the reader. It is suggested by the iUness of old Miss Crawley: " Picture to yourself, oh fair young reader, a worldly, selfish, graceless, thankless, reli- gionless old woman, writhing in pain and fear, and without her wig. Picture her to yourself, and ere you be old, learn to love and pray." (XIV.) Thackeray has many references to the necessary assumption that the author is all-wise regarding the story ; and he often jokes about his own omnis- cience. " For novelists have the privilege of know- ing everything." (III.) " If, a few pages back, the present writer claimed the privilege of peeping into Miss Amelia Sedley's bedroom, and under- standing with the omniscience of the novelist all the gentle pains and passions which were tossing upon that innocent pillow, why should he not de- clare himself to be Rebecca's confidant too, mas- ter of her secrets, and seal-keeper of that young woman's conscience ? " (XV.) " In the course of the evening Kawdon got a little family-note from his wife, which ... we had the good luck to read over Rebecca's shoulder." (XXV.) 62 AUTHOR'S COMMENT IN VANITY FAIR Thackeray often pretends to te in some doubt as to the true state of affairs in his story. In these cases the real situation is usually made clear to the reader, though a measure of uncertainty sometimes remains. " At this, I don't know in the least for what reason, Mrs. Sedley looked at her husband and laughed." (IV.) " Why was she so violently agitated at Dobbin's request ? This can never be known." (XXIII.) " I protest it is quite shame- ful in the world to abuse a simple creature, as people of her time abuse Becky, and I warn the public against believing one-tenth of the stories against her." (LI.) As to the question of Eebecca's guilt in her con- nection with Lord Steyne, Thackeray pleads igno- rance. "Was she guilty or not? She said not; but who could teU what was truth which came from those lips; or if that corrupt heart was in this case pure ? " (LIII.) This is the only refusal to enlighten us regarding a matter that is important for the story. Anthony TroUope, Thackeray's pupil, sometimes makes exasperating remarks about his narrative as an unreal fabrication which he can control at will. In marked contrast with this, " Vanity Fair " has a number of references to the story as a transcript from real life, and to the characters as flesh-and- blood beings personally known to the author. These touches are especially frequent in the chap- ter entitled " Am Ehein." A fairly conclusive argument regarding the whole AUTHOR'S COMMENT IN VANITY FAIR 63 subject of author's comment in this story is the fact that Thackeray's finest writing in " Vanity Fair " itself refutes this practice. When at his highest pitch of narrative inspiration, he has small desire to interrupt his story or ramble from it. The best opportunities for indulging in comment are then felt to be stDl better opportunities for doing without it, for letting the story make its own impression. How much better than comment is the following conversation, just after Dobbin has bought back Amelia's piano for her at the auction ! " ' I wish we could have afforded some of the plate, Rawdon,' the wife continued sentimentally. 'Five- and-twenty guineas was monstrously dear .for that little piano. We chose it at Broadwood's for Amelia, when she came from school. It only cost five-and-thirty then.' " 'What d'ye-caU 'em — Osborne, wiU cry off now, I suppose, since the family is smashed. How cut up your pretty little friend will be ; hey, Becky ? ' " ' I dare say she '11 recover it,' Becky said, with a smile — and they drove on and talked about something else." (XVII.) Some one may suggest that the effectiveness of the purely objective method in the extract just read comes in part from the contrast with those passages in the book in which Thackeray lingers to expatiate upon the significance of an incident or situation. But is it not true, rather, that the most marked quality of the brief dialogue just cited is the essential rightness and power of its artistic method ? 64 AUTHOR'S COMMENT IN VANITY FAIR It seems hardly fair to say that Thackeray in this case omits the sermon which he might have given us. The sermon is not preached here, but it is not therefore omitted. It is presented through dialogue and action, and that is more effective than preaching. The mirror is here held up to nature ; and we perceive life and homily, action and moral, in one indivisible whole. This little scene from real life is crammed with meaning, with lesson; and the meaning is vivid with life. Even Thackeray's choicest remarks would have weakened any one of the following passages : — " ' Here, you little beggars,' Dobbin said, giving some sixpences amongst them, and then went off by bimself through the rain. It was all over. They were married, and happy, he prayed God. Never since he was a boy had he felt so miserable and so lonely. He longed with a heart-sick yearning for the first few days to be over, that he might see her again." (XXII.) " Maria was bound, by superior pride and great care in the composition of her visiting-book, to make up for the defects of birth ; and felt it her duty to see her father and sister as little as possible." - (XLII.) " Osborne partially regained cognizance ; but never could speak again, though he tried dreadfully once or twice, and in four days he died. The doctors went down, and the undertaker's men went up the stairs ; and all the shutters were shut towards the garden in Kussell Square. Bullock rushed from the City in a hurry. ' How much money had he left to that boy ? — not half, surely ? Surely share and share alike between the three ? ' It was an agitating moment." (LXI.) AUTHOR'S COMMENT IN VANITY FAIR 65 Among the strongest chapters of the book are, — that "In Which Mr. Osborne Takes Down the Family Bible," the one about Brussels and the great ball, and that " In Which Jos Takes Flight, and the War is Brought to a Close." The first two of these contain each a single brief generaliza- tion ; in the third there are a few sentences of speculation as to whether Waterloo is likely to beget future battles between "two high-spirited nations." With these exceptions there is no com- ment ; and the last chapter mentioned closes with that triumph of artistic reticence : — " No more firing was heard at Brussels — the pursuit rolled miles away. Darkness came down on the field and city : and Amelia was praying for George, who was lying on his face, dead, with a bullet through his heart." (XXXII.) The last five chapters of the book, nearly one tenth of the whole story, are almost entirely free from comment. The most marked instance of a personal utterance by the author is the passage in which Thackeray carefully explains that " the fashion at present prevailing " compels him to pass over " with lightness and delicacy " a portion of Rebecca's history. A natural division of the story begins near the middle of the fifty-first chapter, where we learn that " the amiable amusement of acting charades " had been brought in from France. This general section of the book may be . considered to close with the establishment of Colonel Kawdon Craw- 66 AUTHOR'S COMMENT IN VANITY FAIR ley as governor o£ Coventry Island. The central feature of this long portion of the narrative is the personal encounter between Rawdon and Lord Steyne. Throughout this portion of the novel the author is at his best. Some of the most attractive opportunities for comment occur, as enticing as any in the book, but they do not tempt him. His story is the best thing and the only thing that he has to tell us. Old Marshal Bliicher never obeyed more heartily the command, " Forward ! forward I " Here Thackeray himself shows unto us the more excellent way. Undoubtedly the approval or condemnation of author's comment is in some degree a matter of temperament. To a mind of a certain type it is nat- ural, almost instinctive, to observe the laws of the material with which one is working, and to adhere to the art-form which has been chosen, to per- ceive and respect the evident rules of the game. Such a person knows, with Goethe,, that "It is working within limits that shows the master " ; he is glad to be free from " the weight of too much liberty." He will not begin an ostensible narrative, and then interrupt it constantly to indulge in per- sonal outpourings. He will look upon this as off- side play. An author of a different mental consti- tution, when writing a so-caUed novel, wiU make the work fairly drip with his personal feelings and opinions. Such an one wiU not understand Poe's demand that a novelist shall not scatter over his pages "at random a profusion of rich thought," AUTHOR'S COMMENT IN VANITY FAIR 67 but shall secure by " unremitting toil and patient elaboration . . . the beauty of Unity, Totality, Truth." The contrast between these two types of mind is probably something permanent. It is partially and imperfectly represented by various pairs of opposed terms, such as classicism and romanticism, unity and variety, the excellence of the whole and the iaterest of the part. There is also a national as well as an individual temperament to be considered. M. Brunetiere tells us that English literature, as compared with the literature of France, is individualistic, marked by a passion for self-expression. He points out the abundance, diversity, and richness of English lyric poetry. This personal quality invades our fiction, and here it does not usually disturb even the well-educated English reader. The debate about author's comment will seem to him parallel to the question whether one should drink his coffee with or without sugar. Both are matters of taste, — " of mere taste," as he would probably express it. As a nation we have not much appreciation for " structural unity pervading all the elements of a composition, from the largest to the smaEest." Of course, the world of readers will always be glad to welcome such novels as those of Thackeray. Gold of this kind enriches us all, and the least we can do is to be grateful. But it is surely al- lowable to point out that these works exemplify both a more excellent way of story-telling and one 68 AUTHOR'S COMMENT IN VANITY FAIR that is less admirable ; that they give us Thack- eray both at his best and at something less than his best. No attempt has been made in this paper to cite authorities ; but in the Introduction to a recent edition of " Henry Esmond," edited by Professor W. L. Phelps, there are some interesting words that illuminate our present topic : — " It is difficult to avoid superlatives in talking about ' Esmond.' It seems to be not only the best book Thack- eray ever wrote, but the best historical romance in the English language. Indeed, many intelligent critics re- gard it as the finest work of fiction ever written by an Englishman. It is better than Thackeray's other books, because the noble style is so splendidly sustained ; be- cause the characters are so impossible to forget; and because it is so perfect a work of art, being fortunately free from the eternal preaching and sentimental foot- notes that mar the text of his other books. Its artistic perfection may be partially accounted for by the fol- lowing reasons : the story is told in the first person, a method that adds vividness to the narrative ; again, as the hero, and, not the author is talking, Thackeray was compelled to omit the introduction of his own phi- losophy of life ; the pubUcation in book form necessi- tated greater unity and coherence ; and the small size of the work, when compared with his other famous novels, was a distinct gain in the same direction, for novelists, like petitioners, are not heard for their much Even if the strictures which have here been made upon " Vanity Fair " be accepted as sound, they AUTHOR'S COMMENT IN VANITY FAIR 69 detract little from its essential greatness. A work of art lives by its positive power. In all that con- cerns the weightier matters of the law of fiction, " Vanity Fair " wiU always be a delight to readers and a model to writers. STUDIES IN MACBETH STUDIES IN MACBETH 1 I. ONE PHASE OF MACBETH'S CHAEACTEK Theee is one person in the world of Shakespeare whose utterances are especially marked by the fine charm of true poetry. At the dose of many of his speeches we are compelled to stop our reading to enjoy the musical, imaginative language. Our sym- pathy goes out instinctively to this instinctive poet. And this poet is that bloody and ever bloodier vil- lain, the remorseless committer of murder upon murder, Macbeth. In the tragedy of " Macbeth " two streams are ever flowing, — an unforced stream of exquisite poesy, and a stream of innocent blood shed by ruthless hands ; and both of them find their source, their only and sufficient cause, in the soul of Macbeth. May it not be that this strange contrast wiU help us to interpret the character of the man ? It is clear that the strains of poetry which fall from the lips of Macbeth are entirely natural. The moment that he begins to make pretenses, to play a part, to say what prudence seems to dictate rather than what he feels, he passes from poetry to rheto- 1 The first three stndies are reprinted from The Atlantic Monthly for Fehruary, 1892 ; the remainder, from the Publications of the Modern Language Association, vol. xi. (1896). 74 STUDIES IN MACBMTH ric. True poetry must be genuine, impassioned; must spring from sympathy. When Macbeth de- picts the appearance of the murdered Dimcan, and pretends that the unexpected sight overpowered him with horror and an irresistible impulse to slay the suspected grooms, we hear these hollow phrases : — " Here lay Dnncan, His silver skin laced with his golden blood ; And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in natnre For ruin's wasteful entrance : there, the muxdererSf Steep'd in the eolonrs of their trade, their daggers Unmannerly breech'd with gore : who could refrain, That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage to make 's love known ? " U. iii. 117-124. Later in the play, Macbeth speaks to the physician concerning the illness of Lady Macbeth. Here his words come from the heart, and he says : — " Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, Baze out the written troubles of the brain, And with some sweet oblivions antidote Cleanse the stufE'd bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart ? " V. iu. 40-45. What relation does this poetical faculty of Mac- beth bear to his real character? Let us analyze his first soliloquy, and see what it teaches us (I. vii. 1-28). He trembles before the danger to himself which attends the kiUing of Duncan, even though he is willing to " jump the life to come." Then he dwells upon the guilt of the intended murder. He A PHASE OF MACBETirS CHARACTER 75 is at once the kinsman, the subject, and the host of Duncan. " Besides, this Dnncan Hath home his faculties so meek, hath heen So clear in bis great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trnmpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off." I. vii. 16-20. There are eight lines more in the same strain. Surely now Macbeth will not murder Duncan ! Ah, now he surely will. He has looked fairly and fully at the crime ; but the honest impulses of his heart and the awfulness of the coming murder have been treated as materials for thrilling rhapsodies, not as grounds for right decision and for instant action. The moment for a hearty, virtuous choice of the good is of set purpose given up to sentimen- talizing, to poetizing. Such a moment will not re- turn ; and whenever his moral instincts shall again revolt against the crime, though less vigorously, utterance can be given them and their strength can be dissipated by the same process of poetizing. Macbeth so revels in poetry, in sesthetic har- mony, that these things are often more real to him than external dangers. At the close of the solilo- quy in which he sees the dagger in the air, just be- fore the murder of Duncan, he says : — " Now o'er the one half -world Kature seems dead, and wicked di'eams abuse The ourtain'd sleep ; now witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings, and witber'd murder, Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf. Whose howl 's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, 76 STUDIES IN MACBETH With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear " — Of what? Of detection? — " for fear Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it." n. i. 49-60. The whole situation is such an exquisite harmony of gloom, gives to the aesthetic sense of Macbeth such keen pleasure, that, even as he goes to mur- der Duncan, he fears — that this harmony may be disturbed. When Macbeth, at a later time, gives his wife an intimation of the intended murder of Banquo, he cannot deny himself the pleasure of accumu- lating about the coming crime a mass of poetic detail : — " Ere the bat hath flown His doister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's summons The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done A deed of dreadful note." m. ii. 40-44. The connection between words and deeds in any character is easily broken. " 'T is a kind of good deed to say well" has been the flattering unction that has excused many a speaker from trying to live up to his own words. The utterance of fine sen- timents easily becomes in any life, not a stimulus, but a soporific. Probably every successful preacher of righteousness could testify that he is constantly A PHASE OF MACBETH' S CHARACTER 11 tempted in the most subtle ways to take an un- lawful part in the world-wide division of labor by becoming, in one form or another, a sayer of the truth, and not a doer. Macbeth allows his con- science to frame his words, partly at least, in order that it may disturb him less in his guilty act. Lady Macbeth knows not how firm the purpose of her husband is. She has heard his fine speeches ever since their wooing days, and cannot believe that they mean so little as they do in terms of ac- tion. She would fain think that the lips that have called her " dearest chuck " have behind all their utterances the entire personality of the speaker. She knows that Macbeth has ambition, but thinks him to be without the moral " illness " that should attend it. His profusion of fine words and senti- ments misleads her. She does not know — he does not fully know — that his compassion and reluc- tance are only imaginative, while his ambition is real. Lady Macbeth' s awful boldness appears to her to be forced upon her by the weakness of her husband. Though he first resolved upon the mur- der (I. iv. 50-53) and broke the enterprise to her (I. Arii. 48), he is glad to play the part of the timid, frightened criminal, whose guilt is due to the mas- ter mind that controls him. Imaginary fears, a deep shrinking and shuddering of the soul in view of crime, are natural to him, and give him a strange, thrUling pleasure ; while the fierce energy which his supposed remorse arouses in Lady Macbeth serves, in his view, both to throw upon her a large 78 STUDIES IN MACBETH share of the guilt and to make the death of Duncan more certain. " The weird sisters " are but a per- sonification, a dramatizing, of those dark prompt- ings which swarm in every soul that is secretly inclined to evil. As the sentimentalist sheds tears over imaginary suffering, and is unmoved at real distress, so Macbeth shakes like a reed in the wind before the thought of a murder which " yet is but fantastical " ; and then, deliberately, in spite of a vibrating sensitiveness which completely deceives his wife, and which partially deceives both Macbeth himself and the readers of the play, moves on " towards his design." Like all things else, the death of his wife fur- nishes Macbeth a theme for poetry ; and the last pleasure that he knows, except the savage delight of battle, is the sad joy of singing an exquisite death-song to the faithful partner of his guilt. Having treated the moral realities of life, its most real things, as visionary, as mere materials for poetry, aU things seem to be but parts of an un- real phantasm ; and he would fain persuade him- self that they are so. Having emptied life and death of every good meaning, he longs to believe that they mean nothing. " To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-moirow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle I Life 's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage THE KNOCKING AT THE GATE 79 And then is heard no more : it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing." V. v. 19-28, Alas, Macbeth ! II. THE KNOCKING AT THE GATE One function of the chorus in the Greek trage- dies was to anticipate and announce the terrible catastrophe which hangs over some guilty soul. The voice of fate, the anger of the offended gods, the instincts of the human heart, which could not come to utterance through the ' characters in the drama, found in the chorus an impersonal and powerful lyric expression. The drama of the Greeks had a lyrical origin, and made effective use of the song element, which it ever retained. But the chorus, with all its power, is foreign to the drama ; it is a non-dra- matic element. The songs interrupt the action, and make it seem unreal. There are two situations in " Macbeth " where an effect analogous to the most powerful utter- ances of the Greek chorus is secured with no sacrifice of dramatic reality. The broken moral law, the anger of Heaven, the coming doom of the guilty, find thrilling expression in the very action itself. The acting forms are men, but the voice that speaks to us is the voice of God. These two situations are the knocking at the gate after the murder of Duncan, and the sleep-walking scene. 80 STUDIES IN MACBETH In commenting upon the knocking at the gate, the writer cannot hope to add anything to the powerful essay of De Quineey which treats of this incident ; but he desires to put into every-day lan- guage a portion of the thought which has there been expressed in more philosophical form. We have been conscious during the rapid prepar rations for the murder of Duncan, and the hurried conversation which follows it, that the voice of conscience has been rudely choked down. Imme- diately after the deed, to be sure, Macbeth gives poetical utterance to the moral war that is waging within him. Two of the sleepers in the castle have waked for a moment from uneasy slumber, and their drowsy words have stirred the conscience of Macbeth. "Macb. ... I could not say ' Amen,' When they did say ' God bless us ! ' Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce ' Amen ' ? I had most need of blessing, and ' Amen ' Stuck in my throat." But words are things to Lady Macbeth, though they are not to her husband, and she teUs him : — " These deeds must not be thought After these ways ; so, it will make us mad." Still he continues : — " Methought I heard a voice cry ' Sleep no more ! Macbeth does murder sleep,' the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care. The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath. Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast, — THE KNOCKING AT THE GATE 81 Lady M. What do yon mean 1 Macb. Still it cried ' Sleep no more ! ' to all the house : ' Glamis hath murdei'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor Shall sleep no more ; Macbeth shall sleep no more.' " n. ii. 29-43. Then Lady Macbeth puts a stop to the utter- ances of conscience, and turns her whole attention, and in a measure his and ours, to the purely prac- tical question, how they shall avoid detection. And now the unwelcome voice of conscience flies from the breasts which refuse to harbor it. Suddenly, through the awful darkness, there comes a sum- mons ; the walls cry out. The thoughts, the fears, which throng the minds of the guilty pair and of the shuddering spectators, find in the knocking at the gate a weird, a startling, and an adequate ex- pression. This unexpected voice, seeming to come from no fixed place, and having no apparent cause except the tragic tension which demands it, stimu- lates the imagination almost beyond endurance, and heightens the tension that it appears to re- lieve. Just before the knocking we have been isolated from the world, and our intellectual sympathy has been given to Macbeth and his wife. Their moral sense and ours is for the moment stifled. What voice shall call us back to the world of moral law, of humane, human living ? The knocking at the gate is, first of all, a sharp challenge from the outer world of every-day life. The morality of that outer world is, indeed, con- ventional and imperfect; but the sharp coiitrast 82 STUDIES IN MACBETH between the normal, every-day life of men, their common loves and hates, and the awful crime which has just taken place in the little world of Macbeth and his wife, is brought home to us with a blow by the sudden sound of the knocking. It is not only to the world of men and its stand- ards, however, that Macbeth, his wife, and we are to be cajled back. Therefore no human voice can adequately challenge the guilty pair. Macbeth would put on a bold front before any man, and our intellectual sympathy would go with him. Any human words would fail to express the blackness of his guHt; but the knocking, inarticulate, im- personal, having no visible cause, — this can be the very voice of God, and it is. There is something suggestive in the rhythm of the mysterious knocking. Rhythm is the expres- sion of aU. life. Our hearts beat out the rhythm of our lives. Day and night, in their alternation, make up the vast rhythm of our universe. " The father of rhythm," says an old seer, " is God." To the startled apprehension of Macbeth this rhythmic knocking is the throbbing of that moral life of the world which he has refused to regard. To a cold, unsympathetic reader it may seem an absurdity to say it, but Macbeth hears vaguely in the knocking the tramp ! tramp ! of those moral forces that shall not cease their march until, out of the wreck of this world, there shall arise the new heavens and the new earth wherein dwelleth right- eousness. Against these forces, which must win. THE SLEEP-WALKING SCENE 83 Macbeth has set himself. Henceforth the " stars in their courses " will fight against him, and he knows it. With a sudden burst of hopeless remorse, which yet is not true contrition, he cries : — " Wake Duncan with thy knocking I I wonld thon couldst I " U. ii. 74. III. WHY IS THE SLEEP-WALKING SCENE IN PEOSE? Hudson comments as follows upon the fact that this scene, " which is more intensely tragic than any other in Shakespeare, is all, except the closing speech, written in prose " : — "I suspect the matter is too sublime, too austerely grand, to admit of anything so artificial as the meas- ured language of verse, even though the verse were Shakespeare's ; and that the Foet, as from an instinct of genius, saw or felt that any attempt to heighten the efBect by any such arts or charms of delivery would unbrace and impair it. . . . Is prose, then, after aU, a higher form of speech than verse ? There are strains in the New Testament which no possible arts of versifi- cation could fail to belittle and discrown." ^ The writer cannot help feeling that these very suggestive words of the accomplished critic, so far as they respect this scene, are somewhat beside the point. Words are only a part of the language of the drama, and sometimes they are but a small part. The plays of Shakespeare, of course, were not written, primarily, to be read. It is not the diction, the literary form, of this scene which im- 1 Harvard Shakespeare, vol. xvii. p. 107. 84 STUDIES IN MACBETH presses us ; it is the action, and most of all the situation. It is only scattered fragments of speech that Lady Macbeth utters. Direct, artless prose, moreover, " unboimd speech," seems to be the natural and necessary form of her utterances. Nothing else would befit the unconsciousness of slumber. What is it that stirs us in this scene? Who is acting ? The servant and the doctor are but spec- tators, like ourselves, and Lady Macbeth is locked in sleep. It is the invisible world of moral reality which is made strangely manifest before our eyes. Lady Macbeth would not reveal these guilty secrets for aU the wealth of all the world, but in the awful war that is waging in her breast her wiU is help- less. Her feet, her hands, her lips, conspire against her. In the presence of the awful, unseen Power that controls her poor, divided seK, we hush the breath and bow the head. IV. THE WORDS OF THE SLEEP-WALKING SCENE The power of the sleep-walking scene in " Mac- beth " is due primarily, as has just been noted, to the impressive situation, rather than to the inher- ent forcibleness of the broken sentences which are spoken by the guilty queen. A strong drama puts before us vivid scenes from real life. But in real life itself, men are continually mashing and posing. Not only do we mask and pose to one another, we do it to ourselves, and that continually. In this THE S^EP-WALKING SCENE 85 powerful scene, however, more real than real life, the mask falls off, aU disguises drop away, and that which confronts us is a naked soul. But it is also true that the great dramatist has given especial potency to the words of this scene. The few and seemingly chance utterances of Lady Macbeth have an inspired adequacy. The phrases cut like a knife, — like the dagger that stabbed Dun- can. Note the fitness of the simple words which come at the end of the second speech of the sleep- ing queen : — "Yet who would have thought the old man to haye had so much blood in him ? " When Lady Macbeth first incited her husband to make away with Duncan, she willed the death of the aged king indeed, but not its shocking acces- sories. She thought not of them. When Macbeth comes from the murdered one, she urges him : — " Go get some water, And wash this filthy witness from your hand." n. ii. 46-7. But not yet does she appreciate the spectacle that the inner chamber has in store for her. She starts to carry back the daggers, saying, — " If he do bleed, I '11 gild the faces of the grooms withal ; For it must seem their guilt." 11. 55-7. With this thought " If he do bleed " in her mind, she enters the chamber, and views the startling sight which her eyes are to behold forever. 86 STUDIES IN MACBETH The ordinary peace-loving man is as little pre- pared to appreciate what she saw as she was to see it. Such an one is unfamiliar with the shedding of human blood, knows not how easily and abundantly it can flow. And the woman's heart of Lady Mac- beth was all unprepared to- behold the streaming life-blood of the kindly old king, pleading " trumpet-ton^ed, against The deep damnation of his taking-off." The ghastly vision prints itself indelibly upon her brain ; and all her womanly sensibilities receive a shock which only the long remorse of coming days and the restless torture of coming nights can ade- quately measure. But she is not the woman to turn back now. She dips her hand in the old man's blood and smears the faces of the sleeping grooms. The sight, the feeling of the warm blood upon her little hand, and the odor of it, are strange experiences to her. What if she should find herself unable to wash off the stain ? What if Heaven should doom her to carry the mute witness of guilt about with her forever ? At least it seems an endless while before the blood is cleansed away. The dreadful memory of all this comes out in the troubled dream of the sleep-walker, in the frightened cry : — " What, will these hands ne'er be clean ? " Holmes, in the " Autocrat of the Breakfast Table," calls attention to the intimate connection between the sense of smell and the memory. Most THE SLEEP-WALKING SCENE 87 persons can testify that certain odors bring back the scenes of one's childhood with a vividness which is more intense than that caused by any other stim- ulus. It is largely the odors of the springtime that bind together all the years of the past and the rap- ture of the present season. It is, in great measure, these pungent odors that make " the soul's fresh youth with tendei truth Still spring to the springing grass." Maurice Thompson sings : — " A breath from tropical borders, Just a ripple, flowed into my room, And washed my face clean of its sadness, Blew my heart into bloom." This subtle sense of smell can also summon up from the past that which is awful. Listen to the guilty queen : — " Here 's the smell of the blood still ; all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh I " It is because of such nights of horror that she dares not face the kindly shadows which God in- tended for repose. She has given command that light be by her continually. Thus does Lady Macbeth once more live through, in restless dreaming, the murder of Duncan. Once more by sight and touch and smell has her sensi- tive spirit been wounded. Through hearing alone among the nobler senses has she received no shock. But hark ! again that startling challenge comes through the darkness ! " There 's knocking at the gate : come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What 's done cannot be undone. — To bed, to bed, to bed!" 88 STUDIES IN MACBETH V. THE SHOW OF EIGHT KINGS Ghostly forms of the eight Scottish kings of the house of Stuart — Robert II., Eobert III., and the six Jameses — are made to appear and pass before Macbeth in a dumb show (IV. i.). These are the descendants of Banquo, who are to rule over Scotland. But why is Mary Stuart omitted, who between the reigns of James V. and James VI. was the nominal sovereign for a full quarter of a century ? To be sure the literal pro- mise to Banquo was, " Thou shalt get hings " ; but Mary was a sovereign, if not a king ; and what a fine fitness would there have been in bringing into this drama, though but for a moment, her bewitch- ing form ! " Macbeth " is a tragedy of blood, and in it eager female beings appear, earthly and un- earthly, and tempt to evil deeds. Surely the beautiful Queen of Scots would have been a most appropriate and suggestive figure in that dumb show! There is one reason, however, for the omission of Mary Stuart which perhaps constitutes a suf- ficient explanation. In "A Midsummer-Night's Dream " (II. i. 155-64) Shakespeare had paid a honeyed compliment to Elizabeth, the great an- tagonist of the lovely Stuart queen ; but he was now, in 1606, the loyal subject of James I. He naturally felt, we may suppose, that it would be unpleasant and impolitic to remind his sovereign and his audiences of the character and fate of the THE WEIRD SISTERS 89 king's mother, the unhappy Mary. Her interesting figure may well have been excluded from the dumb show for this reason, irrespective of artistic con- siderations. VI. THE WEIED SISTERS Strangely enough the word weird has come into modern English entirely from its use in "Mac- beth." The word occurs six times in this play as usually printed : five times in the expression " weird sisters " (I. iii. 32 ; I. v. 8 ; II. i. 20 ; III. iv. 133 ; IV. i. 186), and once in the phrase "the weird wo- men " (III. i. 2). Stranger still, weird does not appear at all in the only authoritative text of the tragedy, that of the First Folio. In that edition the word is weyward in the first three passages in the play, and weyard in the last three. It was Theobald, the dearest foe of Pope, who saw that Shakespeare must have written weird, and that this rare word had been changed because of " the ignorance of the copyists." Modern editors accept the suggestion of Theobald ; but I believe that the full force of the word weird is often un- apprehended, even by special students of the play. In Anglo-Saxon literature, "Wyrd" is the name of the personified goddess of fate. Wyrd is " the lord of every man." The word is also a common noun ; each man has his own wyrd, or destiny. In Chaucer we find these lines : — " But 0, Fortune, executriee of wierdes [fates, destinies]." Troilus and Criseyde, III. 617. 90 STUDIES IN MACBETH " The Wirdes, that we clepen [call] Destines." The Legend of Good Women, 2580 (IX. 19). In the second of these lines we have a personi- fication, but the conception is of more than one Wyrd. A passage in the Scotch translation of Vergil's jEneid, vrritten about 1513 by Gawin Douglas, Bishop of Dunkeld, translates " Parcse " (Book III. 379) by the phrase " the werd sisteris." Shakespeare's source for the story of Macbeth was Holinshed's "Chronicles of England, Scotland, and Ireland," published in 1577. The evidence of this work is decisive in favor of changing wey- ward and weyard to weird. The following passage from Holinshed will especially concern us : — " It fortuned as Makbeth and Banquho iournied to- wards Fores, where the king then laie, they went sport- ing by the wale togither without other companie, saue onelie themselues, passing thorough the woods and fields, when snddenlie in the middest of a laund, there met them three women in strange and wild apparell, re- sembling creatures of elder world, whome when they atteutiuelie beheld, woondering much at the sight, the first of them spake and said ; All haUe Makbeth, thane of Glammis (for he had latelie entered into that dig- nitie and office by the death of his father Sinell.) The second of them said ; Haile Makbeth thane of Cawder. But the third said ; All haUe Makbeth that heereafter shalt be king of Scotland. " Then Banquho ; What manner of women (saith he) are you, that seeme so little f auourable vnto me, whereas to my fellow heere, besides high offices, ye assigne also THE WEIRD SISTERS 91 the kingdome, appointing foorth nothing for me at all ? Yes (saith the first of them) we promise greater bene- fits vnto thee, than vnto him, for he shall reigne in deed, but with an ynluckie end : neither shall he leaue anie issue behind him to succeed in his place, where contra- rilie thou in deed shalt not reigne at all, but of thee those shall be borne which shall gouern the Scotish king- dome by long order of continual! descent. Herewith the foresaid women vanished immediatlie out of their sight. This was reputed at the first but some vaine fantasticaU illusion by Mackbeth and Banquho, insomuch that Banquho would call Mackbeth in iest, king of Scot- land; and Mackbeth againe would call him in sport likewise, the father of manie kings. But afterwards the common opinion was, that these women were either the weird sisters, that is (as ye would say) the god- desses of destinie, or else some nymphs or feiries indued with knowledge of prophesie by their necroman- ticall science, bicause euerie thing came to passe as they had spoken." ^ In the Scandinavian mythology, as it was pre- served in Iceland, " Urthr " was the eldest and the most prominent of the three Norns, or sister- Fates. The loss of an initial w disguises the iden- tity of the word with the name of the Anglo-Saxon goddess of fate, " Wyrd." Both words are to be connected with the Latin vertere, the German werden, the Icelandic vertha, and the Anglo-Saxon weorthan. Apparently because the name "Urthr" is made from that form of the verbal stem which appeared in the plural of the past tense, this god- dess came to be looked upon especially as the fate 1 Fomess' Variorum Macbeth, 363-4. Italics not in Holinshed. 92 STUDIES IN MACBETH of the past (c?es Gewordenes'). Professor E. Mogk^ thinks that it was bungling word-play (junges, isldndisches MachwerTc) of the twelfth century which first gave to the two sisters of Urthr, the fates of the present and future, the names " Ver- thandi " (pronounced werthandi — die Werdende, the goddess of that which is now coming to he — from the same verb as " Urthr ") and " Skuld " (allied to shall, solT). The three Norns guard one of the three roots of Ygdrasil, the great Ash-tree of Existence. Urthr and Verthandi, the Past and Present, stretch a web from east to west, "from the radiant dawn of life to the glowing sunset, and Skuld, the Future, tears it to pieces." " The weird sisters," therefore, is a phrase which means "the fate sisters," or the Sister Pates. Schmidt's explanation of weird, in his " Shake- speare-Lexicon," as " subservient to Destiny," fails to bring out the dignity of the word both in Holin- shed and Shakespeare. The weird sisters are not subservient to Destiny ; they are Destiny. The commentators have not noticed, apparently, that the weird sisters speak to Macbeth and Banquo in character, as the Norns of the Past, Present, and Future.^ This fact, which seems to be true in a general way of their speeches in Holinshed, comes out very clearly in Shakespeare. 1 Paul's Grundriss der germ. Philologie, i. 1024. ^ Dowden, however, has this sentence : " When they have gWen him the three hails — as Glamis, as Cawdor, and as King ; the hail of the past, of the present, of the future — Macbeth starts.'' Shahspere — His Mind and Art, p. 222. THE WEIRD SISTERS 93 " Enter Macbeth and BANQno. Macbeth. So fonl and fair a day I have not seen. Banquo. How far is 't call'd to Forres ? What are these So wither'd and so wild in their attire, That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, And yet are on 't ? Live you ? or are you aught That man may question ? You seem to understand me. By each at once her chappy finger laying Upon her skinny lips : you should be women. And yet your beards forbid me to interpret That you are so. Macbeth. Speak, if you can : what are you ? 1. [Urthr, the Past.] All hail, Macbeth I hail to thee, thane of Glamis ! 2. [Vertfaandi, the Present.] All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane of Cawdor ! [This title the king is now bestowing upon him, perhaps at this very instant. In Holinshed, it is ' shortlie after ' the three women meet the two warriors that the king honors Macbeth by making him thane of Cawdor.] 3. [Skuld, the Future.] All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter 1 " I. iii. 38-50. It is not so plain that the three sisters speak in character in what is said to Banquo in the tragedy, but I do not think that we force the meaning if we interpret these speeches in the same way as the previous ones. " Banquo If yon can look into the seeds of time, And say which grain will grow and which will not, Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear Tour favours nor your hate. 1. HaUl 2. Haill 8. HaUI 1. [The Fast.] Lesser [by birth] than Macbeth [the cousin of the king], and greater [in integrity, because he has been harbour- ing a wicked ambition]. 94 STUDIES IN MACBETH 2. [The Present.] Not so happy, yet much happier [' i. e., not so fortunate [as Macbeth in secnring a present mark of honour], but much more blessed.' — Schmidt]. 3. [The Future.] Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none : So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo I 1. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail ! " I. iii. 58-69. It may be that Shakespeare's exact division of the roles into Past, Present, and Future, is in a measure accidental, being suggested by Holinshed in the case of the speeches to IMacbeth, and sim- ply repeated in the words addressed to Banquo. It seems probable, however, that the careful dis- tinction observed here between the three Norns is intentional. That "the weird sisters" are those " creatures of elder world," the mighty goddesses of destiny, can hardly be questioned. They are not called witches in the play itself, but always " the weird sisters " or " the weird women " ; though one of them tells of the circumstances under which a sailor's wife said to her, "Aroint thee, witch !." (I. iii. 6). The only other use of the word witch in the text of the play occurs when a " witches' mummy " is mentioned (IV. i. 23) among the many uncanny things which, in the cauldron, " Like a heU-broth boQ and bubble." The word weird, as has been said, was taken into modern English from " IVTaebeth." Its signi- ficance, however, has not been understood. The word in its present use is an adjective, and has a range of meaning indicated by the words wild, THE WEIRD SISTERS AS WITCHES 95 mysterious, uncanny, unearthly, ghostly; weird in "Macbeth" was vaguely felt to express tMs combination of ideas. In the Scotch dialect of English the word has not died out, and retains the older meaning, fate, destiny. The word is com- mon in Scott; for example, Meg MerrHies in " Guy Mannering " speaks often of the " weird," or destiny, of Harry Bertram. VII. DID SHAKESPEARE REPRESENT THE WEIRD SISTERS AS WITCHES ? The powerful conception of the three Fates, " the weird sisters," is not maintained throughout the tragedy of " Macbeth," as every reader knows. In the opening scene of the play, and in that part of Scene iii. Act I. which precedes the entrance of Macbeth and Banquo, we have simply three witches, — witches of exceptional power and ma- lignancy, but not the great goddesses of destiny. In Scene v. of Act III. the sisters are degraded still farther to inferior and disobedient witches. Their queen Hecate reprimands them for acting without informing her and allowing her to play a part. This distressing scene reaches a climax of imfitness when Hecate suggests that Macbeth has pretended to be in love with the hags : — " First Witch. Wty, how now, Hecate ! you look angerly. Secate. Have I not reason, beldams as you are, Sauoy and overbold ? How did you dare To trade and traffic with Macbeth In riddles and affairs of death ; And I, the mistress of your charms, The close contriver of all harms, 96 STUDIES IN MACBETH Was never call'd to bear my part, Or show the glory of our art ? And, which is worse, all you have done Hath been but for a wayward son, Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do, Loves for his own ends, not for you." m. V. 1-13. Many students of Shakespeare are convinced that " Macbeth " has not been preserved for us in the exact form in which Shakespeare wrote it. The evidence for this view is very strong, ahnost conclusive ; yet no passage need be surrendered that lovers of Shakespeare care to claim as his. The author of the un-Shakespearean portions of " Macbeth " has been thought to be Thomas Mid- dleton, principally because the two songs called for in the unfitting Hecate parts of the play — of which songs the opening words only are given (III. V. 33 and IV. i. 43) — were found in full in Middleton's play " The Witch," discovered in man- uscript about 1779. ■ Since it is believed that the play has been tam- pered with, some scholars have been inclined to say that the portions in which the weird sisters act as witches were probably not written by Shake- speare. Hudson takes this view for the most part, but he cannot deny the genuineness of the power- ful cauldron scene, although witches are here pre- sented, engaged in the practice of witchcraft. I quote his striking defense of the fitness of this pas- sage : — " Is there any way to account for the altered language THE WEIRD SISTERS AS WITCHES 97 and methods used in the cauldron business, without dispossessing jthe Weird Sisters of their proper charac- ter ? Let us see. " The Weird Sisters of course have their religion ; though, to be sure, that religion is altogether Satanic. For so essential is religion of some kind to all social life and being, that even the society of Hell cannot sub- sist without it. Now, every religion, whether human or Satanic, has, and must have, a liturgy and ritual of some sort, as its organs of action and expression. The Weird Sisters know, by supernatural ways, that Mac- beth is burning to question them further, and that he has resolved to pay them a visit. To instruct and in- spire him in a suitable manner, they arrange to hold a religious service in his presence and behalf. And they fitly employ the language and ritual of witchcraft, as being the only language and ritual which he can un- derstand and take the sense of : they adopt, for the occasion, the sacraments of witchcraft, because these are the only sacraments whereby they can impart to him the Satanic grace and efficacy which it is their office to dispense. The language, however, and ritual of witchcraft are in their use condensed and intensified to the highest degree of potency and impressiveness. Thus their appalling infernal liturgy is a special and necessary accommodation to the senses and the mind of the person they are dealing with. It really seems to me that they had no practicable way but to speak and act in thi^ instance just like witches, only a great deal more so." ^ We naturally feel that it not only degrades the weird sisters to put them before us as witches, but that witches make vulgar and unfitting characters 1 Harvard Shakespeare, xvii. 130. 98 STUDIES IN MACBETH at the best in a serious drama. Let us attempt for a moment, howeTCr, to identify ourselves with Shakespeare, the actor and playwright, seeking to impress an Elizabethan audience. To the men of that day witches were a reality. The world of witchcraft was dark and mysterious, but it was real. " Macbeth " seems to have been written about the year 1606. Nine years before this. King James VI. of Scotland published " a learned and painful " treatise to prove that every Christian must necessarily believe in witchcraft, and in this work all the minutiaa of the subject were duly expounded. In March, 1603, he became king of England also, by the death of Elizabeth. During the first year of his reign over the double kingdom, and perhaps partly in compliment to his convictions and expert knowledge on the subject, a new statute against witchcraft was passed, which remained in force until 1736. Listen to the solemn utterances of this law : — " If any person or persons shall use, practice, or ex- ercise any invocation or conjuration of any evil and wicked spirit, or shall consult, covenant with, entertain, employ, feed, or reward any evil and wicked spirit to or for any intent or purpose, or take up any dead man, woman, or child out of his, her, or their grave or any other place where the dead body resteth, or the skin, bone, or any part of any dead person, to be employed or used in any manner of witchcraft, sorcery, charm, or enchantment, or shall use, practice, or exercise any witch- craft, enchantment, charm, or sorcery, whereby any per- son shall be killed, destroyed, wasted, consumed, pined, THE WEIRD SISTERS AS WITCHES 99 or lamed in his or her body or any part thereof," every such offender is a felon without benefit of clergy.^ In 1665, at the trial of some Suffolk witches, Sir Thomas Browne, the well-known author of the " Eeligio Medici," testified as an expert in favor of the reality of vntchcraft. Sir Matthew Hale, afterward lord chief justice of England, presided at the trial ; and in summing up the case, adduced Scripture in support of his own belief in the real existence of witches. Shakespeare had been dead seventy-six years when the witchcraft delusion of 1692 broke out in Salem village. The prosecutions were brought under the' statute of James I.; but undoubtedly the command which, in the minds of the colonists, seemed at the time to justify the executions was that in Exodus xxii. 18 : " Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." Professor Henry Ferguson weU says : — " It should always be remembered that belief in witchcraft was not a peculiarity of New England, and that the reason the colonists there have been judged so hardly for their panic is that men have felt that they had claimed to be superior to the men of their genera- tion, and thus should be measured by a higher stand- ard." = More than a hundred years after " Macbeth " was written, Addison describes for us Sir Eoger de Coverley, who, though the leading squire of his county and a model country gentleman, " would fre- 1 Encyclcp(Bdia Britannica, under " Witchcraft." ^ Essays in American History, p. 61. 100 STUDIES IN MACBETH quently liave bound " poor old Moll White " over to the county sessions, had not his chaplain with much ado persuaded him to the contrary," But more iLluniiaating for us is the opinion of Addison himself, who declares, after a careful and serious argument : " I believe in general that there is, and has been, such a thing as witehcrait ; but at the same time can give no credit to any particu- lar instance of it." ^ The " Encyclopaedia Britannica " gives, as the last trial for witchcraft in England, that of Jane Wenham in 1712. She was convicted, but not executed. The statute of James I. was repealed in 1736. Although the modern drama permits many con- ventional departures from actual life, its cardinal quality is vivid realism. The most exalted hero of history or epic tradition when put upon the stage becomes completely human, stands upon a level with the spectators, and appeals to their sympathy. Caesar, Macbeth, Hamlet, each seems to the hmn- blest auditor to be but an extension, an enlarge- ment of his own personality, a second self ; each appeals to him entirely by virtue of a common human nature. The sense of reality is essential to a serious drama of the highest type. "A Midsummer-Night's Dream " is sportive ; but " Julius Caesar," " Ham- let," and " Macbeth " set forth what the spectators for whom they were written accepted as a portrayal 1 Spectator Essays, No. 117. THE WEIRD SISTERS AS WITCHES 101 of real life. Shakespeare in appealing to his audi- ences made use of the general conceptions and be- liefs that filled their minds, just as he made use of the Elizabethan form of the language ; neverthe- less, he was careful to employ the agency of the supernatural, as Professor Moulton expresses it, only " to intensify and to iUumiuate human action, not to determine it." The supernatural was not allowed to be really causative. Because of this wise method, his plays, which fascinated the men of his own day, appeal with equal power to us, who hold opinions decidedly difFerent from theirs concerning supernatural manifestations. It must be admitted that there is a lack of har- mony, even a decided clash, in uniting in the same persons the imperturbable goddesses of destiny and malignant witches ; but if the weird women were to have roles of any length, it was necessary that they be made completely real, that they be human- ized in some form. If they remain upon the stage, they must do something, something which human beings do, or which, when this play was written, human beings were supposed under some circum- stances to do. The Greeks had a similar difficulty, though their drama was far less realistic than is ours. Says Freytag : — « " Whenever the gods had to play a real part upon the stage, and not simply to utter a command ex ma- china, then they were of necessity either entirely trans- formed into men, with all the pain and anger of men, as was Prometheus, or they sank below the nobility of 102 STUDIES IN MACBETH human nature, without the poet being able to hinder it, down to blank generalizations of love and hate, like the Athene in the prologue of ' Ajax.' " •* We see that, when " Macbeth " appeared, the entire English people, king and subjects, believed in the reality of witchcraft. The usual manner in which the emissaiies of Satan actually did lure men to evil was thought to be known, in a general way. If the weird sisters were to do that work, they would naturally do it in that way ; they would use the apparatus of witchcraft. They must submit to dramatic necessity and be humanized ; but they were humanized as witches, — creatures dwelling on the very confines of humanity and holding commerce with the devil, — " secret, black, and midnight hags," doing deeds " without a name." Shakespeare yields to dramatic necessity, but gives to the caul- dron scene all possible poetic impressiveness ; he takes the supposed facts of witchcraft and raises them to the nth power. It is not probable that the " commonplace and vulgar " quality which Hudson finds in the opening portion of Scene iii. Act I. was painfuUy evident even to the more sensitive persons in Shakespeare's audiences. The passage may well be Shakespeare's, although it is not his best work ; and it may be in some degree a concession to the delight that the audience was sure to take in the witches. So long as witchcraft was thoroughly believed in, effective use could be made of it upon the stage. " Killing 1 Translated from Die Technik des Dramas, p. 52. THE WEIRD SISTERS AS WITCHES 103 swine " and " sailing in a sieve " were believed to be common occupations among witclies ; probably the first of these opinions sprang from the account of the destruction of the herd of swine by the devils, as told in Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and was felt to have some degree of Scripture authority. Such forms of activity naturally seem commonplace and vulgar to us ; but they woidd not if we believed in witches ; and while we are reading " Macbeth," we must believe in them. In view of these considerations, I do not care to question the genuineness of any of the supernatural portions of the play except the role of Hecate and a few Hnes closely connected therewith.^ Her pre- sence in the drama is a distinct blemish. 1 Let us say III. v. ; IV. i. 39-43, 125-132. Mr. E. K. Cham- bers, ia the Arden Macbeth, rejects these passages, and no more. LANIER'S "SCIENCE OP ENGLISH VERSE " LAJHEK'S " SCIENCE OF ENGLISH VEESE " 1 Let any man read some representative poem from the writings of Swinburne, one which fairly carries him away by the richness of its rhythm and the melody of its sounds. He will say : " This poet sometimes lacks clearness of expression ; sometimes, nobility of thought ; but he has a marvelous com- mand of the purely formal elements of English verse." Let that man now turn to the works upon English versification that preceded Sidney La- nier's " Science of English Verse " and seek to find a careful analysis and exposition of those qualities of Swinburne's poetry which have charmed his own ear. He will search in vain. So far from finding those qualities explained, he wiU not find them even recognized. If he chances upon the writings of Lanier's brother-Baltimoreans, Edgar A. Poe and Professor Sylvester, he will get some real light. Elsewhere he will find — not " light, but darkness visible." The ignorance concerning the nature of English verse which Lanier found to prevail was of no or- dinary kind. It was a scientific ignorance, in the ^ Reprinted from A Memorial of Sidney Zanier, Baltimore, 1888.' 108 SCIENCE OF ENGLISH VERSE sense that it had been reduced to a science. It had classified and labeled all the multitude of pheno- mena which it did not understand. It talked learn- edly of trochees, and anapests, and amphibrachs, and hypercatalecticism. It had developed rules for the making of verse, and the smallest one of these had exceptions enough to fill a volume. It had all the form of sound knowledge, " but denying the power thereof." The students of this strange pseudo-science stood ready to frown down any intruder who should bring in a ray of common sense to light up their darkness, by telling him, "My dear Sir, you ignore all the accepted principles of English prosody." With all his gift for hyperbole, Poe hardly overstates the case when he says, concerning the theory of ver- sification, — " There is, perhaps, no topic in polite literature which has been more pertinaciously dis- cussed ; and there is certainly not one about which so much inaccuracy, confusion, misconception, mis- representation, mystification, and downright igno- rance on all sides, can be fairly said to exist." Inborn delicacy of hearing and long training fitted Lanier for the task of investigating English verse. Quietly disregarding the learned rubbish that had accumulated, he studied our verse as a set of present phenomena of the world of sound. He listened, and listened to the very thing itself, the sound-groups concerning which he wished to learn. He gathered his facts carefully, he verified and arranged them, until the great laws which SCIENCE OF ENGLISH VERSE 109 underlie the phenomena stood out clear and unmis- takable. These laws he then set forth in language which is as severely accurate as if he had never penned a line of poetry, as if aU flights of imagi- nation were utterly distasteful to him. This statement of Lanier's method of study sets aside in a measure the objections that some of his historical illustrations are incorrectly interpreted, and that he has paid no attention to the work of some careful students of the history of English verse. Lanier sought, primarily, to explain Eng- lish verse as a present fact. There is a school of philologians which says, " Observe carefully the facts of the formation and growth of language as it exists to-day. Then you will have the means for understanding substantially all that we shall ever know of its formation and development in all ages." If Lanier has accurately analyzed and in- terpreted English verse as it exists to-day, then he has given us the laws that will explain to us at least the greater part of aU that we shall ever know concerning the nature of that verse in all the periods of its existence. The first and longest division of the " Science of English Verse " contains a complete treatment of the subject of verse-rhythm. Lanier considers rhythm in verse to be the marking off to the ear by the accent of equal intervals of time ; hence verse- rhythm is essentially the same thing as rhythm in music, and all other rhythm. In this broad position it seems to me that Lanier 110 SCIENCE OF ENGLISH VERSE is unquestionably right. His demonstration may need to be modified in some particulars ; it will never be overthrown. We shall still hear that " accent and not quantity is the governing principle of English verse " ; but we shall hear less of this as time goes on. Astronomy and astrology were long cultivated side by side. So long as man's heart-beats are separated by equal intervals, and his legs are of equal length, he will never distribute accents without reference to time. If any one reaUy wishes to hear a faint suggestion of such sound- anarchy, let him touch off a bunch of Chinese firecrackers. The rhythm of our verse, however, does not always attain to the exactness of the rhythm of music. Lanier's musical bent is seen in the fact that he treats the rhythmical accent of verse almost as if it were a thing independent of every-day ac- cent. In rendering music we give accent to musical sounds; in reading poetry we find it in spoken sounds ; the accent of verse is a new function, sim- ply, of the accent of common speech. Lanier's own poetical genius was distinctly lyrical. He was in a special sense a singer. His most representative verse-form was the grand lyric, especially the Ode, with its vast resonance and complex harmony. Lyric poetry is that form of verse which is most nearly allied to music in the exactness and the promi- nence of its rhythm. Lanier had a tendency to look upon EngHsh verse as lyric verse. In free blank- verse, it seems to be true that not so much of the SCIENCE OF ENGLISH VERSE 111 expression is committed to the rhythm ; the words have a substantive, an independent meaning, which the separate tones of a piece of music do not have, and which the words of a lyric poem do not have in the same degree relative to the demands of the rhythm. To this independent meaning of the words, the rhythm of free blank-verse often seems to de- fer. Hence we have frequent omissions of the rhythmical accent, even in measures that are filled with sound, frequent displacements of the accent, and a bewildering variety of equivalent forms of the measure ; and even the fundamental rhythm itself, which is clearly heard through all interrup- tions, is not marked off to the ear with the same exactness as in lyric verse. Occasional lines, too, may for the sake of expressiveness show excep- tional rhythmic peculiarities. StiU, so far as this takes place, it is really an escape from rhythm; and it cannot be carried far in good verse. Lanier has stated the norm, the great basal principle gov- erning verse-rhythm.^ In the second and third divisions of the book, " The Tunes of English Verse " and " The Colors of English Verse," the treatment is clear, sound, and strikingly suggestive. All must regret that Lanier did not live to investigate these topics more fuUy. The late Professor E. K. SiU, a life-long stu- ^ The student is referred to an admirable discnssion of " The Time-Element in English Verse," pp. 391-409 in Professor R. M. Alden's English Verse, New York, 1903. 112 SCIENCE OF ENGLISH VERSE dent and teacher of English poetry, a judicious critic, and a poet of fine quality, said of this book, — "It is the only work that has ever made any approach to a rational view of the subject. Nor are the standard ones overlooked in making this assertion." The book is clear and exphcit everywhere. We follow its pages, instantly accepting or question- ing every statement'; and we forget how rare such precision and perspicuity are, and how difficult of attainment. The contrast is complete between this work and the cuneiform inscriptions which had passed for expositions of English verse. Perhaps no feature of the book is more admira- ble than the thoroughness with which Lanier maps out the field. This makes it possible for others to supplement his work, to build upon his foun- dation. Merely as a logical exercise, it would be well if every young student could read the opening chapter, " The Investigation of Sound as Artistic Material." The present writer does not care to dwell upon those details in this work concerning which there may be differences of opinion. He prefers to recall the dehght with which he read the book twice through on its appearance, and felt for the first time that he had solid ground under his feet in the study of English verse. He gratefully acknowledges his personal indebtedness to this book. The scientific precision of Lanier's treatment of his subject and the relentlessness with which he SCIENCE OF ENGLISH VERSE 113 follows every proposition out to its logical conclu- sions are a new illustration of the truth that a great poet must have an orderly, a scientific mind. Only such a mind is thoroughly fitted for that higher form of rationality, poetic inspiration. We commonly conceive of a great poet most in- adequately. Milton has told us that large powers, wide knowledge, long training, and " devout prayer " should all be found united in such a one, — and that he who would sing well " ought himself also to be a true poem." The mental and the moral sanity of Sidney Lanier — his thirst for knowledge, his trained intellect, his passion for holiness — were the indispensable conditions and an essential part of his poetic greatness. It is easy to look upon the " Science of English Verse " as something standing apart from Lanier's life-work. He did not so regard it. It was the foundation, broad and deep, on which he was to build a mighty Temple of Song, for the delight of man and the glory of God. Of that Temple he fashioned one portal, fair, chaste, and strong. And then — just as his fingers, now grown fuUy deft, eagerly grasped the maUet and chisel, just as the firm stone seemed fairly pliant to his touch, just as the grateful appreciation of his feUow-men, long delayed, swelled to a chorus, then — " God's finger touched him, and he slept." SHAKESPEARE'S STAGE AND MODERN ADAPTATIONS SHAKESPEARE'S STAGE AND MODERN ADAPTATIONS! As early as the reign of Henry VH. the wealthy English lords began to attach to their retinues per- manent companies of actors. Grradually a class of professional actors grew up. When not perform- ing before their lords or at court, these companies often presented plays in the inclosed four-sided yards of inns. A platform was built inside the great gateway by which the yard was entered, and spectators beheld the performance from the yard and the inner balconies. In many ways the first theatres copied these inn-yards. The first London theatres had to be built outside the city limits because of the opposition of the Puritan city government. The first playhouse erected was The Theatre, built in 1576, in Shore- ditch, just outside of the city at the northeastern edge. Very soon after, and in the same locality, was bmlt The Curtain, which received its name from ^ Reprinted with additions from the author's edition of Julius Ccesar, Globe School Book Co., 1901. Use has been made of the following recent articles : Lawrence, " Some Characteristies of the Elizabethan-Stuart Stage," Englische Studien, xxxii. 36-51; E. E. Hale, Jr., " The Influence of Theat- rical Conditions on Shakespeare," Modern Philology, i. 171-92. It has been necessary to omit or pass lightly over many matters of detail and many difficult and unsettled questions. 118 SHAKESPEARE'S STAGE the plot of ground on wHcli it stood ; none of the early houses had a drop-curtain. The next theatres were built south of the river Thames. The Eose, on the Bankside, was completed at least as early as 1592, and The Swan, near by, a very few years later. The Blackfriars Theatre, built in 1596, was located within the city limits, at the southwest. The property had formerly belonged to the " black friars," and seems to have been free in a measure irom the control of the city authorities. In 1699 The Theatre was torn down, and the timbers were used in erecting The Globe, on the Bankside. The Fortune was erected in 1600, on the northern edge of the western portion of the city. Thus there were certainly as many as six theatres in existence at the close of 1600. Before 1888 our knowledge of the interior ar- rangement of an English theatre during the lifetime of Shakespeare was very vague. In that year a Ger- man scholar named Gaedertz published a facsimile of a pen-and-ink drawing of the interior of the fa- mous Swan Theatre. This drawing, which is repro- duced here (page 120), was made by a Dutchman named John de Witt, who was visiting in London, and is thought to belong to about the year 1596. It wiU be seen that the theatre is either oval or circular in shape ; that the body of the house and the front of the stage are open to the sky ; and that the back of the stage and the three galleries, which rise one above the other on the outside of the thea- tre, are roofed over. These galleries are divided AND MODERN ADAPTATIONS 119 into private boxes. The spectators in the pit, or yard, in front of the stage stood while witnessing the performance. A roof covers the rear portion of the stage. Perched up on top of this roof is a small tower room, which is the loftiest portion of the entire theatre. In the drawing of De Witt, a flag having on it the figure of a " swan " is flying from this tower, and a trumpeter is sounding a blast in order to announce that a play is about to begin. The orchestra was placed close by the stage in the lowest gallery. Music is perhaps the only stage ac- cessory that was as prominent in Shakespeare's day as it is now. It often took part in the action, as in " Julius Csesar," I. ii., and " King Lear," IV. vii. The stage projects out into the house in a way that seems strange to us. The nearness of the actors to the audience, and the lack of means for elaborate decorative and spectacular effects, com- bined to place great emphasis upon declamation and acting. The long rhetorical speeches in Shake- speare's plays show that especial interest was taken in vocal expression. Hamlet's advice to the players, III. ii. 1-50, is concerned primarily with elocution, to a less degree with acting. The great sins of an actor are " strutting and bellowing." There was a trap in the floor of Shakespeare's stage, probably in the front section. It was used for Ophelia's grave in " Hamlet." The magic cauldron sinks into it and disappears in " Mac- beth," IV. i. 106. 120 SHAKESPEARE'S STAGE IMTERIOB OF THE SWAN THEATRE, LONDON, ABOUT 1596 AND MODERN ADAPTATIONS 121 There was no curtain before the front stage. Every character in a front scene must enter and go off before our eyes. If any had been slain, they must be carried off. When Falstaff bears away on his back the dead Hotspur, in order to boast of having killed him, in " I. Henry IV.," Shakespeare skillfully brings into the substance of his play the PICTURE OF AN ENGLISH STAGE DURING A THEATRICAL REPRESENTATION Fiom the title-page of William Alabaster's Latin tragedy Roxana, London, 1G32 necessary clearing of the stage. At the close of many of the tragedies the characters themselves give directions for carrying off the dead. It was not wise to have the dead men come to life amid the jeers — and missiles — of the spectators. But the absence of a front curtain went far deeper than these somewhat external matters would indicate. It affected the entire manner of writing plays. Says Mr. Arthur Dillon : — 122 SHAKESPEARE'S STAGE "Elizabethan dramatists had to round off a scene to a conclusion, for there was no kindly curtain to cover retreat from a deadlod^. The art of modern playwrit- ing is to arrest the action suddenly upon a thrUling situation, and to leave the characters between the horns of a dilemma. . . . [Shakespeare's] constructive plan is particularly unsuited to the actrdrop. Upon one of Shakespeare's plays the curtain falls like the knife of a guillotine. The effect is similar to ending a piece of music abruptly at its highest note, simply for the sake of startling effect." » The front stage usually had little or no scenery. It could represent any open place. As soon as one scene was completed by the going off of the char- acters a new set of persons could at once enter, and the audience would imagine any desired change of scene, provided only that the action was still in the open air. Thus the many short scenes in the first part of " Coriolanus," in which bands of Roman and Volscian warriors come before us alternately, were presented with a simplicity, rapidity, and ef- fectiveness that our stage knows nothing of. Our editors of Shakespeare are sometimes too anxious to give an exact location to each of these front scenes. The audience understood them to be en- acted " in an open place," or simply " out of doors." The special use of the back stage was to repre- sent a room in a palace or princely house. Upon this portion of the stage, use was made of a few appropriate articles of furniture and other " prop- 1 Quoted by Lawrence from The Westminster Review, April, 1895. AND MODERN ADAPTATIONS 123 erties." The back wall was sometimes hung with arras, behind which FalstafE ensconces himself on one occasion and Polonius on another. In " Komeo and Juliet" the back stage represents the great reception hall of Capulet. In Act V. it is trans- formed into the tomb of the Capulets. Domestic scenes were acted upon this back stage. Here ap- peared Lady Percy, Calpurnia, both Portias, and all the other noble women of Shakespeare, closing with Imogen, Hermione, and Queen Katharine. This English type of stage was carried to Ger- many, and the German stage directions of that time speak of the " inner stage." In the last act of " The Tempest," where Pros- pero " discovers Ferdinand and Miranda playing at chess," we are to understand that he draws back the curtains, which up to that moment had shut off the back stage, in order that the king of Naples and his nobles may behold the lovers. It must be admitted that we see nothing in this sketch of the Swan Theatre of any curtain that could be drawn to separate the front part of the stage from the back. But it may be that The Swan was not fully supplied with the usual devices, since it had a removable stage, two of the supports of which we see in the picture. This fact enabled the structure to be changed into an amphitheatre for various athletic contests ; and this theatre appears to have been more frequently employed for such uses than as a playhouse. That a portion of the stage could be curtained off in a well-equipped Elizabethan theatre is certain. 124 SHAKESPEARE'S STAGE Mr. Lawrence holds that " the curtains " men- tioned in a number of Elizabethan plays were trav- erses, a pair of curtains that were drawn together from the side, and that they came only a little in front of the back wall of the stage. A number of passages do seem to imply the curtaining o£E of only a small portion of the stage. The characters are already in a room in Portia's house, that is pre- sumably upon the back stage, when Portia in " The Merchant of Venice," II. vii. 1, directs that the curtains be drawn aside to disclose the caskets. Nerissa gives the same direction in II. ix. 1. Only a small space was needed for the caskets. It is not necessary, however, to give up the idea that the entire back stage could also be curtained off. It would not be a very troublesome convention for the audience to accept the back stage under these circumstances as entirely invisible, even if it were left open at the sides. What Halliwell-Phillipps offers as a statement of fact may be accepted as probably correct : " Intersecting the stage were two curtains of arras, one running along near the back, and the other about the centre, either being drawn as occasion required." ^ The question naturally arises, — How were the spectators in the balcony behind the stage to see what was done upon the forward portion when the two great divisions of the stage were separated by curtains ? Perhaps these boxes, " the Lords' room," 1 Outlines of the Life of Shakespeare, 10th edition, London, 1898, vol. i. p. 184. AND MODERN ADAPTATIONS 125 were not used by spectators in the case of plays where this difficulty was important. In addition to the front and back portions of the stage, the doors which lead from the back stage into the " tiring house," or dressing-room, some^ times come into the action. For example, they represent the gates of Corioli. Through one of these Caius Marcius enters the city alone, and then fights his way out again covered with blood, thus inspiring his followers to capture the city, and win- ning for himself the proud name Coriolanus. These same doors are the gates of many different castles and cities in the plays which are named from the various English kings. One of these represents the outer door of the house of Antipholus of Ephesus, in " The Comedy of Errors," III. i., when that gentleman and his servant Dromio are barred out from his own home by Dromio of Syracuse. Only one who has given special attention to the matter can realize how important in the presenta- tion of Shakespeare's plays was the balcony over the "tiring house." This third, or upper stage, with the rear wall of the back stage, represented the walls of many cities and castles ; for example, the castle wall from which young Arthur jumps to his death in " King John." This little gallery becomes the window from which Brabantio speaks at the opening of " Othello," and also the window of Juliet's chamber. In the sketch of the Swan Theatre, this balcony seems to be occupied by spectators. 126 SHAKESPEARE'S STAGE The only other known picture of an English stage before the Restoration, also reproduced here (page 121), is a very small one upon the title-page of a Latin tragedy, " Koxana " by name, published in 1632.1 In tjjjg diminutive cut the stage is sur- rounded at the outer edge by a low railing. The rear balcony is occupied by spectators, as in the view of the Swan Theatre. But while in The Swan this balcony lay whoUy behind the rear wall of the back stage, unless the drawing is at fault, in the picture of 1632 it seems to project forward, form- ing beneath it a recess or alcove. This recess is almost entirely hidden from us by side curtains drawn across the stage ; these seem to hang from the front edge of the balcony. It is a little strange that no spectators are sit- ting upon the stage at the sides in either of the two early pictures. This common practice is brought mto that most interesting and many-sided play " The Knight of the Burning Pestle," by Beaumont and Fletcher. Hardly has the Speaker of the Pro- logue begun his lines, when a Citizen leaps upon the stage from the audience and falls to berating the players because they are ever girding at the citi- zens in their plays. Soon the Wife of the Citizen climbs up after him, and then Ealph their appren- tice. The couple demand that Ralph be given a part in the performance, and the Speaker of the Prologue consents. The naive comments of the ^ The out on page 121 has been copied from that in the Jahrbuch of the German Shakespeare Society, toI. zzzit. (1898), p. 324. AND MODERN AJbAPTATIONS 127 pair, as they sit upon their stools and watch the play, are deliciously absurd. It will be interesting to quote some passages from the sixth chapter of " The Gull's Horn-Book," by Dekker, which discusses " How a Gallant should behave himself in a Play-house." " Do but cast up a reckoning, what large comings-in are pursed up by sitting on the stage. First a conspicu- ous eminence is gotten ; by which means the best and most essential parts of a gallant — good clothes, a pro- portionable leg, white hand, the Persian lock, and a tolerable beard — are perfectly revealed. " By sitting on the stage you have a signed patent to engross the whole commodity of censure, may lawfully presume to be a girder and stand at the helm to steer the passage of scenes ; yet no man shall once offer to hinder you from obtaining the title of an insolent, over- weening coxcomb. " If you know not the author, you may rail against him, and peradventure so behave yourself that you may enforce the author to know you. " Present not yourself on the stage, especially at a new play, until the quaking Prologue hath, by rubbing, got color into his cheeks, and is ready to give the trum- pets their cue that he 's upon point to enter ; for then it is time, as though you were one of the properties, or that you dropped out of the hangings, to creep from behind the arras, with your tripos or three-footed stool in one hand." ^ 1 From vol. ii. of Dekker's Non-Dramatic Works, edited by Giosart, Hath Librai;. The spelling has been modeinized. 128 SHAKESPEARE'S STAGE We have seen the effect on the art of the play- wright which was caused by the absence of a front curtain. The division of the stage into front and back portions also had certain results. Professor Alois Brandl believes that, inasmuch as the back stage was furnished and arranged to- represent in a rough way each specific indoor scene, two back scenes representing decidedly different interiors could not come in succession, since this would give no opportunity to change the furnishings, and the Elizabethan audiences had not learned to wait. In " Antony and Cleopatra " a scene in a room of one palace is free to follow or precede another palace scene, whether in Rome or Alexandria. But Brandl thinks that Shakespeare was compelled to insert at least one front scene whenever two back scenes with different settings would otherwise come together. Sometimes these inserted scenes are dramatically superfluous and ineffective. Act III. Scene vi. of « Richard III." ; III. v. of " The Merchant of Venice"; "Cymbeline," II. i. ; "Richard II.," III. iv.; and "Antony and Cleopatra," III. i.,i — seem to be scenes of this kind, forced upon Shake- speare by a stage necessity. Since III. ii. of " Julius Caesar " uses the entire stage, as we shall see, and IV. i., a room in a house at Rome, requires the back stage, it has been maintained that III. iii., the en- counter between the poet Cinna and the mob, was necessary in order to give time for the preparing of ' The ^rriter ia not aware that the last two of these scenes have been preTionsly pointed out. AND MODERN ADAPTATIONS 129 the back stage for IV. i. Many have felt, also, that III. iii. is in itself of little or no value to the drama. This scene is almost universally omitted upon the stage at the present day. It will be interesting to note in detail the prob- able method of staging an individual play ; and for this purpose we will select " Julius Caesar." The stage directions in the Folio are very scanty. Let us go through the play and consider how each scene was presented on the Elizabethan stage. The whole of Act I. would be given upon the front stage, in the open air ; also the first scene of Act II., in Brutus's orchard. From his orchard Brutus hears the knock- ing upon the door of the dressing-room back of the stage, which represents the outer door of his house. Scene ii. of Act II., in Caesar's house, is the first indoor scene, the first one played upon the back stage. Scenes iii. and iv. are street scenes on the front stage. The opening of Act III. is a problem. The Folio simply states that the characters "enter" at the beginning, and tells us after line 76 that " They stab CcBsar." The stage directions here in all editions are modern ; those that are most satisfactory follow carefully the account given by Plutarch. Apparently the procession is upon the front stage, representing the street before the Cap- itol, for the first twelve lines ; it then passes to the back stage, and this represents the entry into the Capitol. After line 26 we suppose that Caesar takes his seat, and that the senators, who have been standing in compliment to him, do the same. 130 SHAKESPEARE'S STAGE The remainder of the scene takes place upon the back stage, within the Capitol. Act III. Scene ii., the great scene of the play, is a mass scene, and the entire stage, front and back, is used to represent the Boman Forum. Indeed, the balcony is also em- ployed ; for when Brutus " goes into the pulpit," he mounts into this rear balcony ; and Antony suc- ceeds him there, until asked by the mob to come down. Next we have the much-discussed front scene between Cinna the poet and the mob. III. iii. We infer that IV. i. takes place in " a house in Rome," and was represented upon the back stage. In IV. ii. the front stage represents the space before Brutus's tent ; at the end of this scene Brutus and Cassius pass to the back stage, the interior of the tent, for Scene iii. Concerning the Ghost the Folio is very specific : " Enter the OTiost of CcBsar." Act V. was played entirely upon the front stage, in the open air. Professor Brandl believes that the three separate divisions of the Elizabethan stage were sometimes all in use together, that three different groups of persons could in some measure claim the attention of the audience at the same time. He thinks that Act IV. Scenes iv. and v. of " Romeo and Juliet " were thus presented : ^ — " In the reception hall — that is, upon the back stage — Lady Capulet and the nurse are busily engaged in preparing the meal for the wedding guests; servants 1 From the Introduction to vol. i. of a new edition of the Sehleg^el-Tieck translation of Shakespeare, Leipzig, 1897. AND MODERN ADAPTATIONS 131 with food, firewood, and baskets are hurrying to and from the kitchen ; the nurse is sent up into Juliet's cham- ber in order to waken the prospective bride. Above in the balcony we see her draw back the window curtain, but she cannot arouse the sleeper — below the clatter of preparation continues — the nurse becomes anxious and calls for help. Lady Capulet climbs the stair and beholds the sad spectacle ; Capulet appears ; both lament over the body of their daughter. In the mean time, musicians have drawn near upon the front stage ; Paris will carry away his bride with cheery piping ; thus the festive tumult ever increases on the floor of the stage, as does the noise of lamentation above in the chamber ; and both of them are at once seen and heard by the spectator, until at 'last the words of Capulet spoken to Paris from the window put an end to this shocking contrast. In the modern theatre, with all its elaborate apparatus and decorations, half of the effect of such scenes is lost." After paying so much attention to the interior of the theatres of Shakespeare's day, the reader will be interested to see how one of them looked upon the outside. An exterior view of the second Globe Theatre is here reproduced (page 133). This edifice was opened in 1614, the original Globe having been destroyed by fire in June of the previous year. As soon as one examines this picture, or any other outside view of a theatre of that period, he is struck by the unexpectedly small diameter of the building. Professor Edward Everett Hale, Jr., in the article already referred to, points out frankly the difficulty of believing that these pictures are accurate in their proportions. He says: "The 132 SHAKESPEARE'S STAGE usual pictures give a form to the theatres that would not be of much use for anything more than a cockpit. The familiar form has a height about equal to its diameter, or even greater. The height cannot have been much more than thirty feet : if that were the diameter, when you allow a few feet on each side for the boxes, a few more on each side for the pit, you vrill have very little left for the stage. It seems as if this must be incorrect, con- temporary pictures and aU. The Fortune Theatre was eighty feet in diameter by thirty-two high, and had a pit of fifty-five feet across, in which stood the stage. Probably the Globe had as much room, or a diameter, say, two and a half times its height." Professor Hale adds pungently that these theatres seem, according to the contemporary pictures, "about as available for dramatic purposes as a new factory chimney would be." We may safely believe, however, that the picture of the second Globe Theatre that is here presented gives in other respects a correct general impression. Let us now look at the modern method of pre- senting Shakespeare. A modem manager puts a Shakespearean play on the stage with a vast display of elaborate scenery and gorgeous costumes. Long waits between the scenes and acts make it neces- sary to mutilate the play in various ways. Scenes are combined that Shakespeare kept apart, the order of the parts of the play is freely departed from, and many passages and whole scenes are omitted altogether. In this way many touches of AND MODERN ADAPTATIONS 133 THE SECOND GLOBE THEATRE, OPENED IN 1614 From HaUiweU-PhiUippB* OviUnes of the I4fe of Shakespeare^ 10th edition, vol. i. p. 315 ; taken by him from Visscher's engraved view of London, 1616. 134 SHAKESPEARE'S STAGE preparation, retrospect, transition, and characteri- zation are simply dropped. The result may be magnificent, but in many ways it is not Shake- speare. Though the dramatist sometimes went too far in breaking up the action of a drama into separate, scattered scenes, yet in his greatest works all the parts of the play should be presented, and the correct order of the scenes is a definite part of the dramatic effect. Moreover, the expense of the elaborate setting is so oppressive that man- agers are loath to produce Shakespeare at aU. Sir Henry Irving made the statement, a few years ago, that his losses on Shakespearean productions had amounted to ^100,000. Shakespeare's plays were constructed for Shake- speare's theatre ; they are falsified when presented to an audience in an entirely different manner. This fact has come to be recognized more and more, and various attempts have been made to remedy the di£B.culty. A number of Elizabethan plays have been acted by the students of Harvard University during recent years upon a stage es- pecially constructed in the Elizabethan fashion. Following this example, other institution's have given similar performances. Since 1895 the Eliza- bethan Stage Society of London has presented a number of Elizabethan plays as nearly as possible in the original manner. But the only important attempt to appeal to the general public by means of a reformed method of staging the plays of Shake- speare has been made in Miinchen (Munich), AND MODERN ADAPTATIONS 135 Germany. In 1889 the director of the court thea- tre in that capital began to present these dramas upon a specially prepared stage. The omissions made were merely such as good taste demanded. Only a moderate use was made of stage furnish- ings and decorative effects. There were no waits between the scenes, and but slight ones between the acts. This special stage was called " die Shake- speare-Biihne," the Shakespeare stage. It consisted essentially of a stage divided into front and back portions, like the Elizabethan. The front stage remained unchanged in appearance throughout the play ; the back stage could be shut off by a separate curtain. This double stage, with modera- tion in the use of stage furnishings, permitted a rapid succession - of front scenes, and a rapid alternation of front and back scenes.^ The acting and elocution were made prominent, not the scene- painting and rich setting. It was found that a whole play of Shakespeare makes an impression which is very different from that produced by the selected parts and tableau effects to which the mod- ern stage has accustomed us. One writer tells us that, when " Julius Caesar " was presented in its entirety. III. iii., the scene with the poet Cinna, showed itself to be both a scene of great power and a helpful part of the action, because it makes the audience realize vividly the terrible " mischief " 1 R. Gen^e, Die Entmckelung des scenischen Theaters und die Buhnenreform in Munchen, Stuttgart, 1889, gives a description of the Shakespeare stage, also a picture and a floor plan. 136 SHAKESPEARE'S STAGE that is " afoot." The presentations upon the " Shakespeare stage " offered an abimdance of plea- sure and instruction for the students of the great dramatist, and many were enthusiastic over the re- form. But certain disadvantages came with the gains of the new stage. The modern theatre-goer loves brilliant stage effects, and some of Shakespeare's plays make a somewhat bare and inadequate im- pression without the use of more elaborate accesso- ries than the Shakespeare stage can accommodate. Thus, in the first play put upon the Shakespeare stage, " King Lear," it was not possible to give fuU visible expression to the telling contrast between the kiagly glory of Lear and his later misery. This was a failing that leaned to virtue's side, siace the emphasis was thrown with just so much more force upon the speaking and the acting, and upon the ' responsive imagination of the audience. In order to meet this difficulty, however, the same man who worked out the details of the Shakespeare stage, Herr Lautenschlager, invented a revolving stage, and this is now in use at Miinchen.^ This device consists in the main of a great turntable, having a diameter nearly as large as that of the entire stage. While one half of this circular stage is turned toward the audience and a scene is being presented upon it, the other, half, turned from the ^ See the account of Dr. von Possart, Jahrbuch of the German Shakespeare Society, vol. zsxvii. (1901), pp. zriii-xzzTi. The date when the revolving stage -vras first used is not given. AND MODERN ADAPTATIONS 137 audience, is being prepared for its next scene. It takes but a few seconds to revolve the new setting of the bidden portion of the stage into its place when it is wanted. Waits are done away with, but at the same time all desirable stage setting can be provided. To go outside of the spoken drama for an illus- tration of the advantages of the revolving stage, Mozart's opera " Cosi fan tutte " is said to have been practically banished from the theatre before the employment of this new device, because of the many difficult changes of scene called for. If this opera were properly presented upon the usual stage, the waits between the various acts and scenes would amount to a full hour. By the aid of the revolving stage this time was reduced to a minute and one half. A great turntable of this kind, with the electric apparatus by which it is controlled, is costly ; but this expense is largely offset by the fact that the labor of a very few persons, assisted by simple mechanical devices, is sufficient in every ordinary case to prepare the invisible rear portion of the stage promptly and well for the coming scene. The director of the Miinchen court theatte, Dr. von Possart, declared in 1901 that the revolving stage had proved very successful, that a larger theatre was likely to be constructed containing this device, and that this invention promised to be " the stage of the future." So far as concerns the novelty of this invention, however, we are compelled to say with Chaucer : — 138 SHAKESPEARE'S STAGE " There nis no newe gyse, that it nas old." The Japanese theatre has the revolving stage, and presxunably has employed it for a very long period. While only a portion of this stage is ordinarily visible to the Japanese audience, the whole of it can be made use of at times when a distant view or a long perspective is desired.^ A Japanese acquaint- ance of the writer has often wondered at the fact that outside of his own nation he has never met with this simple and effective device. The assertion is freely made that if Shakespeare were now writing plays, he would so plan them as to employ aU the resources of the modem theatre. Undoubtedly he would. It is also maintained that we should present his dramas in the present manner and with all the means at our disposal. This seems reasonable, at first view. But we have noted that some features of these productions were shaped or even created by the nature of the stage for which they were written. Shall such features be pre- served or given up ? Should we have at these points what Shakespeare wrote, or what some modem manager chooses to make out of the same materials ? Probably we shall accept many compromises. The great advantage of the revolving stage is that it en- ables us to secure abundant and effective stage set- ting and decorations without loss of time, and there- fore without at the same time compelling us to cut ^ The writer is indebted to his former pnpil Dr. Eichero Tnasa, and to Dr. Toyokiohi lyenaga of the UniTersity of Chicago, for the information about the Japanese theatre. AND MODERN ADAPTATIONS 139 down Shakespeare's text. But some questions re- main to be settled. Should we insist on presenting scenes which were probably inserted merely to fur- nish time for setting the back stage ? even the in- artistic Scene vi. Act III. of " Kichard III.," and the wholly superfluous though interesting Scene i. Act III. of "Antony and Cleopatra"? In these two cases at least, it seems clear that the scenes should be omitted. Again, shall we be satisfied to bring a scene to a close in the midst of a powerful situation, in the modern manner, when this is en- tirely contrary to Shakespeare's intention? Each case deserves to be considered by itself ; but my own preference would be as a rule, when there is a clash between the very structure of a scene or play and modern methods of presentation, to adhere to the art-form of Shakespeare. THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF ENGLISH SOUNDS THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF ENGLISH SOUNDS 1 The first necessity, the first law, of aU language is clearness. Aristotle and common sense teU us this. Clearness is a fundamental requirement in the expression of thought. " If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do ? " A second necessity and law of language is some measure of conciseness, economy of effort. " The thread of the discourse " should not be drawn out " finer than the staple of the argument." Ease of utterance calls for some care in the arrangement of accents and pauses. Such arrangement gives us prose rhythm. But we seek pleasure from language, and not simply clearness and conciseness. Accord- ing to " the law of the nearest," language may have been the earliest as it is the finest of the fine arts. Poetry chooses in each tongue some additional prin- ciple of form which gives to language special beauty and power. In Hebrew there is parallelism ; in an English poem we have some time-and-accent unit, giving verse rhythm. ^ The present article is in the main a reprint of one in The AtlanLic Monthly for April, 1895, " The Expressive Power of Eng- lish Sounds." Some material has been incorporated from an earlier paper, " The Laws of Tone-Color in the English Language," The Andmier Heoiew, March, 1887. 144 THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS We must notice one more characteristic of artis- tic language before we come to our subject proper. The scientist asks only for the accepted, literal meaning of each word. The artist asks further : What is its history ? What company has it kept ? If it once bore a bad character, but has reformed, how long since it was received into good society ? Does it sometimes forget its new surroundings, and, so to speak, wear its hat in the parlor ? If the word has thoroughly reformed, or always borne a good character, what are its present tendencies ? In its many different uses, are there any degrading or trivial offices which it performs? By all this in- terrogation, we mean that the artist considers the history, associations, and affinities of a word as truly as its simple, dictionary meaning. The neces- sity that the writer's words shall suggest what he wishes to have suggested, as well as express what he wishes to have expressed, we may call the law of suggestiveness. But the artist may question this personified word as to its intrinsic as well as its accepted character ; he may scan the lines of its face, and seek to leam its very nature and fibre. He may say, " My faith- ful servant, I cannot use you with the greatest effect known to language unless both your accepted and your real character mark you out as the word for my thought." That is to say, those words can be used most effectively whose accepted meanings coincide with and are reinforced by the natural ex- pressive power of the sounds which compose them. THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS 145 The question whether the sounds of the English language have each a peculiar expressional value, a natural significance, is a topic on which a great deal has been written, — much of it nonsense, to speak in the bold manner of Carlyle. It is per- haps the failure to discriminate between very differ- ent kinds of expressiveness in the use of sounds that has led many to believe that the whole subject is entirely vague and personal, incapable of anything approximating accurate treatment. But let us see if there are not some clear lines of distinction of which we can be certain. Who can be deaf to the force of these sounds ? " I saw their starved lips in the gloom With horrid warning gaped wide" Keats, La Belle Dame sans Merci. Is not one element of expression in these lines the muscular imitation in the widely parted lips of the sympathetic reader as he utters the words in italics, especially gaped, if the first vowel is pronounced with the sound of a in father ? That we have striking instances of muscular imitation in the fol- lowing cases wiU be plain to the attentive reader : " That bubble, they were bent on blowing big, He had blown already till he burst his cheeks/' _J Browning, The Bing and the Book, II. 450-1. " Where with pnffi'd cheek the belted hunter blew > His wreathed bugle-horn." Tennyson, The Palace of Art. " Mute in the midst, the whole man one amaze." The Ring and the Book, 11. 118. " Now, the prim, pnrsed-up mouth's protruded lips." ' Ibid. XI. 1132. 146 THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS To ask the gentle reader to find distinct muscu- lar imitation in his reading of the following pas- sages is rather daring, but he must admit that his jaws fly open in a very expressive fashion : — "HeUatlast Yawning receiv'd them whole, and on them clos'd." Paradise Lost, VI. 874-5. " Spaces of fire, and all the yawn of hell." Keats, Hjpeiiou, I. 120. In metaphorical uses of the word swallow., the conception is usually that of eng^ulfing something rather than of deglutition. The wide separation of the lips and their quick return give to this word great natural expressiveness. " Though all our glory extinct, and happy state ' Here swallow'd up in endless misery." Paradise Lost, L 141-2. " Whether he first sees light Where the river in gleaming rings Sluggishly winds through the plain ; \ Whether in sound of the swallowing sea — As is the world on the banks, So is the mind of the man." Matthew Arnold, The Future. Every reader vdll feel that the imaginary strug- gle of Clarence is imitated as well as narrated in the following words : — " The enyions flood Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To seek the empty, vast and wandering air ; But smother'd it within my panting bulk. Which almost burst to belch it in the sea." Richard ni., I. iv. 37-41. The imitative effect of the following lines, as THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS 147 they go tip-tonguing through the mouth, must be plain to all : — " Come, and trip it as you go On the light fantastic toe." Milton, L' Allegro. It is plain, then, that the sounds of language are sometimes expressive through what we may call muscular imitation, — an approximate imitation by the muscles employed in articulation of some shape or some motion. A more exact name, but also a more clumsy one, would be articulatory imitation. Much more common than this is what we may call muscular analogy, or muscular symbolism. Pope says, in a passage that has been quoted almost to death, — " When Ajaz striTes some rock's vast -weight to throw, The line too labours, and the words more slow." An Essay on Criticism, 370-1. The action of the organs of articulation as they pro- nounce the troublesome consonant combinations in the first of these lines is not an imitation of the muscular effort of Ajax as he tugs at the mighty stone, but the struggle in the mouth is analogous to the striving of the hero, and is highly expressive. When it is said of Isolt, meeting Tristram, that she "Belted his body with her white embrace" (" The Last Tournament "), the energetic conso- nants express the energy of the action, though the irregular accent upon the first syllable of the line is a stiU more effective feature. The phrase " the wrestling thews that throw the world " (" The 148 THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS Princess," VII.) has greater power of expression than the dictionary can explain. The line to be cited next is, in strictness, a case of expressive versification, not of the expressiveness of the sounds and sound-groups in themselves con- sidered. Pompilia, as she escapes, glides " Ghost-like from great dark room to great dark room." The Ring and the Book, IH. 1073. The even faU of the syllables, caused by the uni- form action of the muscles of breathing and of the voice, symbolizes the even fall of the gliding feet ; but this analogy comes out in the movement of the line, not in the expressiveness of the sounds in themselves considered. In many passages the versification and the sounds are both expressive. In the following line expression is given by the un- expected accent on plumb, and also by the nature of the sounds in the word : — " Flutt'ring his pennons vain plumb down he drops." Paradise Lost, II. 933. In the next passage, the irregular accent on dropt and the abrupt close of the word impress upon us the violence of the shock which puts an end to Vulcan's fall, and lames him forever : — " From mom To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve, A summer's day ; and with the setting sun Dropt from the zenith like a falling star. On Lemnos th' ^gean isle." Paradise Lost, L 742-6. The line that follows furnishes a striking in- stance of muscular analogy : — THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS 149 " Here 's a knife, clip quick — it 's a sign of grace." Browning, Holy-Cross Day. We have now noticed two kinds of expression througli speech-sounds, and have suggested for them the names " muscular imitation " and " mus- cular analogy." Let us take up next the common phenomenon of sound-imitation, or, to give its learned name, onomatopoeia. Imitative effects in language are, of course, only approximate ; they can never be perfect. The names whippoorvnll and ciickoo (European) are highly successful imitations of the notes of those birds. All persons feel the force of the line, — " And murmnring of innumerable bees." The Princess, VII. It is stated that the makers of the great diction- ary of the English PhUqlogical Society found the number of distinctly imitative words that begin with the letter 6 to be imexpectedly large. The strongly explosive quality given to that letter by the energetic springing apart of the lips seems to fit it for many onomatopoetic effects. In how-wow we have both muscular imitation and sound-imita- tion. Concerning the sage elders of the Trojans, we are told in Bryant's translation of the Iliad : — " Beside the gates they sat, unapt, through age, For tasks of war, but men of fluent speech, Like the cicadas that within the wood Sit on the trees and utter delicate sounds.'" ni. 188-91. 150 THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS The specific word in this last line is delicate; the accented vowel of the word is e, a small, light vowel with a high natural pitch ; the similar vowels of sit and trees reinforce this effect. The words sounds and utter have vowels of low natural pitch, but 1;hese are generic expressions, in the use of which the poet seems to have no choice. Surely the sensitive reader will feel that, while all the words of the last line are intended by the poet translator to be effective as words, in accordance with their accepted meanings, the light, high- , pitched vowels of sit, trees, and delicate are in- tended also to imitate the shrill note of the cicada. For a passage in which low-pitched vowels are used imitatively, caU to mind these lines from " Mac- beth":— " Ere to black Hecate's snnunoiis ~ The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums ' Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done A deed of dreadful note." in. ii. 41-4. Here the imitative force is especially concentrated in drowsy hums. The booming of the giant breakers changes to the hissing and spattering of the spray as they are shattered upon the shore, in this line : — " Boar'd as when the roaring breakers boom and blanch on the precipices." Tennyson, Boadicea. The most subtle form of expression through the sounds of language remains to be considered. It is what has sometimes been termed tone-color ; it will THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS 151 often be called here sound-analogy, or sound-symbol- ism. We have felt its force in some of the extracts that have been considered. In the liiie concerning the cicadas, which * " Sit on the trees and utter delicate sounds," there is more than sound-imitation. The light, high-pitched vowels here used are small vowels ; the air is compressed through a very small passage in . shaping these sounds. The smallness of the vowels symbolizes the smallness of the cicadas. The writer once heard Mr. Aldrich speak of the effectiveness of using delicate as metrically equiva- lent to two syllables. In this case, there is sound- symbolism both in the dainty, high-pitched vowels of the word, and in using its three short syllables as equivalent to two ordinary ones. In the passage already cited from " Macbeth," at the same time that the dark, low-pitched vowels imitate the dull humming of " the shard-borne beetle," they also symbolize the mystery of the night and the awful- ness of the coming crime. The tone-color, or quality, of any vowel sound is that peculiarity which distinguishes it from another of the same pitch and intensity. The cause of the quality of a sound, its tone-color, is found in the number and prominence of the overtones, or harmonics, which are combined with the funda- mental, or pitch-determining tone. The differences between the various vowel sounds, when produced by the same voice and at the same pitch, are dif- 152 THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS ferences in tone-color. Different musical instru- ments, such as the violin, the piano, the comet, the clarinet, have each a peculiar expression because of their generic differences in tone-color, quality. Hence it is entirely reasonable that the specific differences between the vowel sounds of the same voice may give to each particular vowel a peculiar expressional value. That is, o (as in ^oW), because of its peculiarities as a sound, may naturally sym- bolize and express certain ideas which e (J'eel') does not by its nature express, and which e in arbitrary, accepted combinations does not, to the sensitive reader, equally well express. This view is not opposed to the teachings of such writers as Professor Whitney, as these are set forth, for example, in the weU-known work " Lan- guage and the Study of Language." Professor Whitney considers the origin and growth of lan- guage ; we accept it as something given : for him language is an instrument answering utilitarian ends ; for us it answers SBsthetic ends. Let us arrange the English vowel sounds in the following scale : — i (little) I (I) 66 (wood) S (met) u (due) ow (cow) S, (mat) ah (what) o (gold) e (mete) ah (father) oo (gloom) ai (fair) oi (boil) aw (awe) a (mate) u (but) The sounds at the beginning of this scale are especially fitted to express uncontrollable joy and delight, gayety, triviality, rapid movement, bright- THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS 153 ness, delicacy, and physical littleness ; the sounds at the end are peculiarly adapted to express hor- ror, solemnity, awe, deep grief, slowness of motion, darkness, and extreme or oppressive greatness of size. The scale runs, then, from the little to the large, from the bright to the dark, from ecstatic delight to horror, and from the trivial to the sol- emn and awful. In this table short and long vowel- sounds and diphthongs have been mingled ; for many purposes of expression, however, the short and long vowel-sounds are distinctly contrasted with each other, and it is not claimed that the scale follows an exact and inflexible natural order of sounds. This vowel-table follows a physiological order. In uttering the first vowels in the series, we feel tha£ they are shaped or modified by the front of the tongue, that they are formed in the front part of the mouth. Beginning with 1, every vowel, and at least one of the sounds in each diphthong, re- ceives its especial modification, or shaping, from the back of the tongue, and is recognized by us as made in the back of the mouth. If the so-called " visible speech " symbols of Professor A. M. Bell are employed, these facts are given visible expres- sion. A recognized principle of elocution helps to con- firm the general truth of this scale. The vowels have been arranged, on the whole, in accordance with what is called natural, or inherent pitch. What is this quality termed natural pitch ? If a 154 THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS person utters the various English vowels in a purely natural, neutral tone, with no thought concerning the location of the sounds upon the musical scale, the various vowels will differ slightly in pitch. Singers know also that a high pitch is more easily reached with some vowels and a low pitch with others. Hence phoneticians recognize each vowel sound as having a certain inherent or natural pitch as compared with the others. The above table fol- lows substantially the order of inherent pitch as given by Sweet and others. The sounds at the beginning of the list have a high natural pitch ; the ideas and feelings which find their most fitting expression through these vowels are those which all elocutionists would express by the use of a high pitch. The sentiments that are assigned to the vowels of low nalniral pitch are brought out by a low pitch in expressive reading. What is more natural than that the individual vowel sounds shall be felt to be, according to their natural pitch, the best sound-representatives of these various feel- ings and ideas ? Perhaps the English language has never known a more skiUful artist in the use of sound-effects than Tennyson. A phrase in Browning's " Ring and the Book," " a gleam i' the gloom " (II. 322), may have suggested the vowel-contrasts of this song : — " Bainbow, stay, Gleam upon g^loom, Bright as my dream, Bainbow, stay ! THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS 155 But it passes away, Gloom upon gleam, Dark as my doom — rainbow, stay ! " Becket, III. i. Here, gleam, bright, dream, are set over against ' gloom, dark, doom. " The Holy Grail " has this effective vowel-contrast : — " For every moment glanced His silver arms and gloom'd, so quick and thick The lightnings." LL 492-4. Of course, poets often do not make use of con- trasted vowels when the contrast of ideas would justify them in doing so. Thus Lowell has the line, — " The painted windows, frecking gloom with glow." The Cathedral In the following quotations illustrating the gen- eral scale, observe the fitness between the vowel sounds and the ideas expressed. Shallow orders in " II. Henry IV." " a joint of mutton and any pretty little tiny kickshaws." Ophelia does not wish Laertes to advise her virtuously, and then imitate the " reckless libertine," who " Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads. And recks not his own rede." The description of Queen Mab and her chariot in " Romeo and Juliet," I. iv., expresses physical littleness and daintiness. AU through the passage the accented, high, light vowels are felt to be the most telling. Who can be insensible to the color- 156 THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS ing of " In shape no bigger than an agate-stone," and " Dra\yn with a team of little atomies " ? Drayton's names for the dainty elves who wait upon Queen Mab are interesting : — - " Hop, and Mop, and Drap so dear, Pip, and Trip, and Skip, that were To Mab their soverei^ dear, Her special maids of honor ; Fib, and Tib, and Fiuck, and Fin, Tick, and Quick, and Jill, and Jin, Tit, and Nit, and Wap, and Win, The train that wait npon her." Nymphidia. The following line from Keats's "Eve of St. Agnes " shows how the upper part of the scale can express delicacy : — " And lucent syrops, tinet with cinnamon." Leigh Hunt comments thus : "Here is delicate modulation, and super-refined epicurean nicety ! " One is compelled to "read the line delicately, and at the tip-end, as it were, of his tongue." The lingual consonants help in this effect, which is so marked that Hunt need not have said "as it were." A few passages expressive of littleness and con- tempt need no comment : — " Thou flea, thou nit, thou -winter-cricket thou I " The Taming of the Shrew, IV. iii. 110. " He hath but a little wee face, with a little yellow beard." Merry Wives of Windsor, I. iv. 22-3. THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS 157 " Beneath, the tides of day and night With flanie and darkness ridge The void, as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge." Bossetti, The Blessed Damozel. Shakespeare uses a number of light-colored, often interjectional words, to express worthlessness, ; triviality, or contempt. Any one wUl appreciate this who win look up in his Shakespeare, by the help of -a concordance, such words as tilly-fally, tilly-vally, tiddle-taddle, fihhle-fahble, prihhles and prahhles, tittle-tattling, hicky-wicky, and hib- hle-hdbhle. " A fiddle-pin's end ! " and " £his rab- ble's brabble," occur in " The Eing and the Book." We have in English many compound words with the vowels ? and a to which a petty force attaches, _ such as chit-chat., fiddle-faddle, dilly-dally, knick- knack, nff-raff, etc. There does not seem to be so much contempt or pettiness expressed by any one of our similar formations containing a darker vowel, as tip-top, sing-song, ding-dong, see-saw, etc. An entire poem in light vowels and dainty con- sonant-effects, by Mr. Edgar Fawcett, appeared in " The Atlantic Monthly " for June, 1880. We quote a good portion of this delicious little mono- chrome. MAIDENHAIE When deep in some dim glade we pause. Perchance we mark how winds caress These lowly sprays of quivering gauze, Aerial in their slenderness. 158 THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS The ruffled leaves of vapory green , Fringe mimic branches, fine as thread, Above slim stems whose ebon sheen Is always mellowing into red. I half am tempted, while I gaze, To question of my wondering thought If silvery whispers of the breeze Have fonnd, as through the woods they went, In your phantasmal delicacies Ethereal embodiment ! Dr. Guest, in his " History of English Khythms," tells us : " Shakespeare seems to have affected the short vowels and particularly the short i, when he had to describe any quickness of motion." This is natural. Large bodies move slowly and heavily, and their motion is best described and symbol- ized by slow, heavy vowels ; but quick movement caUs for short, light vowels. Let us turn to the lower part of the scale. Of course, whole poems will not be heavily shaded. That would be intolerable. Only emphatic words, phrases, and passages need be dark because the thought is dark ; and even there sound-analogy may be disregarded in favor of more important prin- ciples. These lines from Addison's " Cato " are darker than the mere counting of the dark syllar bles would show : — " The dawn is overcast, the morning lowers, And heavily in clouds brings on the day." We must weigh rather than count. Notice from « OtheUo," — THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS 159 " Ou horror's head horrors accumlate ; " III. iu. 370. and from Poe, — " 'T is the Tault of thy lost Ulalume I " and — " the lonesome Octoher Of my most immemorial year." Perhaps the difference between the force of the two extremes of the vowel-scale can be best felt if one reads the same passage in two ways, first pro- longing the high vowels with great emphasis and hurrying over the low ones, then doing the reverse. For instance : — " No liONOER MOURN for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the sukly sullen hell." The long vowels in the closing stanza of Tenny- son's " Requiescat " contrast noticeably with some expressive short vowels in the opening stanza of the lyric which stands next in our editions of the poet : — " And fairer she, hut ah, how soon to die ! Her quiet dream of life this hour may cease. Her peaceful being slowly passes hy To some more perfect peace." THE SAILOR BOY He rose at dawn and, fired with hope, Shot o'er the seething harhour-har, And reach'd the ship and caught the rope, And whistled to the morning star. The abrupt shortness of struts waA frets is very expressive in a well-known line of " Macbeth " : — 160 THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS " Life 's but a, walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more.'' V. V. 24-6. The most dissonant and unpleasing of all the vowel sounds in English is that of a in flat, rang. Harshness and dissonance of all kinds are expressed by this sound. The third division of " The Bells" rings with the twanging, jangling, wrangling clamor and clangor of the brazen bells. With equal force Browning says of certain lawyers : — " Thus wrangled, brangled, jangled they a month." The King and the Book, I. 238. Tennyson uses this sound to set forth the harsh appearance of all nature after the death of Arthur : " And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day." In Memoriam, vii. Professor Genung notes " the harsh sibilants " in the first of these lines, and " the intentionally hard alliteration and utter want of rhythm " in the sec- ond. How abundant and forcible is the sound- symbolism here ! The brassy dissonance of this so-caUed short a makes it very effective in some cases of sound- imitation. It is combined in the following passage with the sh, of which I speak later : — " Shield-breakings, and the clash of brands, the crash Of battle-axes on shatter'd helms, and shrieks After the Christ." Tennyson, The Passing of Arthur, 109-11. The vowels especially fitted to symbolize rich- THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS 161 ness, abundance, complete satisfaction, fullness of beauty, and kindred ideas, are o, ah, do, ow, i (as in mine). These are peculiarly rich, sensuous im- pressions. Smooth, prolongable consonants, espe- cially the semi-vowels, liquids, and nasals, add to the effect. " Heav'n open'd wide Her eTeT-dnring gates, hannonioaa sound Od golden hinges moving." Paradise Lost, VII. 205-1. " Hear the mellow wedding bells, Golden bells ! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight I From the molten-golden notes, And aU in tune. What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon ! Oh, from out the sounding cells What a gush of euphony voluminously wells ! " Poe, The Bells. Turning now to the consonant soimds, we find that these can be divided with some fitness into two classes, which may be called momentary and prolonged consonants. Those which are most dis- tinctly momentary are the voiceless stops p, t, h; next may be placed A, wh,f, th (as in thin) ; next to these the voiced stops 6, d, g. The prolonged consonants are very numerous : w, y, I, r, a, zh (=» in azure), s, sh, m, n, ng, v, th (as in then). Strictly speaking, it is as easy to prolong f and th (thin) as the corresponding voiced sounds v and th 162 THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS (then) ; but the latter pair are decidedly more soft and clinging in their effect. In the production of the momentary consonants, especially all except the voiced stops, 6, d, g, the muscular action is very intense and the release of the organs very marked ; hence the explosive effect of these consonants is very decided. Not arbitra- rily, then, but naturally and necessarily, the sounds p, t, k, h, wh, f, and th (thin) express boldness, precipitation, unexpectedness, vigor, determination, explosive passion, and forcible and startling ef- fects of all kinds. They must be the initial con- sonants of accented syllables in order to have their full expressional value. Combiuations of these let- ters, as st, sp, etc., have much the same force. " Brazen bells 1 What a world of terror now their turbnlency tells I In the startled ear of night How they scieam out their affright ! " Poe, The Bells. " A cry that shiver'd to the tingling stars.'' Tennyson, Morte d'Arthur. " Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, Meet and ne'er part till one drop down a corse." I Henry IV., IV. i. 122-3. " My good hlade carves the casques of men. My tough lance thmsteth sure, My strength is as the strength of ten, The splinter'd spear-shafts crack and fly." Tennyson, Sir Galahad. Sometimes great power is given to a single mo- mentary consonant. THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS 163 " But somewbere, out of human view, Whate'er thy hands are set to do la wrought with iumult of aeolaim." Tennyson, In Memoriam, Ixzr. " Such and so grew these holy pUes, Whilst love and (error laid the tiles." Emerson, The Problem. " Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east." Morte d' Arthur. The voiced stops h, d, g, give less startling and powerful effects than the more decided mo- mentary consonants just considered. At times, when many voiced stops are associated, especially if they are contrasted with voiceless stops used immediately before or after, the effect is quite subdued. In " The Eing and the Book, " the patri- arch Noah is represented as saying concerning the returned dove : — " Though this one breast by miracle return, No wave rolls by, in all the waste, but bears Within it some dead dove-like thing as dear. Beauty made blank and harmleasness destroyed." Xn. 480-3. Swinburne speaks of " some dead lute-player That in dead years had done delicious things." A Ballad of Life. In distinction from the momentary consonants, those which we have called prolonged are soft, mild, and pleasing. Note the dainty contrast in these lines : — " To watch across the stricken chords Your rosy-twinkling fingers flee ! Or woo you in soft woodland words. With woodland pipe, Autonoe ! " Dobson, To a Greek Girl. 164 THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS L and »•, more distinctly than the other pro- longed consonants, express softness, smoothness, liquidity, love, longing, lingering, and (forgive the anti-climax !) laziness. Other prolonged sounds re- inforce this effect, and save the artist from using the energetic voiceless stops and spirants. " Elaine the fair, Elaine lihe lovable, Elaine the lily maid of Astolat." Tennyson, Lancelot and Elaine, 1-2. " Philomel, with melody Sing in our sweet luUaby ; LxUla, Inlla, Inllaby, Inlla, Inlla, Inllaby." A Midsummer-Night's Dream, II. ii. 13-15. A second division of the consonant sounds is into those which are voiceless (whispered) and those which are voiced (accompanied by voice, the vibration of the vocal chords). The whispered con- sonants are the stops ^, t, h, the spirants y and th (thin), and the sounds wh, h, s, and sh. The four last sounds are in the imitative words hush and whisper. The whispered sound^ may be used effec- tively in expressing fear, secrecy, deception, cau- tion, mystery, and all other ideas and emotions which naturally take the whisper. Certain consonant sounds are especially rich, smooth, and pleasing. Such are z and zh, as in easy, azure, pleasure. Indeed, all the prolonged consonants may with some fitness be called rich, pleasing sounds, with the exception of r, when given its rough or consonantal pronunciation, s, and sh ; these three sounds will be touched upon later. The THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS 165 consonants a, zh, I, r, and w are peculiarly soft and pleasant. Sh is decidedly the most unpleasant consonant effect in English. Bacon says that " the noise of screech-owls hath resemblance with the letter sh." The brazen bells " can only shriek, shriek, shriek " (" The Bells "). Because sh is a whispered sound, it is also fitted to express fear, mystery, and allied ideas. " And my pulses closed their gates with a shock on my heart as I heard The shrill-edged shriek of a mother divide the shuddering night." Tennyson, Maud, I. iv. Thus every English sound has some special ex- pressive force. Also, since a sound may have many striking characteristics, it may have more than one natural expression. The reader will surely think, now, that he has encountered a mounted special- ist, riding his hobby to death. But let him consider that although the explosive quality of initial h gives it expressiveness in " Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, Meet and ne'er part till one drop down a corse,'' I. Henry IV., IV. i. 122-3. the same sound is also a guttural whisper, expres- sive of mystery, terror, etc., in the line, — " An hideous Geaunt, horrible and hye." Spenser, The Faerie Queene, I. vii. 8. Other guttural sounds and other whispered ones may have similar force. Note the following lines : 166 THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS " A hell as hopeless and as f nil of fear As are the blasted banks of Eiebns, Where shaking ghosts with ever-howling groans HoTer abont the ugly ferryman." Marlowe, First Part of Tamburlaine, V. 243-6. A sensitive reader will not always read the same sound in the same way. LoweU tells us, in his essay on Dryden, that the sibilants of our language can be made either to hiss or to sing. S should be prolonged in reading when intended to be un- pleasant. When nicely articulated and not pro- longed, it often expresses delicate, musical effects. " And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath That the rude sea grew civil at her song, And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, To hear the sea^-maid's music." A Midsummer-Kight's Dream, II. i. 150-4. " Valeria, attend : I have a lovely love. As bright as is the heaven crystalline, As fair as is the milk-white way of Jove, As chaste as Phoebe in her sunamer sports. As soft and tender as the azure down That circles Cytherea's silver doves." The Taming of a Shrew, 1594, Anonymous, Bankside Shakespeare, vol. ii. p. 190. In the case of r, what is called its rough, or con- sonantal value is exactly opposite in expressive power to its smooth, or vocalic utterance. " Others with vast Typhoean rage more fell Bend up both rocks and hills, and ride the air In whirlwind." Paradise Lost, II. 539-41. " And shower'd the rippled ringlets to her knee.'' Tennyson, Godiva. THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS 167 In the awful curse wliicli King Lear pronounces upon Goneril, how expressive is the word thwart I The interference and struggle of tongue, teeth, and lips, with which the word begins, are a powerful symbol of the moral perversity which Lear prays may inhabit the child of Goneril. " If she must teem, Create her child of spleen ; that it ma; live, And be a thwart disnatnred torment to her I " King Lear, I. iv. 303-5. In contrast with thwart, the powerful word dis- natured gets little of its impressiveness through sound-symboHsm. In many passages in which the sounds employed are plainly significant, it is impossible to say just how much of the expression is due to each of the four sources that we have discussed, — muscular imitation, muscular analogy, sound-imitation, and sound-analogy. Some instances of this have already been noted. The first passage that we cited under muscular imitation is also a powerful illustration of sound-analogy : — " I saw their starv'd lips in the gloom With horrid warning gaped wide." The low-pitched vowels in these lines bring out the mysterious horror of the knight's dream. The very impressive word gloom takes no part in the muscu- lar imitation. In this line from Browning, describ- ing a quarrelsome household, — " Dog-snap and oat-claw, onrse and counterblast," The Ring and the Book, II. 501. 168 THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS we undoubtedly have both muscular symbolism and sound-symbolism, one of them more prominent ia the first half of the line, the other in the last half. Although the lines already cited, — " Blaine the fair, Elaine the lovable, Klaine, the lily maid of Astolat," are strikingly effective in the way of sound-analogy, who shall say that the soft sounds have no trace of muscular analogy ; that they are not also intended to bring before us the modest gestures and gentle movements of the lily maid ? Sound-imitation and soimd-analogy are both pre- sent in the striking contrast which follows : — " So far her Toioe flow'd on, like timorous hrook That, lingering along a pehbled coast, Doth fear to meet the sea : but sea it met. And shudder'd ; for the oTerwhelming voice Of huge Enceladus swallow'd it in wrath : The ponderous syllables, like sullen waves In the half-glutted hollows of reef-rocks. Came booming thus." Keats, Hyperion, II. 300-V. Every part of Poe's poem " The BeUs " is both imitative and symbolic; particular states of feel- ing are expressed by the same sounds that imitate the silver, golden, brazen, or iron bells, as they tinkle, chime,' clang, or toU. Indeed, Poe wrote this poem consciously upon the distinct theory that those language sounds which best imitate some natural sound, here a bell of a particular tone, are intrinsically adapted to express at the same time certain allied emotions. This use of words and THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS 169 phrases both to serve as onomatopoetic imitations and to call up the appropriate accompanying emo- tions is a common device of aU poets, and must convince us that the line cannot be drawn between simple sound-imitation, onomatopoeia, and the closely allied expression of emotion. To illustrate : " Friend 1 but yesterday the bells Rang for thee their XovLifarewells ; And to-day they toll for thee, Lying dead beyond the sea." Longfellow, Bayard Taylor. It is interesting to express the vowel-coloring of " The Bells " in percentages. The constant repeti- tion of the word " bells " has been called almost fatal to the poem, and at any rate it is a common factor in aU the parts. Let us omit this word, and enu- merate all the other accented syllables in the poem. Let us now fix attention upon the first seven vowels in the vowel-scale already given. In the first divi- sion of " The Bells," that of the tinkling sledge- bells, 75.5 per cent, of all the accented syllables contain one of these seven vowels ; in the second division, that of the golden wedding bells, 43.6 per cent, of the stressed syllables contain one of the vowels in question ; in the division of the brazen alarum bells, 66.2 per cent. ; and in the fourth, that of the tolling iron beUs, 49.9 per cent. The words hoarse and croaks in the following passage are distinctly imitative, yet the sound-sym- bolism is the especial source of their impressiveness as sounds : — 170 THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS " The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements." Maeheth, I. v. 39-41. Lowell's comments upon this passage, in tte essay " Shakespeare Once More," bring out other and more important factors in its power. Muscular axialogy, sound-imitation, and sound- analogy seem all to be present in these craggy lines : — " Dry clash'd his harness in the icy caves And barren chasms, and all to left and right The bare black clifF clang'd round him, as he based His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels." Tennyson, Morte d'Arthnr. Is there any one principle to which all these four forms of sound-expressiveness can be reduced ? Cer- tainly most of the significant sound effects in lan- guage, and perhaps all o£ them, can be reduced ultimately to likeness of motion. This • is more plainly true in the other cases than in those which come under sound-analogy. Is it not broadly true here ? The slow vibrations of the air in a fimeral dirge and the solemn movements of the mourning train correspond to the slow vibrations, or motions, of the low-pitched vowels in speech. The quick motions of delight correspond to the rapid vibra- tions of the light, high-pitched vowels. Lest any one misiinderstand, let it be said ex- plicitly that the accepted meanings of words should not be disregarded or tampered with in an effort THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS 171 to secure expressive sound effects. Sound-expres- sion, to be effective, should be added to the usual methods of expression ; it should not infringe upon them. The significant use of sounds is an important element in poetry ; in proportion as prose departs in spirit from poetry and approximates science, less use will naturally be made of the expressive power of sotmds. Let the reader note, also, that we are not now concerned at all with sound effects that are simply pleasing, but with those that are significant ; we are discussing one method of expression ; we are not consideriag euphony. Swinburne is a writer who has a consuming passion for euphony, and a mar- velous capacity for securing it in his poetry ; Brown- ing tends always toward expressiveness. When Swinburne sings of the " lisp of leaves and ripple of rain," and of " a dead lute-player that in dead years had done delicious things," the effect is both euphonious and expressive ; but we feel that the sensuous charm of these phrases is what especially captivated their author, as it captivates us. It is not an unusual thing for a passage to win a sensuous charm at the expense of sound-expres- siveness. The alliteration in these lines from John Fletcher's " Melancholy," — " Fountain-heads and pathless groves, Places which pale passion loves ! " gives US a sensuous pleasure. But this sound effect is decidedly vigorous ; it does not bring out the idea of dreamy melancholy. 172 THE SYMBOLIC VALUE OF SOUNDS Although the sounds of English have changed some since the time of Shakespeare, yet the pas- sages here cited have not been materially affected by this. The Irish pronunciation of English is de- cidedly older in some respects than our present standard. When Pope sings, — " Here thon, great Anha I whom three realms ohey, Dost sometimes counsel take — and sometimes tea," The Rape of the Lock, HI. 7-8. we must pronounce tay, with the Irishman, or lose the rhyme. In general, I hold that, whenever in the history of a language any sound or combination takes on a new pronunciation, all the words affected thereby become different poetic material because of the change, though for all ordinary purposes these words may well have the same value as before. The analytic tendency of modern thinking, the determination to leave nothing iminvestigated, to pluck the heart out of every mystery, often dis- pleases and even repels us. The writer has tried to investigate thoroughly the phenomena here dis- cussed ; but the fact is also appreciated that the human spirit can never be imprisoned in a for- mula ; that the mind of man, in any of its im- portant manifestations, wiU never be found out to perfection. Although much remains uncertain in connection with the subject of this inquiry, it is hoped that the reader is convinced that a delicate use of sound- symbolism is one of the innermost secrets of style. THE FINNISH " KALEV ALA " AND THE EPIC QUESTION THE FINNISH "KALEVALA" AND THE EPIC QUESTION 1 The interesting and important work upon the epic of the Finns, the " Kalevala," by the Italian scholar Comparetti, appeared in Italian in 1891 and in German in 1892. It now presents itself to us in a smooth and comely English dress, and Mr. Andrew Lang makes the introduction. A complete English translation of the poem itself, ' by an American scholar, Mr. John Martin Crawford, was published at New York in 1888. The English translation of Comparetti violates literary ethics by appearing without an index, though the table of contents is somewhat fall. Some page references wiU therefore be given. The " Kalevala " has usually been looked upon "as an ancient national epos, orally preserved by tradition, and collected from the mouths of the people, principally by Lonnrot " (p. 10). In point of fact it was in many ways constructed by Lonn- rot, not simply collected. The idea of combining the folk-songs of the Finns which treat the same or related subjects was first suggested to this scholar ^ Revised from the Dial, August 15, 1899. The article was primarily a review of the English translation of Comparetti's work on the Kalevala, published by Longmans, with the title The Traditional Poetry of the Finns. 176 THE FINNISH KALEVALA by the popular singers themselves, who feel free to combine several songs into a larger whole. Lonn- rot finally went far beyond this, and attempted to weave into a great unified poem all that was most interesting and significant in the entire mass of Finnish folk-poetry. To do this he made alterations in the ballads somewhat freely, though in most cases he either followed some one of the various versions of the particidar song, or at least made changes that could easily be paralleled from the actual folk-poetry. The unity of the " Kalevala " thus obtained, however, is something very imper- fect ; sometimes there is very little attempt to unify the various stories (p. 144) ; at times fundamental inconsistencies have been allowed to remain (pp. 148, 347 £f.) ; and what unity exists is often exter- nal rather than intrinsic. For example, the runes (songs) concerning Lemminkainen ^ are brought into a superficial connection with those about Wai- namoinen and Ilmarinen by making him join those two heroes in the expedition for the recovery of the Sampo. " A third companion often actually occurs in the songs of the people, but this is never Lemminkainen," except in a single fragment (pp. 132, 135 n.). Chapter III. of Part I., " The Com- position of the ' Kalevala,' "' teUs in detail just how Lonnrot built up the great poem from the materials furnished him in the folk-songs. This is perhaps the most interesting portion of the book. We learn ^ The Finnish proper names are here given in the forms found in Crawford's translation. AND THE EPIC QUESTION 177 here how it happens that the story of the making of the first harp from the bones of the great pike and of the exquisite singing of Wainamoiaen (Runes 40, 41) is followed later by an account of the loss of this harp (close of Rune 42), and the making of a second from the sacred birch-tree (Rune 44). In reality, no Finnish singer knows of two harps. The loss of the first instrument was a pure inven- tion of Lonnrot, in order that he might thereby weave into his poem another charming version of the origin of the harp. The changing of the tears of Wainamoinen into sea-pearls (Rune 41) is a striking incident which seems to have originated wholly with Lonnrot (p. 156 ; see also p. 257 concerning the making of the Sampo). Lonnrot did not put any single rune into the " Kalevala " in just the form found in any partic- ular version. So far as possible in each case, aU the best lines and passages from the various ren- derings were combined. Thus every incident occu- pies more space in the " Kalevala " than in any actual folk-song. The collection of Abercromby ^ enables the lover of the " Kalevala " to study in English some of the original ballad-versions from which that epic was made. The magic song, or charm, is the fundamental product of Finnish folk-poetry (pp. 24, 187, 232) ; the interesting belief that one who recites correctly 1 See the second volume of The Pre- and Proto-Bistoric Finns, Jobn Abercromby, London, 1898. Vols. ix. and z. of The Grimm Library. 178 THE FINNISH KALEVALA the account of the origin of any evil force takes away thereby its power for harm (pp. 27, 229) explains why these magic songs are narrative in form, and suggests in a strange way the wise philo- sophy of Bacon. The Finns are perhaps the only people who have produced poetry of a high degree of excellence while stiU believing in the universal efficacy of magic (p. 24). The aesthetic power of song seems to be a later conception (p. 321). The hero ia this poetry is the wizard, the magician (pp. 172, 185, 230). The deeds of separate hero- wizards make up the poem ; " no peoples or social masses appear ia collective action or lq conflict" (pp. 22 f., 329). The thoroughly non-historical character of the " Kalevala " is a constant surprise to the student whose ideas have been formed by reading the other great folk-epics (pp. 23, 60, 246, 329). It is noticeable that the best versions of the runes were not obtained ia Roland proper. " The Finns of Russia and of the Russian Church are still quite illiterate and in a state of primitive simplicity ; among them the tradition of the songs has remained singularly fresh. For the genuine traditional rune is in its essence the poetry of the illiterate, the poetry of natare " (p. 19). " The northern region in which the ancient Russian songs most abound and are most un- changed is the same in which the poetical tradition of the Finns also is best preserved, — the government of Archangel, and Olonetz from Lake Onega to Lake La- doga" (p. 311). AND THE EPIC QUESTION 179 The case here is parallel to that of our English ballads. When the publication of Percy's " Ee- liques of Ancient English Poetry," in 1766, aroused a general interest in our folk-songs, it was only in the remoter parts of Scotland that these were still current in the mouths of the people. No one singer furnished so many choice ballads as Mrs. Brown of Falkland, who is fairly entitled to be the pa- tron-saint of ballad-lovers. Versions of thirty-one ballads were obtained from her. In many cases her version is easily the best one extant; while the ballad " Allison Gross " and the pure gold of " Willie's Lady " have been preserved to us by her alone. It throws a flood of light upon the nature of folk-poetry to learn just how this woman ob- tained her songs. She was bom in 1747, and learned her ballads before she was twelve. Her father, Pro- fessor Thomas Gordon of Aberdeen, wrote about her in these words : — " An aunt of my children (Mrs. Farquharson, now [1799?] dead), who was married to the proprietor of a small estate near the sources of the Dee, in Braemar, a good old woman, who spent the best part of her life among flocks and herds, resided in her latter days in Aberdeen. She was possessed of a most tenacious mem- ory, which retained all the songs she had heard from the nurses and country-women in that sequestered part of the country. Being maternally fond of my children, when young, she had them much about her, and delighted them with her songs and tales of chivalry. My young- est daughter, Mrs. Brown, at Falkland, is blessed with 180 THE FINNISH KALEVALA a memory as good as her aunt's, and has almost the whole of her songs by heart." ^ If the reader will look up on a good map the sources of the Dee in Braemar in Western Aber- deenshire, where Mrs. Brown's aunt learned her ballads, he will note that the district is one of the wildest in Scotland. The region contains a large number of the loftiest mountains in that country. Only a fortunate chance preserved to us the choice folk-songs which still lingered in that remote corner of Great Britain during the second quarter of the eighteenth century. Mr. Lang's main interest in the " Kalevala " and in the work of Comparetti is because of the light thrown by them upon the broader Homeric ques- tion, better called the epic question, — the prob- lem concerning the mode of origin of the world's great national epics. Indeed, this larger question was probably the especial stimulus which led Com- paretti himself to study the epic of the Finns. The reason why this problem is an endless one is not far to seek. Since Wolf in 1795 advocated the view that the Iliad was put together from separ rate songs, two tendencies have been clearly de- veloped in the theorizings concerning the origin of folk-epics. One tendency accents the element of folk-poetry, popular poetry, as the fundamental fact. Since most popular poetry is narrative, and this exists almost entirely in the form of separate 1 Nichols's Illustrations of the Literary History of the XVHIth Century, toI. vii. p. 178. AND THE EPIC QUESTION 181 ballads, this view makes much of the individual folk-songs, and makes little of the grave difficulties which confront one who tries to explain how any- particular epic was put together or otherwise de- veloped from these elements. These difficulties are somewhat mitigated by the theory that the Iliad, for example, existed at one time as a simpler though complete poem, a primary Iliad, to which successive additions have been made. We must remember, also, that in folk-poetry itself we find ballads combined into larger compositions. The English " Gest of Eobin Hood " is admitted to be a composite of different baUads. Compound ballads are well known to the Finns. Comparetti gives one which corresponds to five different runes of the "Kalevala" and parts of three others (pp. 158 ff.). It is somewhat misleading, therefore, to suggest that no " song existing independently ever figures in a large poem " (p. viii). The second tendency in explaining the origin of popular epics is to accent the element of plan and the organic unity of the great mass of material, and either to overlook the precedent folk-songs or at least to minimize their importance. The origin of a popular epic, however, cannot possibly be ex- plained without the presence in some measure of both factors, — the creative but unconscious folk- spirit, and the conscious master poet. Inasmuch as folk-poetry cannot flourish except in a society im.- cultured and free from Self-consciousness, incapable of observing and reporting the phenomena of its 182 THE FINNISH KALEVALA own mental life, both the general problem and that wdth reference to each particular epic become im- possible of exact solution. The importance of the " Kalevala " in this line of inquiry is very great, since it is " the only example we have of a national poem actually resulting from minor songs; these songs being not discoverable in it according to some preconceived idea by means of inductive analysis, but known as reaUy existing independently of the large composition " (p. ix). Lonnrot thought him- self to be a Finnish Homer, composing the epic of his race from their stores of song. Comparetti points out that Lonnrot, though a folk-poet at heart, was also a scholar, filled with modem theorizings concern- ing the making of popular epics (p. 340) ; and " the processes of such a man are no argument for early Greece " (Lang, p. xvi). Moreover, although Lonnrot alters and transposes with great freedom, and sometimes inserts original passages, the " Kale- vala " comes far short of possessing a unity like that of the Diad or the Odyssey. Though charming in all its parts, the Finnish epic, when considered as a whole, remains in many respects a piece of patch- work. There can be no doubt, I think, that Mr. Lang underestimates the importance of the folk element in the Homeric poems. He says, using in part the language of Comparetti : — " In my opinion the maker of the Eiad did just what was done by the maber of ' The Lay of the Last Min- strel.' Out of his knowledge of facts or fancies, as ex-< AND THE EPIC QUESTION 183 isting in lays and traditions, he fashioned a long poem with beginning, middle, and end, with ' organic unity, harmony, proportion of parts coordinated among them- selves, and converging towards a final catastrophe ' " (p. xxi). But the two cases are far from parallel. The con- ception of a body of songs concerning the Trojan War, which give an accurate version of the events, is distinctly assumed in the Odyssey itself (Bk. I. 11. 350 ff., VIII. 74 ff., 489 ff., 500 fE.). "Without insisting that this conception is correct for the life- time of an actual Odysseus, it seems clear that the nature of the popular literature in existence at the time when the Odyssey was composed made this conception appear not only natural but unques- tionable. Comparetti declares : " A long poem, created by the people, does not exist, cannot exist ; epic popular songs, such as could be put together into a true poem, have never been seen and are not likely to be seen among any people " (p. 352). This seems extreme in view of what a Bussian scholar named Eadloff has told us about the popular poetry of a Turkish tribe, the Karar^Kirghis.^ These people dwell among the mountains of Central Asia, in the general neighborhood of Lake Issyk-kul and the city 1 Proben der VolTcslitteratur der nSrdlichen turkischen Stamme, Gesammelt und iibersetzt von Dr. W. Radloff. V. Teil, Dialect der Kara^Kirgisen. The book is in Russian. The writer is very greatly indebted to Professor George C. Howland of the Uni- versity of Chicago for making him a written translation of the entire Introdnction. 184 THE FINNISH KALEVALA of Kashgar, near the westernmost border of the Chinese Empire. The poetry of this tribe, according to Eadloff, is stiU "in a certain original period which is best called the genuinely epic period, that same period in which the Greeks were found when their epic songs of the Trojan war were not yet written, but lived ia the form of genuine folk-poetry in the mouths of the people." The national feeling of the Kara^Kirghis " has united separate epic songs into one undivided whole. . . . The different tradi- tions and stories, historical recollections, tales, and ballads, as though in obedience to some force of attraction, Combine about an epic centre, and in all their dismemberment appear parts of a comprehen- sive general picture." " Only a people which has not reached individual culture," says Radloff, " can create bards from its midst, and develop a period of contemporaneous epic. With the spread of culture " come " rhapsodists who do not compose themselves, but siQg songs borrowed from others." Radloff cites the following passage from Steinthal : "Up to 1832 no one knew of a whole Finnish epic. . . . No one had knowledge of the unity, and yet ... it was existent ia the songs themselves." ^ Eadloff com- ments on this as foUows : " From this I venture only to conclude that among the Finns in the year 1832 the period of contemporaneous epic (as it now exists among the Kara-Kirghis) was already past. In the epic period the consciousness of the unity of the epic is still living in each portion of the whole." 1 "Das Epos," Zdtschriftfur Vslker-psychologie, V. AND THE EPIC QUESTION 185 It must be admitted that so far as Kadloff enters into details concerning the poetry of the Karar Kirghis, the epic unity which binds together the various songs of the tribe appears to be somewhat loose and vague ; but it seems clear that a real unity is felt, and that Comparetti has gone too far in the assertion cited above. The following compre- hensive statement of Comparetti is entirely just; but I take the liberty to emphasize two adjectives : " In proportion as the epic songs unite to form a wide, well-defined, and stable organism, strictly popular and collective work is lost sight of, while the work of the individual is accentuated and brought to light " (p. 339). It is a striking fact that the most important poems in English which have some right to be re- garded as epics of art approximate closely to the folk-epic in some essential respects. " Sigurd the Volsung," by William Morris, is a fascinating re- telling in a continuous poem of the various Eddie poems concerning Sigurd and of the prose Volsunga Saga. The poet makes no attempt to remove all the difficulties and inconsistencies which he found in his sources. The story which Tennyson chose for his theme in " The IdyUs of the King " took its rise in remote Celtic tradition, and, becomiag later a literary tradition, had attracted other stories to itself and had been fashioned and refashioned centuries before Tennyson. The general story of Milton's " Paradise Lost " was first told in a form destined to dominate subsequent writers by Bishop Avitus 186 THE FINNISH KALEVALA of Vienne, about 500 a. d., in his Latin epic poem, " De Spiritalis Historiae Gestis." Professor Marsh of Harvard University tells us that this poem was itseK the outcome of a precedent poetic tradition, and that it was especially poetical and powerful " largely because Avitus made use freely and skill- fully of what his predecessors had done."i Yet Avitus wrote nearly twelve hundred years before MUton. Some of the more important English ver- sions of this story between Avitus and Milton are to be found in the poems formerly attributed to Caed- mon, in the " Cursor Mundi," and in the cycles of mystery plays. The last editor of " Paradise Lost," Mr. Moody, in his admirable " Cambridge Milton," discusses only the different Eenaissance poems which treat of the Fall of Man, and which may have directly influenced Milton. If we bear in mind the entire tradition, the following words of Mr. Moody become so much more expressive : in a " restricted but still significant sense, 'Paradise Lost' is a ' natural epic,' with a law of growth like that of BeowuK or the Iliad." We can say in general that the two concep- tions — that of an epic with a story wholly in- vented by its author, so far as invention is possible, and that of one made up of folk-songs unaltered but arranged in the most effective order — are the polar opposites of each other. It is probably impossible that a large, impressive, and unified poem, one which we could properly term an epic, a master- 1 Article on A-vitna, Johnson's Universal Ct/dqpcedia. AND THE EPIC QUESTION 187 piece of grand narrative, could approximate very closely to either of these poles. Tasso, in his " Jeru- salem Delivered," and Camoens, in the " Lusiads," have made acknowledged epic masterpieces upon historical themes ; these poems come nearest to one of these extremes. But among all the epics accessible to the general reader, the " Kalevala " comes nearest to the other extreme, that of a simple arrangement of folk-songs. The " Kalevala " has an especial interest for the people of the United States. Among the longer poems that have been produced in America, Long- fellow's " Hiawatha " is perhaps the most successful. In this poem the measure and the style of the "Kalevala" have been used with admirable taste and skill to embody the rich mythology of the North American Indians. Political happenings have also called our atten- tion to Finland. After Russia wrested this district from Sweden in 1809, the inhabitants enjoyed more freedom and a better government than any other portion of the empire. But now their cherished rights have been taken away, and the Finns have appealed in vain to the civilized world for sympathy and moral support. Would that the recent acts of our own republic had not taken away from us the right' and the power to speak out effectively in behalf of freedom and self-government for the distressed Finns ! HAMLET'S "WOO'T DRINK UP EISEL?" HAMLET'S « WOO 'T DRINK UP EISEL ? " i FcENBSS, in his great Variorum edition of " Hamlet," begins as follows five pages of original and selected comments upon this expression : — " With the exception of ' the dram of sale,' no word or phrase in this tragedy has occasioned more discussion than this Hsill [the Second Quarto] or Ssile [the First Folio]. . . . Theohald saw the difficulty so clearly that subsequent criticism has chiefly ranged itself on one or other of the two interpretations suggested by him, viz. that the word either represents the name of a river, or is an old word, meaning vinegar." ^ The phrase under discussion comes at the begin- ning of a well-known speech of Hamlet to Laertes at the grave of Ophelia : — " 'Swotmds, show me what thou 'It do : Woo 't weop ? woo 't fight ? woo 't fast ? woo 't tear thyself ? Woo 't drink np eisel ? eat a crocodile ? I '11 do 't." V. i. 297-300. It is noticeable that the First Quarto text of the play does not contain the word that troubles us. 1 Re-rised from the Modem Language Notes, December, 1894. « I. p. 405. 192 " WOO 'T DRINK UP EISEL f " The question that there appears is, " Wilt drinke up vessels ? " Without going into the controversy over the exact force of up in " Woo 't drink up eisel ? " it is safe to accept the conclusion of Fumess, " that in the present passage, ' drink up esiU ' means no more than to ' quaff esill.' " I believe that the denotation " vinegar " for the word Esill, Esile, has seemed unsatisfactory simply because the connotation of the phrase as a whole has not been understood ; and that an allusion is intended to the draught of vinegar and gall offered to Christ. This draught was looked upon during the Middle Ages as a bitter, loathsome compound, and the offer of it to Christ as a crowning insult and a crowning torture. According to this view, the phrase takes all its fullness of meaning fi'om this distinct reference to the dying agonies of the Crucified One. Three different offers of " vinegar " to Christ at the time of the crucifixion seem to be recorded in the Gospels, as indicated below. An " interpreta- tion " of each offer is added, taken from the com- ments upon the passages concerned that are given in the volumes of the Cambridge Bible for Schools and Colleges. It may be presumed that the special students of the New Testament at the present day accept these interpretations substantially as here given. " woo 'T DRINK UP EISEL f ' 193 The offer of vinegar and gall (or myrrb) be- lore the crucifixion. Christ tastes, but does not drink. Matt, xxvii. 33-34. Mark xt. 23. Interpretation :■ A stu- pefying draught offered In mercy. II. The mocking offer of vinegar during the early part of the time that Christ is hanging upon the cross. Christ does not drink. Luke xxiii. 2 Interpretation : " By the word * mocked ' seems to be meant that they lifted up to His lips the vessels contain- ing their ordinary drink — sour wine — and then snatched them away." ni. The offer of a sponge filled with vinegar just before Christ's death. Christ drinks. Matt, zxrii. 48. Mark xv. 36. John xix. 28-30. Interpretation : " Prob- ably in compassion ra- ther thim mockery ; or perhaps in comi>assion under cover of mock- ery." (A. Plummer, Bt. John.) We can hardly expect to find better evidence as to the way in which the Englishmen of the Middle Ages conceived of the crucifixion than that given us by the dramas that treat of this in the great cy- cles of English mystery plays. Any interpretation in which the four extant cycles agree was almost certainly the universal interpretation at the time that " Hamlet " was written ; for the York Plays continued to be performed until Shakespeare was fifteen years old, while the Chester Plays were acted for the last time in 1600. In the mystery plays there is only a single offer of vinegar. The conception common to aU four cycles seems to be the following : — 1. The drink used is vinegar mingled with gall, or myrrh. 194 "WOO'T DRINK UP EISELf" 2. The drink is the most impalatable mixture that malice can devise. It is offered to Christ when He is tortured with thirst. In the so-called Coventry play of the Crucifixion, we learn that the very sight of the draught causes His face to become distorted with loathing. 3. This offer of vinegar and gall is the last in- sult and torture to which Christ is subjected. He refuses the draught, apparently not even tasting it, and dies immedia;tely afterward. 4. The word used is apsell, asell, ascill, ey^il. No other word is used for vinegar in connection with this incident, so far as I have noted. Wycliffe, however, uses aycel in Matt, xxvii. 48 only, out of the six passages noted above, and there he adds the explanatory gloss or vynegre ; in the other places he uses vynegre, wyn, and vnyn. This conception of the draught of vinegar and gall as a malicious means of torture seems to be so old that only the agreement of reputable scholars makes one accept the modern interpretation. In the Apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus, just after the crucifixion, when the inhabitants of the world of the dead are expecting Christ to come among them, " Satan, prince of Tartarus," says boastingly to Hades : — " Why hast thou doubted, and feared to receive this Jesus, thy adversary and mine ? For I have tempted him, and I have roused up my ancient people the Jews with hatred and auger against him ; I have sharpened a lance to strike him ; I have mixed gaU and vinegar to " woo 'T DRINK UP EISEL f " 195 give him to drink ; and I have prepared wood to crucify him, and nails to pierce him, and his death is near at hand, that I may bring him to thee, subject to thee and me." "■ Let us now note in each of the foxir cycles of mystery plays some of the most striking lines that illustrate the above statements. The York Plays : * xxxvi., " Mortificacio Cristi." "Jesus. A ! me thristis saxe. [I thirst Garcia. A drinke shaJle I dresse the in dede, A dranghte that is full dajntely dight, Nowe swete sir, youre will ji it ware, A dranghte here of drinke haue I dreste, To spede for no spence that je spare, [That for no expense ye spare to thrive But haldely ye hib it for the beste For-why ; Aysell and galle Is menged with alle, [mingled Drynke it ;e schalle. Tour lippis, I halde thame full drye. Jesus. Thi drinke it schalle do me no deere, [harm Wete thou wele ther-of wUl I none." [know thou After speaking eleven lines more in this same speech, Jesus dies. The Towneley Plays : ^ " Crucifixio." " Jesus Now thryst I, wonder sore. primus tortor. Noght bet hold thi peasse I 1 The Ante-Nicene Fathers, vol. viii., Buffalo, 1885. "The Gospel of Mcodemtis," Part II., " Christ's Descent into Hell," chap. 4. 2 Clarendon Press, 1885. ' Early English Text Society, 1897. 196 " WOO 'T DRINK UP EISEL f " Thou shall have drynke within a lesse, [with a msh My self shalbe thy knaue ; have here the draght that I the hete, [promise And I shall warand it is not swete, On all the good I haue." The drawing lots for the coat comes next. Christ speaks slk lines more in two speeches before dying. In a later play in the same cycle, " Kesurreccio domini," Christ says: — " And yit more understand thou shall ; In stede of drynk they gaf me gall, Asell thay menged it witball, The lues fell ; The payn I haue, tholyd I to saue [suffered Mans saull from hell." The Chester Plays : i « The Crucifixion." " Jesus. My thurste is sore, my thurste is sore ! Tercius Judeus. Tea, thon shalte have drinke therfore. That thou shall lists drinke no more [desire Of all this seven yeaire." Jesus then utters a dying speech of five lines. In play xviii., " The Harrowing of Hell," Satan says of Christ : — " Againste this shrewe that sittes here I tempted the folke in fowle manere, Ascill and gall to his dynere [dinner I made them for to dighte." The Coventry Mysteries ^ (so-called) : xxxii., " The Condemnation and Crucifixion of Christ." " Jhesas. So grett a thrust dede nevyr man take As I have, man, now for thi sake ; For thrust asondyr my lyppys gyn crake, — [crack For drynes thei do cleve. 1 The Shakespeare Society, 1843. ' Ludus Coventrioe, etc., The Shakespeare Society, 1841. " woo 'T DRINK UP EISEL f " 197 Tertius Judceus. ;our thrnst, sere hoberd, foi to slake, EyBil and galle here I the take, What ! me thynkyth a mowe 3e make : — [grimace Is not this good drynk ? To crye for dryuke 5e had gret hast. And now it semyth it is but wast, — Is not this drynk of good tast ? Now telle me how 3e thynk ! " Jesus then utters his dying words. , That the letter 3 in the word " eyjil " can have the pronunciation of z is plain from the form " Beljabub " = Beelzebub in the twenty-second play of this same cycle. No city of England was more famous for its Scripture plays than Coventry, situated only eight- een miles from Stratford-on-Avon. Two of the craft-plays of Coventry have come down to us, al- though the so-called Coventry cycle is not thought to be rightly named. That the craft-plays of Coven- try agreed in the main with those in the cycles that we possess is not only probable a priori ; it is made quite certain by the fact that one scene, the Disputation of Christ with the Doctors in the Temple, is largely the same in the York Plays, the Woodkirk (Towneley) Plays, the Chester Plays, and in the play of the Weavers of Coventry .^ The following passages from Mr. HaUiweU-PhU- lipps, in which he speaks of the English mystery plays, are of interest : — " That Shakespeare, in his early youth, witnessed re- presentations of some of these mysteries, cannot admit ^ See Davidson, Modern Language Notes, yn. p. 92 ; French, Ibid., six. .31-2. 198 " WOO 'T DRINK UP EISEL f " of a reasonable doubt. . . . The performances -which then took place nearly every year at Coventry attracted hosts of spectators from all parts of the country, while, at occasional intervals, the mastery players of that city made theatrical progresses to various other places. It is not known whether they favored Stratford-on-Avon with a professional visit, but it is not at all improbable that they did, for they must have passed through the town in their way to Bristol, where it is recorded that they gave a performance in the year 1570." " It is impossible to say to what extent even the Scriptural allusions in the works of Shakespeare himself may not be attributed to recollections of such perform- ances, for in one instance at least [Hamlet's expression, * It out-herods Herod.' III. ii. 15-6] the reference by the great dramatist is to the history as represented in those plays, not to that recorded in the New Testa- ment." ' Among the quotations cited by Fumess in his comments upon this passage in the "Variorum Hamlet," two refer to Christ, and represent Him as tasting the " eisel and gall," in accordance with the account of Matthew. These passages look upon this tasting as one of the tortures of the crucifix- ion. From Sir Thomas More's "Poems is quoted: " remember therewithal How Christ for thee tasted eisel and gall." In the eighth prayer in the *' Salis- bury Primer," 1555, we have the words : " O blessed Jesu ! . . . I beseech thee for the bitterness of the aysell and gall that thou tasted." 1 Outlines of the Life of Shakespeare, 10th ed., vol. i. pp. 46-7, 50. "WOO'T DRINK UP EISELf" 199 Professor J. M. Hart has called attention ^ to the following passage from the " Kalender of Shepeardes " : 2 " and than was he nayled on the crosse and late fall in the mortis and than gaue hym eyseU and gall to drynke." The " Kalender " was a popular book in the sixteenth century, appearing in many editions. In " Nares' Glossary " (edition of HaUiwell and Wright) the following is quoted from Skelton : — " He paid a bitter pencion For man's redemption, He dranke eisel and gaU To redeme us withaL" The dififerent forms of the word eisel occur in a moderately large number of passages, and in vari- ous writers. The latest example of its use that is given in the " New English Dictionary " bears the date 1634. The older conception of the draught of vinegar and gall as a malicious device for torturing the Lord, survives in a stanza of the well-known hymn " Coronation." It is clear that the lines in question derived their force from the wrong interpretation of this incident : — " Sinneia whose love can ne 'er foiget The 'Wormwood and the gall ; Oo, spread yonr trophies at his feet, And crown him Lord of all." Apparently the phrase " to drink eisel " came to ^ Modern Language Notes, vol. xi. (1896), p. 29. ' Sommer's reprint of the London edition of 1506, vol. iii. p. 156/6. 200 "WOO'T DRINK UP EISELf" have a prbverbial meaning, and to contain an allu- sion to the mixture of eisel and gall that was of- fered to Christ. The different offers of vinegar were confused ; hence, while Christ seems to have been thought of in the mystery plays as refusing the draught, other writers speat of Him as tasting, and others still as drinking. All certainly con- ceived of the eisel and gall as the bitterest mixture possible. One of the most intensely personal of Shake- speare's Sonnets, No. cxi., contains the word eisel : " 0, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty g^oddess of my harmful deeds. That did not better for my life provide Than public means which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand : Pity me then and wish I were renew'd ; Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection ; No bitterness that I will bitter think, Nor double penance, to correct correction. Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye Even that your pity is enough to cure me." The word eisel in the above lines evidently refers to the use of vinegar as a remedy in cases of infection ; but this sonnet furnishes no reason for rejecting the explanation that is here offered for the passage in " Hamlet." Hamlet's phrase, then, " Woo 't drink up eisel? " seems to mean something like this : " Would you rival the agonies of the Crucified One ? " Those who have interpreted £Jsile as a river because "WOO'T DRINK UP EISELf" 201 the context demands hypertole, will note that in the English mystery plays Christ does not even taste the vinegar and gall. They are at liberty, therefore, to find in this expression the hyperboli- cal meaning, " Would you go beyond the agonies of the dying Saviour ? " It seems highly probable that the expression " to drink eisel " passed into common use through the influence of the mystery plays, and that this much-discussed phrase in " Hamlet " marks a hith- erto unnoticed point of connection between Shake- speare and the primitive English drama. SHAKESPEARE AND "THE TAMING OP THE" SHREW " SHAKESPEAEE AND "THE TAMING OF THE SHREW " ^ One is naturally prejudiced against the sugges- tion that the first edition of Shakespeare's plays, brought out by his friends Heminge and CondeU as the noblest possible memorial of their dead associate, contains work tha,t is not his. But this view was advocated near the middle of the nineteenth cen- tury by two men whose opinion on such a question must be treated with great respect — Alfred Ten- nyson and Ralph Waldo Emerson. Tennyson used to point out to his companions at Cambridge what he considered to be the gen- uine parts of Shakespeare's " Henry VIII." His close friend James Spedding, in a careful article, assigned certain portions of this play to Shake- speare, and the remainder to John Fletcher.^ It is probable that Tennyson was the "man of first- rate judgment," of whom Spedding speaks, who casually remarked " that many passages in ' Henry VIII.' were very much in the manner of Fletcher." ^ This paper is in the main a reprint of a portion of the article entitled " Shakespeare's Part in ' The Taming of the Shrew,' " vhich appeared in the Publications of the Modem Language Asso- ciation, vol. T. (1890), pp. 201-278. ^ T/ie Gentleman's Magazine, Angnst, 1850. Beprinted in The Transactions of the New Shakspere Society for 1874. 206 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW The following may be taken as the laureate's final opinion : — " I have no doubt that much of ' Henry VIII.' is not Shakespeare. It is largely written by Fletcher, with passages unmistakably by Shakespeare, notably the two first scenes in the first Act, which are sane and compact in thought, expression, and simile." ^ In his " Representative Men," published in 1850, Emerson, knowing nothing of Tennyson's opinion, speaks thus of the two styles in this play : — " In ' Henry VIII.' I think I see plainly the cropping out of the original rook on which his [Shakespeare's] own finer stratum was laid. The first play was written by a superior, thoughtful man, with a vicious ear. I can mark his lines, and know well their cadence. See Wol- sey's soliloquy, and the following scene with Cromwell, where instead of the metre of Shakespeare, whose se- cret is that the thought constructs the tune, so that read- ing for the sense wiU best bring out the rhythm, — here the lines are constructed on a given tune, and the verse has even a trace of pulpit eloquence. But the play con- tains through aU its length unmistakable traits of Shake- speare's hand, and some passages, as the account of the coronation, are like autographs." The separation made by Spedding between the genuine and the non-Shakespearean parts of " Henry VIIL" has come to be very generally ac- cepted; also his identification of Fletcher as the writer whose work is here associated with that of Shakespeare. 1 Alfred Lord Tennyson, A Memoir, vol. ii. p. 291. THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 207 This striking instance of reputable suspicion con- cerning a play in the Shakespearean canon has been followed by similar questioning about other dramas, and in a few cases with somewhat similar results. Other plays which are now believed by most scholars to be only in part by Shakespeare are " Timon of Athens " and " The Taming of the Shrew," this last the subject of the present paper. It has been noted in a previous essay ^ that the Tmfitting Hecate portions of " Macbeth " are con- sidered to be interpolations. For different reasons it has been held by many students that the three parts of "Henry VI." and " Titus Andronicus " are not entirely the work of the great dramatist. The questions involved are numerous and difficult, and cannot be even glanced at here. The views of scholars vary widely, and the whole subject in each case remains open. Strictly speaking, the burden of proof is entirely upon those who assert that Shakespeare had any hand whatever in the play " Pericles." It is not in the First Folio edition of his dramatic works. It is one of seven plays added in the Third Folio, and in the composition of the other six of these it is not now claimed that Shakespeare had any part. However, certain of the nobler portions of " Pericles " are very generally accepted as his, on the ground that the language and style are pe- culiarly Shakespearean. No one would claim that he wrote the entire work. 1 See pp. 96, 103. 208 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW Let us now turn to the play that is to receive our especial attention. There is a presumption against the view that " The Taming of the Shrew " is not entirely the work of the poet whose name it bears. From the annual statistics given in the " Jahrbiicher" of the German Shakespeare Society we learn that, during the four years 1885-8, " The Taming of the Shrew " was played 297 times in the usual version, and 153 times in the Holbein adaptation, " Liebe kann Alles," a total of 450 times. No other play of Shakespeare was put upon the stage so frequently. " Othello " and " Ham- let " come next, with 414 and 347 performances in the same period. These statistics seem to be intended to cover substantially all the European theatres in which German is spoken. Can it be that Shakespeare was not the sole author of a play which stUl holds the stage in England and America, and which is so exceptionally popular in Germany, the second fatherland of the great poet ? This comedy is the only one, however, that calls for supplementary statistics ia the " Jahrbiicher." Apparently, this play alone among those attributed to Shakespeare has been so skillfully rewritten by a later author that his revision secures permanent approval and acceptance in critical Germany. This peculiar condition of things certainly suggests that the comedy may be only in part the work of Shake- speare. " The Taming of the Shrew " (which we will call for brevity " The Shrew ") stands in very close connection with a play entitled " The Taming THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 209 of a Shrew " (" A Shrew "). The latter piece was first printed in 1594, again in 1696, and a third time in 1607. In the words of Hudson, "This play and Shakespeare's agree in having substan- tially the same plot, order, and incidents, so far as regards the Lord, the Tinker, Petruchio, Catharine, and the whole taming process. " ^ The underplot of "The Shrew," the story of Bianca and her rival lovers, is founded upon " The Supposes," " a comedy written in the Italian tongue by Ariosto, Englished by George Gascoigne, of Gray's Inn, Esquire ; and there presented, 1566." * The following elements, indeed, have passed from " The Supposes " into the underplot of both plays, "A Shrew " and " The Shrew " : a yoimg gentleman disguises himself in order to sue for a lady, while his servant takes the master's role. A false father gives assurance of a marriage portion ; then the teal father appears. In the main, however, the underplot of " A Shrew " consists of a saccharine wooing of two willing ladies by two lofty lovers. The correspondence between those parts of " The Shrew " where Katharine and Petruchio are upon the stage together and similar passages in "A Shrew " is very remarkable. The occurrences are the same in both plays. This is also true of the connected incidents in Petruchio's house. We find also, in these parts, an agreement in the language, 1 Harvard Shakespeare, vol. ii. p. 131. The most convenient edition of A Shrew is toI. ii. of the Bankside Shake^eare. This prints A Shreic and The Shrew upon opposite pages. 2 In Tol. i. of Gascoigne's Complete Works, 2 vols., Rozburghe Library, 1869-70. 210 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW which, though much less complete than the agree- ment in the action, is far more remarkable, extend- ing at times to minute and unimportant details of expression. With the exception of Parts II. and III. of " Henry VI.," such a close correspondence as we have here between the language of a play attributed to Shakespeare and that of another existing piece cannot be found. In order to make plain the character of these verbal agreements, those which concern Scene iii. of Act IV. of " The Shrew " and the corresponding portion of the companion play are here presented in parallel columns. IV. iii. "THE SHEEW" " I prithee go and get me some lepast." " What say yon to a piece of beef and mustard ? " " Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little." " I pray you, let it stand." "When you are gentle, you shall have one too, And not till then." " Belike yon mean to make a puppet of me. Pet. Why, tme ; he means to make a puppet of thee." " Thon hast faced many things. Tai. I hare. Gru. Face not me : thou haat braved many men; brave not me ; I will neither be faced nor braved. I say unto thee, I bid thy master cut out the gown ; but I did not bid him cut it to pieces : eigo, thou liest. "A SHEEW" " I prithee help me to some meat." " What say you to a piece of beef and mustard now ? " " I doubt the mustard is too choleric for yon." "I pray you, sir, let it stand." "Ay, when you 're meek and gentle, but not before." " Belike yon mean to make a fool of me. Feran. Why, tme ; he means to make a fool of thee." "Dost thon hear. Tailor? Thou hast braved many men: brave not me. Thou'st faced many men. Tai. Well, sir. San. Face not me. I '11 neither be faced nor braved at thy hands, I can tell thee." THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 211 Tai. Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify. Pet. Read it. Gru. The note lies in 's throat, if he say I said so. Tai. [Beads] ' Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown.' Gru. Master, if ever I said loose- hodied gown, sew me in the skirts of it, and beat me to death with a bottom of brown thread : I said a gown. Pei. Proceed. Tai. {Reads] 'With a small compassed cape : ' Gru. I con- fess the cape. Tai. [Reads'] ' With a trunk sleeve : ' Gni. I confess two sleeves." " Go take it np nnto thy mas- ter's USB. Gru. Villain, not for thy life : take np my mistress' gown for thy master's use ! T*et. Why, sir, what's your conceit in that ? Gru. 0, sir, the conceit is deeper than youj think for : take up my mistress' gown to his master's use I " " Well, come, my Kate ; -we will unto your father's, Even in these honest mean ha- biliments : Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor." " And 't will be supper-time ere you come there." " Why, sir, I made it as your man gave me direction. You may read the note here. FeraA. Come hither, sirrah. Tailor, read the note. Tai. ' Item : a fair round compassed cape,' San. Ay, that 's true. Tai. ' And a large trunk sleeve.' San. That 's a lie, master. I said two trunk sleeves. Feran. Well, sir, go forward. Tai. 'Item: a loose- bodied gown.' San. Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in a seam, and beat me to death with a bottom of brown thread. Tai. I made it as the note bade me. ■ San. I say the note lies in his throat ; and thou too, and thou say'st it." " 60, 1 say, and take it up for your master's use. San. 'Zounds, villain, not for thy life. Touch it not. 'Zounds I Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use I Feran. Well, sir, what 's your conceit of it ? San. I have a deeper conceit in it than you think for. Take up my mis- tress' gown to his master's use!" " Gome, Kate, we now will go see thy father's house, £ven in these honest mean ha- biliments : Our purses shall be rich, our garments plain." " It will be nine o'clock ere we come there." The common opinion has been that Shakespeare took the story of the taming of Katharine from 212 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW " A Shrew," and that with the story he freely ap- propriated the language also. This view is unsat- isfactory. It is hard to believe that Shakespeare borrowed from another writer unimportant prose phrases in this wholesale and slavish way. This difficult question will be taken up again in the paper concerning Shakespeare's " Love's Laboiir 's Won." 1 If we look into the history of opinion concerning the authorship of " The Shrew," we find that the most divergent views have been held. Pope, early in the eighteenth century, made Shakespeare the author not only of this play, but also of " A Shrew." Dr. Warburton, near the middle of the century, considered " The Shrew " to be certainly spurious, as far as any connection with Shakespeare is con- cerned.^ Farmer and Steevens held less pronounced but still opposing views. Farmer supposes " The Shrew " to be "not originally the work of Shakespeare, but restored by him to the stage." Shakespeare's contribution to this restored play was the whole Induction, " and some occasional improvements, especially in the character of Petruchio." Steevens says, on the contrary : — " I know not to whom I could impute this comedy, if Shakespeare was not its author. I think his hand is visible in almost every scene, though perhaps not so 1 See pp. 300 ff. ^ The views of the earlier critics may be f onnd in the Variorum Shakespeare of 1821, edited by Boswell and Malone. THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 213 evidently as in those which pass between Katharine and Petruohio." The wide divergence of earlier scholars, however, is giving place to a good measure of agreement. Of later critics. White, Fleay, and Furnivall have studied the question of the authorship of "The Shrew " with substantially the same result. White says:^ — " In it [' The Shrew '] three hands at least are trace- able : that of the author of the old play, &at of Shake- speare himself, and that of a co-laborer. The first [hand, that of the author of ' A Shrew '] appears in the struc-^ ture of the plot, and in the incidents and the dialogue of most of the minor scenes [tliis phrase is misleading. It is the major scenes of ' The Shrew ' which especially resemble parts of 'A Shrew ']...; to the last [hand, that of the co-laborer, J must be assigned the greater part of the love business between Bianca and her two suitors [Gremio and Tranio are omitted from consideration] ; while to Shakespeare belong the strong, clear character- ization, the delicious humor, and the rich verbal color- ing of the recast Induction, and all the scenes in which Katharine and Petruchio and Grumio are the promi- nent figures, together with the general effect produced by scattering lines and words and phrases here and there, and removing others elsewhere, throughout the rest of the play." The single authorship of " The Shrew " has been doubted, also, on metrical grounds. Konig, a care- ful investigator of Shakespeare's versification, ob- tains such contradictory results from a comparison 1 Shakespeare's Works, vol. iv. (1858). 214 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW of the metrical peculiarities of " The Shrew " with those of the other plays, that he is forced to the conclusion that it cannot be entirely the work of the poet.^ Mr. r. G. Fleay and Mr. F. J. Fumivall^ liave both sought to divide the Shakespearean from the non-Shakespearean parts of the play. Mr. Fleay apparently made little use of his elaborate paper " On the Authorship of the Taming of the Shrew " in determining what parts he should assign to Shakespeare. Mr. FurnivaU claimed to be guided only by his sense of style. With reference to both of these attempts to determine the part of Shake- speare in this drama, there is something left to be desired. We need a clear view of the terms on which Shakespeare and his presumed partner or partners divided their task between them. If there was some plan ill the assignment of the parts to each, we may hope by careful study to find it out. Unless we can discover some such plan of procedure, our results must necessarily be so largely personal as to lose much of their value. Metrical tests and specific peculiarities of style may so far corroborate our conclusions as to make it very sure that we have divided the play into parts behind which there lurks a simihar division in the authorship. But we can- ^ Der Vers in Shaksperes Dramen {Quellen und Forschungen, Ixi.), p. 137. ^ Transactions New Shakspere Society, 1874. Fleay's article was reprinted in his Shakespeare Manual, THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 215 not feel really satisfied with our results unless we can find out the agreement between these writers, their method of cooperation. Of course, there may have been no clear-cut division of labor ; but this is not probable. It is quite likely, however, that one of the associated authors would have the final re- vision of the whole piece. In this revision, he might remove, insert, or rewrite passages in the portion contributed by his partner or partners. So far as he made such alterations, the task of separating the work of the different writers would become more and more difficult. It might become impossible to do this except in a very general way. That " The Shrew " was not written by one man at one time, that we have at least two styles here, will be evident to a careful reader. Let any one compare the opening speeches of Act I. (Scene i. 1—40), their strutting rhetoric, their solemn rehearsal of that preliminary business of the play which al- ways clogs and embarrasses a weak writer, — with Petruchio's soliloquy (II. i. 169—82) where he dis- closes his plan as to the manner in which he is to woo Katharine. The first passage is swelling, vague. The servant seems to know already all that the master can ever hope to learn ; he unfolds an elab- orate system of education with all the tedious, su- perficial wisdom of a man who knows many words but few things. The advice ends, however, with that gem, — " In brief, sir, study what yon most affect." In these lines and the first speech of Baptista which 216 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW follows, the metrical accent falls very frequently upon unemphatic monosyllables ; ^ and the constant use of inversion gives an artificial effect.^ The first twenty-four lines of the passage de- scribed constitute the first speech of the main play: — " Lucentio. Tranio, since for the great desire I liad To see fair Padna, nnisery of arts, I am arrived for fmitfnl Lombardy, The pleasant garden of great Italy ; ■ And by my father's loye and leave am arm'd With his good will and thy good company, My trusty servant, well approved in all. Here let ns breathe and haply institnte A course of learning and ingenious studies. Pisa renowned for grave citizens Gave me my being and my father £rst, A merchant of great traffic throngh the world, Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii. Vincentio's son brought up in Florence It shall become to serve all hopes conceived, To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds : And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study, Virtue and that part of philosophy Will I apply that treats of happiness By virtue specially to be achieved. Tell me thy mind ; for I have Pisa left And am to Padua come, as he that leaves A shallow plash to plunge him in the deep And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst." The Shrew, I. i. 1-24 The second passage to which I have referred, the soliloquy of Petruehio, is clear, sharp, specific ; each noun, verb, adjective, adverb, each compari- 1 See 11. 1, 10, 38, 50. 2 See Dr. Abbott, Transactions New Shakspere Society, 1874, p. 121. THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 217 son seems, so to speak, to put its finger on some feature in PetrucLio's plan. Antithesis and climax are used in the easy, unforced way that marks the master. Note the contrast between these lines and those just given : — " Petruchio. , , . I will attend her here, And woo her with some spirit when she comes. Say that she rail ; why then I 'U tell her plain She sings as sweetly as a nightingale : Say that she frown ; I '11 say she looks as clear As morning roses newly washed with dew : Say she he mute and will not speak a word ; Then I '11 commend her Toluhility, And say she uttereth piercing eloquence : If she do hid me pack, I '11 give her thanks, As though she bid me stay by her a week : If she deny to wed, 1 11 crave the day When I shall ask the banns and when be married. But here she comes ; and now, Petruchio, speak." The Shrew, 11. L 169-82. I think that we shall feel certain that these two styles belong to different authors. The writer of the first passage never by any process of growth attained unto the second. What is the evidence that Shakespeare took part in the production of " The Shrew " ? The appear- ance of the play in the first and authoritative edi- tion of his works, the Folio of 1623, furnishes a strong presumption in favor of his connection with the piece. The thoroughly Shakespearean quality of such parts as the Induction, and Scenes i. and v. of Act IV., gives to this presumption the strongest confirmation. In searching for some clue as to the exact por- 218 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW tion of the work which comes from the hand of Shakespeare, it is natural to consider what has often been recognized as a fortunate suggestion of Collier. He said : — " I am, however, satisfied that more than one hand (perhaps at distant dates) was concerned in it [' The Shrew '3, and that Shakespeare had little to do with any of the scenes in which £!atharine and Petruchio are not engaged." ^ We see this hint reappearing in White's state- ment, already quoted, that " aU the scenes in which Katharine and Petruchio and Grrumio are the prominent figures " belong to Shakespeare. Col- lier, however, seems not to hare followed up his suggestion, and not even to have remembered it. In his edition of Shakespeare^ he simply speaks of " portions which are admitted not to be in Shakespeare's manner." No criterion of any sort is given us. Later in the same Introduction he gives to Shakespeare a part of the play which his own suggestion and the consenting opinion of all later investigators who admit the composite character of " The Shrew " would take from him. Following Collier's suggestion, let us look at those passages by themselves in which Katharine and Petruchio appear upon the stage together. They are the following : II. i. 183-326 ; ILL ii. 186-241; IV. i. 123-81; IV. iii. 36-end; 1 History of English Dramatic Poetry, vol. iii. p. 78, ed. 1831. » Vol. iiL 1842. THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 219 IV. V. ; V. i. 10-end; V. ii. 1-48, 99-105, and 121-87.1 One of these passages, V. i. 10-end, is strictly exceptional. Petruchio and Katliarine are present during tliis scene, but they are of no consequence in the development of the action. Their part is simply, as Petruchio expresses it, to " stand aside and see the end of this controversy." At the close of the scene they are left upon the stage together for a moment. Petruchio demands that Kate kiss him in the street. She demurs ; but he threatens to go home again, and she obeys. The situation here is admirable ; but the few words of Petruchio and Katharine come to us largely in weak, un- Shakespearean doggerel rhyme. In all the other passages given above, Petruchio and Katharine are the central figures. This scene is entirely excep- tional in this respect. The whole ground-plan of this scene, tdo, is taken from " The Supposes," and is not found in "A Shrew." This fact establishes a presumption against the scene, since the entire story of Petru- chio and Kathariue is common to " A Shrew " and " The Shrew." For every one of the other pas- sages mentioned, there exists a scene more or less similar in " A Shrew." We shall therefore leave out of our consideration this exceptional passage. Let us read carefuUy the other parts of the play which are mentioned above, and see if they have 1 The line-miinbeTs are those of the Globe, Temple, and Evers- ley editions. 220 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW Shakespeare's style. Act II. Scene i. 183-326 seems to be his. Some of the dialogue is coarse, but Petnichio's standards of propriety are not the better ones of to-day ; moreover, he is taming a shrew, and is careful not to be above his business. Kate is badly worsted. This lover who gives be- fore a good blow, but never gwes up, is a new thing in her experience. The longer speeches all fall to the unabashed Petruchio, and are pure Shakespeare. The device of getting Kate to walk, by pretending to have heard that she limps ; her anger at beiag caught in this trap ; his bare-faced declaration that she has been very loving to him, but that they have agreed that " she shall still be curst in company " ; — these points are admirable comedy. The above passage should be considered as be- ginning vyith line 169. This is the first line of Petruchio' s soliloquy, which Kate interrupts. Here he tells us the manner in which he means to woo her. He then goes on to act out the plan before us. This soliloquy is dramatically a part of the wooing scene, and shows the same style. The next passage, III. ii. 186-241, is not so plainly Shakespeare's, but there is nothing that is not entirely worthy of him. E^te's spirited speeches are what we expect of her. Petruchio begs the bride with such earnest, lover-like plead- ing not to be angry, that Gremio misunderstands his courtesy, and says, " Ay, marry, sir, now it be- gins to work." Petruchio next commands every THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 221 one present to obey his wife and " go forward " at her command ; and then, after aU possible respect has been shown to the woman of his choice, he de- clares his mediaeval doctrine of absolute property in his wife, commands Grumio to draw his weapon ready for fight, and marches the astonished Katha- rine off with him. This certainly seems to come from the same writer as the scene we have been considering just before — from Shakespeare. The whole of IV. i. seems to be by Shakespeare, and not merely the lines already indicated, 123— 81. The scene is laid at Petruchio's house after the marriage ; Shakespeare's fellow-author Would have no occasion to go there. The first part of this scene, during which Petruchio and Katharine are hot upon the stage, is wholly occupied with pre- parations for their appearance. The style is Shake- spearean, no part of the play more so. Nothing in the whole comedy is better than Grumio's pretense that he will not complete his interrupted story: " Tell thou the tale : but hadst thou not crossed me, thou shouldst have heard how her horse fell and she under her horse;" etc. (IV. i. 74 ff.). GrTumio is the one character outside of Petruchio and the shrew who has received Shakespeare's es- pecial attention. This bustle of preparation at Petruchio's country house has a short counterpart in " A Shrew." Act IV. Scene i. ends with a soliloquy of Pe- truchio in which he outlines his policy. This part is equally clear, and is present in outline in 222 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW " A Shrew." The whole scene belongs to Shake- speare. The first 36 lines of IV. iii., where Katharine begs Grumio for meat, have a full counterpart in " A Shrew." The whole scene is acted at Petru- chio's house, and it is all plainly from the hand of Shakespeare. Act IV. Scene v. is also clearly his, and is found in substance in the companion play. We feel at first like questioning Shakespeare's authorship of V. ii. 1-48. Here the wit becomes somewhat weak. This bantering has the good re- sult, however, that the following wager comes in very naturally, instead of being the utterly cause- less thing that it is in "A Shrew." The other parts of Act V. Scene ii. that have been mentioned above are entirely worthy of Shakespeare, except the few lines of weak, doggerel rhyme at the end. The parts of V. ii. in which Katharine is out of the room plainly belong with the rest of the scene. The first time, she is away but a few moments before being called back; the second time, Petru- chio sends her to bring the disobedient ladies. She goes out in the same way in "A Shrew," and there are no breaks in the style at these points. Just before Petruchio and Katharine leave the stage for the last time, near the close of the play, we find the lines in rhymed doggerel already mentioned, with one exception, four-accent lines. We have had none of these in the passages already accepted as Shakespeare's, but they occur frequently in the other parts of the play. If we attribute nothing to THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 223 Shakespeare after this weak doggerel begins, his part will close with V. ii. 181, instead of 187. Fleay puts the end of Shakespeare's part after line 175, perhaps objecting to the rhyme which follows. Furnivall makes the division after line 180. The idea of 176-9 is present in " A Shrew " also. The parts of " The Shrew " which we hare now accepted as plainly Shakespearean are the follow- ing:— II. i. 169-326 . . 158 lines. IV. iii 198 lines. ni. ii. 186-241 . 56 " IV. V 79 " IV. i ..... 214 " V. ii. 1-181 . . .181 " Total, 886 lines. Except for the disagreement as to the exact point at which the last passage should close, Fleay and Fumivall, working independently, have as- signed to Shakespeare every one of the parts given in this table. Is there anything else in "The Shrew" that should be assigned to Shakespeare ? After study- ing the play with great care, seeking to form con- clusions independent of the work of his predeces- sors, the writer finds occasion to add but very little to the Ust of parts already attributed to Shake- speare. There are only thirty-five lines more in the entire play which Meay and Fumivall are agreed in assigning to Shakespeare, except as Fumivall altered his first view after receiving Fleay's table. These thirty-five lines. III. ii. 151-85, the writer cannot accept as Shakespeare's. Let us examine them. 224 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW The first thing we notice in the passage is that not one of Shakespeare's three characters, Petru- ehio, Katharine, and Grmnio, is on the stage. The principal speaker is Gremio, a character suggested entirely hy " The Supposes," where his counterpart bears the name of Oleander. We find, too, that there is no passage corresponding to this in "A Shrew." In every part assigned to Shakespeare, so far, there has been some counterpart in the com- panion play. These facts are very striking. Some less im- portant points may also be noticed. Shakespeare's plays nowhere else furnish an oath with " gogs " ; although oaths are often made with " 'od's." This very oath, " gogs-wouns " (line 162), has the form " 'od's nouns " with Mrs. Quickly (" Merry Wives," IV. i. 25). The long speech by Gremio (169-85) is printed as prose in the Folio of 1623. It seems to be rightly given as verse in the Globe Edition. The three-accent line in the middle of the speech is noticeable ; there is nothing like it in the parts already assigned to Shakespeare ; but in the non- Shakespearean parts we have similar lines in II. i. 346 and 399, and a two-accent line in I. i. 91. The first place has been given to these consider- ations because they are impersonal facts, which cannot be manipulated to suit the taste and pur- pose of the investigator. Let us next give at- tention to the style and dramatic fitness of the passage ; these considerations are more subjective, THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 225 more open to personal bias on the part of the critic. The vigor and effectiveness of the language in these lines have naturally led to the belief that we have here the handiwork of the great master. The writer is unable to get the genuine Shakespearean impression from the passage, but that may be be- cause he is prepossessed against it. The question may be asked, Have we here Shakespeare's Petruchio at aU ? Shakespeare's Petruchio, in every scene of the play from the beginning to the end (if we except Grumio's humorous account of Katharine's getting stuck in the mire, IV. i. 74-86), has something of the gen- tleman in his bearing. Immediately after the wed- ding he is willing to entreat, " O Kate, content thee ; prithee, be not angry " (III. ii. 217). He is careful to see to it that the Tailor is at once appeased for the hard usage to which he has been subjected (IV. iii. 166). In all Petruchio's ill- treatment of Katharine after the marriage, he keeps up a studied pretense of kindness, and by a fine irony his pretense is only a deeper truth. Some genuine manliness has been present in him at every point. Of the simply farcical we have had nothing. But here in this marriage scene (III. ii. 151-85), we have a barbarian, making light of aU holy things, treating God and man with contempt ; and such barbarism cannot be altogether excused by the goodness of the ultimate purpose. I believe that this spirited bit is given us by the same writer 226 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW who describes Petruchio's horse as a traveling col- lection of equine ailments (III. ii. 49 ff.) ; that is, by Shakespeare's gifted co-laborer. It is in favor of the genuineness of this passage that it comes immediately before a part which is plainly Shakespeare's. It is easy to think of him as writing a telling introduction to the few lines which fell to him here according to plan. The writer cannot regard the part as his, however, for the reasons that have been given. After seeing Fleay's table, FurnivaU was willing to assign to Shakespeare III. ii. 1—125, but had not before done so. The passage has a full coun- terpart in " A Shrew." Katharine is present at the beginning of the scene. Petruchio and Grumio appear together after line 88. One is not impressed very clearly either that the opening lines of this scene are Shakespeare's or that they are not. There is one little fact that deserves attention. The form appoint occurs in Shakespeare's dramas thirteen times ; appointed, twenty-nine times ; but 'point occurs only here (III. ii. 15) ; 'pointed, only here (line 1) and in the preceding scene (III. i. 19). The preceding scene is confessedly non-Shakespearean. Moreover, the non- Shakespearean parts of this play show some peculiar abbreviations. Notice 'cerns for concerns (V. i. 77) and 'leges for alleges (I. ii. 28). Different forms of to concern occur in the Concordance forty- eight times ; but there is no other abbreviation like this. Forms of to allege occur three times ; such a THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 227 contraction comes only here. ^Longeth for helongeth (IV. ii. 45 and IV. iv. 7) cannot be cited, as this verb is often contracted. It is easy to give too much weight to arguments of this kind ; but on the whole, the writer cannot think that these opening lines are Shakespeare's. The next striking feature of this scene was doubted by Mr. FumivaU from the first. He says concerning BiondeUo's description of Petruchio's horse, " Was that cattle-disease book's catalogue of the horse's ailments his [Shakespeare's], fond as he is of a list of names or qualities ? [Cp. I. ii. 81. J Was this one up to his level ? " i So far, we have not found that Shakespeare has anything to do with BiondeUo. The same character, BiondeUo, soon makes an- other speech that is questionable. It consists of five two-accent lines of rhymed doggerel (III. ii. 84-8). These may be quoted from a ballad, as CoUier suggests, but such a piece of barren dialec- tics does not acquire ■ any significance or fitness because of being quoted. This sort of verse does not come in the parts of the play that we have assigned to Shakespeare. BiondeUo talks in simi- lar fashion again in " and so may you, sir ; and so, adieu, sir" (IV. iv. 101-2). A third passage, printed as prose in the Globe Edition, is Grumio's "Knock you here, sir! why, sir, what am I, sir, that I should knock you here, sir?" (I. ii. 9-10). The writer would give none of these parts to Shake- ' Transactions New Shakspere Society, 1874, p. 105. 228 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW speare. Grumio's words, " Now were I not a little pot and soon hot," etc., stand on a different footing (IV. i. 6-6). This rhyming proverb is still current in the mouths of Englishmen, and it is thoroughly woven into the prose of Grumio's speech. The lines which follow the entrance of PetrucMo and Grumio (89-125) do make a decidedly Shake- spearean impression upon one. It seems as if the master may have written these speeches for his fa- vorite Petruchio. A passage of thirty-two lines in " A Shrew " shows the same situation that is found here ; in some respects the two plays are closely parallel in these portions. These lines in " The Shrew " may be accepted as Shakespeare's. Before noticing that FurnivaU had proposed the same question, the writer found himself obliged to ask whether II. i. 115-68 shoidd not be given to Shakespeare. At the beginning of the passage, Petruchio asks Baptista, point-blank, upon what terms he can have Katharine for his wife. A some- what similar conference between the correspond- ing characters, Ferando and Alfonso, comes in " A Shrew," but they refer to a previous agreement. Then comes Hortensio's frightened account of his treatment by the shrew while trying to give her a music lesson. This incident, which is here nar- rated, is directly presented in "A Shrew" in a full scene. The style of these fifty-four lines is distinctly Shakespearean. Observe : — " Siguier Baptista, my business asketh haste, And every day I cannot come to woo." LI. H5-6. THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 229 " I did but tell her she mistook her frets, And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering ; When, with a most impatient devilish spirit, ' Frets, call you these ? ' quoth she ; ' I '11 fume with them : ' And, with that word, she struck me on the head. While she did call me rascal fiddler And twangling Jack ; with twenty such vile terms, As had she studied to misuse me so." LI. 150-60. Line 159 recalls Portia's " A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks." ^ It is in favor of these lines that they immediately precede a passage which has already been confi- dently assigned to Shakespeare. It is easy to think of him as writing this introduction to the part which fell to him at this point according to the plan of authorship. Let us add this passage to the others that have been attributed to Shakespeare. There are no other passages which have any good claim to be considered as Shakespeare's. The following table shows in a convenient form how all the parts of " The Taming of the Shrew " have been assigned. Kon-Shakespearean. Induction, i. and ii. I. i. ; Lii.; H. i. 1-114 Non-Shakespearean. II. i. 115-326 n. i. 327-413 ; III. i. ; HI. ii. 1-88 Shakespeare. Non-Shakespearean. III. ii. 89-125 in. ii. 186-241 ni.ii. 126-85 Non-Shakespearean. IV. i. IV.iii. III. ii. 242-54 IV. ii. rv.i Shakespeare. Non-Shakespearean rV. V. V. ii. 1-181 V. i. V.u. 182- ^ Merchant of Venice, III. n. 77. 230 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW In the next table are given those parts of " The Shrew " which either Fleay, Fumivall, or the writer assigns to Shakespeare, but in reference to which their views do not agree. Fleay. Furnivall. Before seeing Fleay's table. Fumivall. After seeing Fleay's table. Tolnum. Indnction. n.i. 115-168 (?). Induction. II. i. 115-168 {?). (See Leopold Shaks.) m. ii. 1-125. m. ii. 151-185. Induction. ILi. 115-168. in.ii.89-125. in. ii. 1-129. in.u.151-185. ni, ii. 151-185. It now remains to go through the play and de- termine what lines, half lines, phrases, and " slight touches " which may seem worthy of Shakespeare actually come from him. But the power to make such a division, possessed by some critics of Shake- speare, has been denied to the writer. This fac- ulty deserves to rank not far below the power of prophecy or the gift of tongues. It has, how- ever, one disadvantage. After its possessor has once determined intuitively all the Shakespearean "touches" in a play, there is no known method by which he can secure the acceptance of his views on the part of a doubting, and, it may be, a scoffing world. Let us now consider the Induction of "The Taming of the Shrew." Farmer, who thinks that the body of the play can have only " occasional improvements " from the hand of Shakespeare, is careful to say that the THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 231 " whole Induction " is by him, and that it is in his "6es< manner." Later critics have acquiesced in this view concerning the Induction, so far as I know, until we come to Mr. Fleay. His rejection of the Induction, doubtful when first made, is very decided in his " Shakespeare Manual " (1878). In FumivaU's comments upon Fleay's original paper we find the following effectual words : — "That Shakspere's hand is clearly seen in the re- toucht Induction, even in its opening lines, seems to me impossible to deny. The bits about the hounds, the War- wickshire places, Sly's talk, the music, pictures, &c., are Shakspere to the life. With Mr. Grant White,' I claim the whole for him." The Induction of " The Shrew " is very similar in plan to that of " A Shrew." In the other Shake- spearean parts of " The Shrew," however, we con- stantly meet phrases and lines which are found in "A Shrew " in almost the same form. In the Induction Shakespeare seems to have performed his task with especial love ; one mark of this is the great length, comparatively, of this part in " The Shrew." In some respects the plot of this Induction is superior to that of the correspond- ing portion of " A Shrew." There is also a more complete difference of language than we find else- where in " The Shrew." Something like three fuU lines, and enough phrases to make four lines more out of a total of 285 lines, agree very exactly with the language of the Induction of " A Shrew." We 1 For the passage from White, see p. 213. 232 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW do not know, however, that "A Shrew" is the original of " The Shrew." Since Shakespeare's authorship of the Induction of " The Shrew " has been doubted, though I cannot understand upon what grounds, it may be well to give a few passages, mostly from the undoubted plays, which bear some clear resemblance to parts of the Induction. Ind. i. 42. — " Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose." Tern. I. ii. 186. — " And give it way : I know thou canst not choose." Ind. i. 51. — " To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound." A M.-Ni Dream, II. i. 151. — " Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath." Ind. i. 68. — " If it be husbanded with modesty." Ha/m. III. ii. 21. — " . . . o'erstep not the modesty of nature." Ind. i. 83. — Hamlet reminds the players in the same way of a play in which he once saw them act. See Ham. H. ii. 454 £E. Ind. i. 101. — " Were he the veriest antic in the world." I. By. IV. I. ii. 68-9. — "... the rusty curb of old father antic the law." Ind. i. 106. — " And see him dressed in aU suits like a lady." A. Y. L. I. I. Hi. 118. — " That I did suit me all points like a man." Ind. i. 128. — " Shall in despite enforce a watery eye." A M.-N. D. III. i. 203. — " The moon methinks looks with a watery eye." THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 233 Ind. ii. 33. — " Call home thy ancient' thoughts from banishment." Rich. II. I. Hi. 212. — " Eeturn with welcome home from banishment." Rich. II. I. iv. 21. — " When time shall call him home from banishment." Ind. ii. 36. — " Each in his of&ce ready at thy beck." Ham. III. i. 127-8. — "... with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in." Ind. ii. 38. — " And twenty caged nightingales do sing." The Shrew, II. i. 172. — " She sings as sweetly as a nightingale." Ind. ii. 47 " Thy hounds shall make the welkin an- swer them And fetch shrill echoes from the hoUow earth." A. M.-N. D. IV. i. 115. — " And mark the musical confusion Of hounds and echo in conjunction. The skies, the fountains, every region near Seem'd all one mutual cry." Ind. ii. 53. — " And Cytherea all in sedges hid." W. Tale, IV. iv. 120. — " . . . violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath." The epithet in the following passage seems full of Shakespearean force : — Ind. ii. 64. — " Thou hast a lady far more beautiful Than any woman in this waning age." But the same phrase " waning age," in II. i. 403, is not Shakespeare's. 234 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW "... your father -were a fool To give thee all, and in his waning age Set foot under thy table." Shakespeare's task seems to have been, in a word, to write the Induction and the actual taming of Katharine by Petruohio. His associate took the task of furnishing a subordinate plot which should serve as a setting for this main action. The sugges- tions for this subordinate action were taken from " The Supposes." Let us now look for any peculiarities in the language of "The Shrew" which may serve to confirm our results or to caJl them in question. The contractions, 'point, 'pointed, ^cerns, and 'leges, which occur only in this play, have already been mentioned.^ The doubtful character of arguments drawn from words which occur only in a single play has been pointed out by Mr. E. Simpson.^ It seems strange that the following words occur in the genuine parts of this play, and nowhere else in Shakespeare: jugs (Ind. ii. 90), undress (Ind. ii. 119), mother-wit (II. i. 265), incredible (II. i. 308), tripe (IV. iii. 20^, frolic (as verb, IV. iii. 184). We can only console ourselves with the thought, " It is a part of probability that a great many improbable things will happen." On the whole, the words occurring in the non-Shakespearean parts of this play and not in the other plays seem to be more striking stiU. Some of 1 See p. 226. * Transactions New Shalfgpere Society, 1874, p. 114. THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 235 them are : plash (I. i. 23), stoics (I. i. 31), meta- physics (I. i. 37), longly ( = longingly, I. i. 170), trance (1- i. 182), trot ( = old hag, I. ii. 80), seen (-versed, educated, I. ii. 134), cZaregr (I. ii. 207), contrive ( = spend, wear out, I. ii. 276), pithy (III. i. 68), slit (V. i. 134). Especially deserving of at- tention are the following words, inasmuch as they occur more than once in the non-Shakespearean portions of this play, and not at all in the other plays : specially (I. i. 20 and 121), mathematics (I. i. 37 ; II. i. 56 and 82), dmigh (I. i. 110 and V. i. 145), wish ( = recommend, I. i. 113; I. ii. 60 and 64), gamut (III. i. 67, 71, 72, 73, 79). Schmidt's Lexicon gives nineteen cases of the form especially. The word constantly used by Shake- speare in the meaning of to recmtimend is the simple verb to commend. This treacherous argument seems to have some force in favor of our general division of the play, but is of no use ia confirmiag the details of that work. The word agreement occurs four times in the plays ; once in "I. Henry IV." (I. iii. 103), and three times in the non-Shakespearean parts of " The Shrew " (I. ii. 183 and IV. iv. 33 and 50). The accent is peculiar in " No worse than I upon some Sgreem^nt." IV. iv. 33. Act I. Scene ii. (not by Shakespeare) shows a striking jumble of prose, doggerel rhyme, and blank verse. 236 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW One line of the play requires especial atten- tion, — " For to supply the places at the table." ni. a. 249. Bichard Grant White says, " Shakespeare and Marlowe never use this uncouth old idiom [^for to] which, though found in some of the literature of their day, seems even then to have been thought inelegant." ^ Schmidt's Lexicon enables us to cor- rect White at this point. There are at least eight other cases of for to in the thirty-seven plays usually printed as Shakespeare's.^ However, this line, " For to supply the places at the table," perhaps deserves some suspicion. " The frequent stress laid upon unemphatic syl- lables " and the fondness for inversion, which Dr. Abbott notes in the opening lines of the play ,3 reappear in the other non-Shakespearean parts of the play. Note the following passages : — " But to her love concemeth us to add Her father's liking : which to bring to pass, As I before imparted to yonr worship, I am to get a man, — whate'er he be, It skills not much, we '11 fit him to our turn, — And he shall be Yincentio of Pisa." m. ii. 130-5. " And, for the good report I hear of you And for the lo-^e he beareth to your daughter And she to him, to stay him not too long, 1 Shakespeare's Works, vol. vii. (1859), p. 431, Essay on the Au- thorship of Henry VI. ^ The new third edition of Schmidt does not cite Hamlet, V. i. 104. ' Transactions New Shakspere Society, 1874, p. 121. THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 237 I am content, in a good father's care, To have him match'd ; and if 70U please to like No woise than I, upon some agreement Me shall you find ready and willing With one consent to have her so beatoVd ; For curious I cannot be with you, Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well." IV. iv. 28-37. The frequency of Latin and Italian quotations in this play is noticeable. These all come in the non- Shakespearean parts. The length of the Italian quotations is striking. See especially Act I. Scene ii. Sly's blundering " paucas pallabris " (lud. i. 5) happens to be from the Spanish (for " pocas pala- bras ") ; and it has no smack of pedantry or false realism on the part of the author. The great number of classical and learned allu- sions in the non-Shakespearean parts of " The Shrew " has attracted attention. Though one part of the Induction, too, is filled with names taken from classical mythology, yet the especial fitness of these " wanton pictures " is noticeable. The metrical differences between the Shake- spearean and non-Shakespearean parts of the play are very striking — much more convincing, of course, than they could be if we had made them the principal consideration in dividing up the play. Where we have made any peculiarity a ground for rejecting a passage, as in III. ii. 84—8, it would be reasoning in a circle to look upon the table as giving any confirmation to our view, except as we omit from the table the passage in dispute. In pre- 238 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW paring these figures, the Globe text of " The Shrew " has been followed. Only totals are here given.^ I 1 3S H>0 i 11 sis 1 Q Short verse lines, not whole speeches. l!i |l Shake- 1W?, ?41 inw 9fin 33 187 an 31 26 4 Non- Shake- 1387 345 1042 935 68 167 124 46 36 15 10 Bpearean. The most striking fact about the table is that Shakespeare's associate has all of the doggerel and more than four fifths of the rhyme. I will call especial attention, farther, only to the run-on lines. Kbnig,^ in his discussion-of Eryamhe- ment in Shakespeare, shows very clearly that many factors come into play here, and that it is impossi- ble to make a sharp division of the heroic lines in a play into two distinct classes, " stopt " and " un- stopt." Lines have here been reckoned as " stopt " whenever possible, i. e. whenever it seems at aU natural to read a line in such a way as to give a clear pause at the end. Hence the total falls below those of Fumivall and Konig. Furnivall finds 121 " unstopt " lines in the play, out of 1930 five-beat 1 The great difEerence between the number of " feminine endings " in this table (354) and the total number of " doable endings" as given in the Lecpold Shakspere (260) may be due partly to the fact that many endings in Shakespeare's use have sometimes the value of two syllables and sometimes that of one syllable. ^ Det Vers in Shaksperes Dramen (Quellen und Forschungen, Ixi.), p. 97. THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 239 verses (6.3 per cent.). The present writer finds 101 such lines out of 1895 (5.3 per cent.). Konig finds 8.1 per cent. As Fumivall has already pointed out, the associate uses these lines much more freely than Shakespeare. Fleay's elaborate discussion of the authorship of " The Shrew " ^ is very unsatisfactory. After giving specimens of six classes of metrical peculiarities in this play, he says, "These peculiarities of metre are enough of themselves to show that the greater part of this play is not Shakspere's." He then adds a seventh peculiarity, " the frequent contrac- tion of the word ' Gentlemen ' into ' Grent'men,' " He gives eight specimens under his first class, but six of them come in the parts of the play which he afterwards assigns to Shakespeare (see Fumivall's comment). Of a second peculiarity, he gives eleven specimens, afterwards assigning four of them to Shakespeare. Many of the lines given under his third class seem to belong elsewhere.^ Of the seven that I can read as Fleay does, he afterwards gives four to Shakespeare. The five lines in his fourth class can easily be read in a different manner, and probably shotdd be. One of them is afterwards given to Shakespeare. The fifth class is composed of " the doggerel lines, chiefly of four measures in each line." Fleay's statement, " Lines like these of four measures occur nowhere else in Shake- 1 Transacliom New Shakspere Society, 18'74, and Shakespeare Manual, " See Konig, p. 84. 240 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW speare," is simply amazing. In Act III. Scene i. of " The Comedy of Errors," Meay can find a hatful of such lines. They occur, also, in other plays.i Of Fleay's sixth class of peculiarities, Shakespeare finally gets more than the associate. Kbnig finds the use of gentleman as equivalent to two syllables to be a frequent thing throughout the dramas.^ At the close of his paper Fleay gives typical passages illustrating the different styles to be found in this play. Here he questions Shake- speare's authorship of that peculiar and significant feature of "The Shrew," the scolding speech of Petruchio ia IV. iii., beginning "O monstrous arrogance ! " He takes away froni Shakespeare another passage in the same scene. These passages have already been unquestioningly attributed to the poet in Meay's own table. There are some differences between the various non-Shakespearean parts of " The Shrew " which suggest the possibility that Shakespeare had more than one helper in the production of this play. The strutting rhetoric of the opening speeches does not again appear. The situations of Act I. are also found in "A Shrew." Otherwise the non- Shakespearean parts borrow especially from " The Supposes." A large number of the peculiar words already noticed as occurring in " The Shrew " and not in other plays of the First Folio,^ appear in this act. But we have seen that " the frequent stress laid upon unemphatic syllables " and the 1 See Konig, p. 120. " Page 35. » See p. 235. THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 241 fondness for inversion are common both to the non-Shakespearean parts which come earlier in the play and to the later ones.* The differences between the various non-Shakespearean portions do not seem greater, on the whole, than those which may well mark different portions of the work of one author. Upon what terms did Shakespeare and his helper divide their work between them ? Shakespeare wrote, as we believe, the Induction and the core of the main play, the actual taming of the shrew, giving practically his entire attention to but three characters, — Petruchio, Katharine, and Grumio. We naturally conjecture that he wrote his part first, and then handed it over to the asso- ciate for completion, but of this we cannot be sure. The associate contributed the subordinate plot, the contest for the hand of Bianca. The suggestions for this story came from " The Supposes." The question to what dramatic type " The Tam- ing of the Shrew " belongs is an interesting one. Where shall this play be classified among the works of its author ? Mr. Furnivall has called it a farce ; and Mr. Ellis said flatly, " This play is an outrageous farce, and that must be fully borne in mind." ^ This term the present writer cannot ac- cept. Undoubtedly the story of the shrew attracted Shakespeare primarily by the fun and the go in it, by its many humorous situations, by all its fullness 1 See p. 236. ^ Transactions New Shakspere Society, 1874,'pp. 110 and 119. 242 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW of dramatic life. But a prime difference between Shakespeare and other playwrights was that he found it easy and natural to minister to men's minds and hearts at the same time that he was convulsing them with laughter and filling his own pockets. The story of the shrew naturally tempted to a farcical treatment ; and the fact that Petruchio decides before he has yet seen her to woo Katha- rine makes us unprepared for the genuine and wise affection that he afterward displays. Judging him by the standards of Shakespeare's age — standards which stiU have their belated advocates — and judg- ing him by the requirements which Katharine's character puts upon him, Petruchio's conduct, broadly speaking, is noble and thoroughly wise. This wise love, finally, in one victory, saves him from the shrew and the shrew from herself. This salvation of the nobler Katharine is the central action of the play ; and such a play is no farce. This opinion wUl be challenged by many, and it may need some modification. Perhaps the final judgment will not vary much from that expressed in the following careful words of Professor Dow- den : 1 — " The Katharine and Petruchio scenes border upon the farcical, but Shakspere's interest in the characters of the Shrew and her tamer keep these scenes from passing into downright farce." ' Shdk^ere Primer, p. 102. SHAKESPEARE'S "LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON" SHAKESPEARE'S "LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON"i In 1598 a volume appeared whicli furnislies per- haps the most important single piece of evidence that we have concerning the reputation that Shake- speare's writings enjoyed among the men of his own day. This book, " Palladis Tamia. | WITS TREASVRY | Being the Second part | of Wits Common \ wealth," ^ was written by Francis Meres, " Maister of Artes of both Universities.". The portion which especially interests us is a sketch, or short treatise, which comes near the end of the work, and bears the title " A comparatiue discourse of our English Poet's, with the Greeke, Latine, and Italian Poets." " Wytts Treasurye," as it is. called in the " Stationers' Register," was entered at Sta- tioners' HaU on the 7th of September, 1598. Halli- well-PhiUipps thinks that the sketch that concerns us, the " comparatiue discourse," was surely written in the summer of 1598, since it contains a notice ' Reprinted from The Decennial Publications of the University of Chicago, First Series, vol. vii. pp. 159-90, where it had the title " What Has Become of Shakespeare's Play ' Love's Lahour 's Won ' ? " The bibliographical notes have here been much abbre- viated. 2 C. M. Ingleby, Shakspere Allusion-Boohs, Part I. (London, 1874), p. 151. 246 LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON of the book of satires by Marston which was re- gistered on the 27th of the preceding May as " The Metamorphosis of Pigmalions Image, and Satyres." ^ We cannot be entirely certain about this, however. Meres was so exceptionally well acquainted with the literary productions of his day that he mentions certain works which were not printed until some years after the appearance of his own book, and some others which are not known to have been printed at all. Indeed, one of his ref- erences to Shakespeare is to those " sugred Sonnets among his priuate friends " that were not published until eleven years later — and are not explained yet. Attention was called to Meres's book by Thomas Percy in 1765,^ and more fully by Thomas Tyr- whitt in 1766.3 In the elaborate sentences in which Meres sets Elizabethan over against ancient writers, Shake- speare is mentioned by name nine times. Also, when Meres speaks of " these declining and corrupt times, when there is nothing but rogery in villanous man," * he is certainly quoting Falstaff 's utterance : " There is nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man" (I. Henry IV. 11. iv. 137, 138). 1 HaJliwell-Fhillipps, Outlines of the Life of Shakespeare, 10th ed. (London, 1898), toI. ii. pp. 148, 149 ; Arber, Transcript of the Stationers' Registers, vol. iii. p. 116. ^ Eeliques ofAndera English Poetry, vol. i. p. 191, in remarka upon the ballad Gernutus the Jew of Venice. ' Observations and Conjectures upon Sotm Passages of Shake- speare (Oxford, 1766), pp. 15, 16. * Shakspere Allusion-Books, Part I. p. 159. LOVE'S LABOUR 'S WON 247 We shall look now at three of the passages which contain Shakespeare's name ; the other six will be cited later.^ "As the soule of Uuphorbus was thought to liue in Pythagoras : so the sweete wittie soule of Ouid liues in mellifiuGus & hony-tongued Shakespeare, witnes his Venus and Adonis, his Lucrece, his sugred Sonnets among his prinate friends, &c. " As Plautus and Seneca are accounted the best for Comedy and Tragedy among the Latines : so Shake- speare among the English is the most excellent in both kinds for the stage ; for Comedy, witnes his Gentle- men of Verona, his Errors, his Loue labors lost, his ZoMe labours wonne, his Midsummers night dreame, & his Merchant of Venice : for Tragedy his Richard the 2. Siehard the 3. Henry the 4. King John, Titus Andronieus and his Romeo and luliet. " As Epius Stolo said, that the Muses would speake with Plauttis tongue, if they would speak Latin : so I say that the Muses would speak with Shakespeares fine filed phrase, if they would speake English." It seems clear that Meres classifies all the dramas of Shakespeare as either comedies or tragedies. Undoubtedly, also, any play is to him a tragedy in which an important character dies. Thus it hap- pens that two plays, the first and second parts of " Henry IV.," which present at his best the great- est comic figure in aU literature, Falstaff, are to- gether referred to as a tragedy, Henry the 4. ^ The entire " oomparatiue disconrae," with seyeral preceding pages, is printed in Shakspere Allusion-Books, Part I., edited by C. M. Ingleby, published for the New Sbakspere Society (Lon- don, 1874), pp. 151-67. 248 LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON No play has come down to us bearing the name Loue labours wonne. What play did Meres have in mind when he used this title ? Of course it is possible that this drama has been lost, though students of Shakespeare have not gen- erally considered this likely. If " Love's Labour 's Won " ^ has not disappeared, the name must belong in some way to one of the plays now in. our possession. The reference in Meres may represent one of two titles which were in use at the same time, both applying to some drama that we now have, and to the form in which we have it. There are two dramas in the First Folio edition of Shakespeare's plays to which double titles are given in the table of contents and ia the page headings : " Twelfe Night, or. What you will," and " Othello, the Moore of Venice." The second of these is practically a double title ; the earliest known reference to the play (by Wurmsser von Vendenheym, in 1610) calls it " 1' histoire du More de Venise." ^ On the opening page of each of five historical plays in the Folio, an elongated title appears, though not in the table of contents or in the ordinary page head- ings. These full designations are : " The First Part of Henry the Fourth, with the Life and Death of Henry Sirnamed Hot-spurre " ; " The Second Part ^ The question of the proper form and interpretation of the titles Love's Labour 's Lost and Love's Labour's Won, will be con- sidered in full under the discussion of Much Ado About Nothing. See pp. 283-90. 2 Shakespeare's Centurie ofPrayse, 2d ed. (London, 1879), p. 93. LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON 249 of Henry the Fourth, Containing his Death : and the Coronation of King Henry the Fift " ; " The second Part of Henry the Sixt, with the death of the Good Duke Humfrey " ; " The third Part of Henry the Sixt, with the death of the Duke of Yorke " ; " The Tragedy of Richard the Third : with the Landing of Earle Eichmond, and the Battell at Bosworth Field." These long appellations may fairly be classed with double titles. Mr. H. P. Stokes thinks the evidence conclusive that the following plays of Shakespeare, in addi- tion to " Othello " and " Twelfth Night," were each " (generally or occasionally) known by [two] dif- ferent names : " " the Merchant of Venice, or the ' Jew of Venice ' ; Merry Wives of Windsor, or ' Sir John FalstafE ' ; 1 Henry IV., or ' Hotspur ' ; Henry V, or ' Agincourt ' ; ^ and 3 Henry VI., or ' York and Lancaster,' &e. ; Hewy VIII., or ' All is True ' ; Much Ado, &c., or ' Benedick and Beatrice'; Julius Caesar, or 'Csesar's Tragedy.'" ^ Another possibility is that some play of Shake- speare now in existence represents the revised form of the earlier play known as "Love's Labour's Won." In this case the probability woidd be that the title " Love's Labour 's Won " was dropped, and the present name given to the new form at the time of the revision. It is so probable as to be almost certain that the play which appears in the page headings of the First FoHo as " The second ^ Chronological Order of Shakespeare's Flays (London, 1878), p. 110, note. 250 LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON Part of Henry the Sixt " received this name when the play took its present shape. The former title, "The First part of the Contention hetwixt the two famous Houses of Yorke and Lancaster," etc., appears on the title-page of the older ver- sion, first printed in 1594, out of which, with many alterations and additions, the play in the Folio was made. The play sometimes given in the page headings of the Folio as " The third Part of Henry the Sixt," sometimes as " The third Part of King Henry the Sixt," bears a similar relation to the supposedly older play "The true Tragedie of Richard Duke of Yorke," etc., printed 1595. Whether in these two cases Shakespeare wrote any portion of the older plays is a question upon which scholars are not agreed. But this difference of opinion concerning the origin of two dramas in the Shakespearean canon is enough to suggest the pos- sibility that some comedy of Shakespeare that we now have may have been known in an earlier ver- sion as " Love's Labour 's Won." It is also possible that " Love's Labour 's Won " received a new name without undergoing any change of form. If such were the case, we may presume that this new title commended itself as an improve- ment upon the old. The following, then, would seem to be the possi- ble explanations why no play has come down to us with the title " Love's Labour 's Won " : first, the play so designated is no longer extant ; second, it once bore a double title, and the name by which LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON 251 we now know it is only a portion of its former full appellation ; third, the change of the name " Love's Labour 's Won " to that which now designates some one of the comedies that we know, was connected in some way with a revision of the play ; fourth, the title was changed for some other reason, presumably to secure one that was more appropriate. Let us assume that " Love's Labour 's Won " has come down to us in some form ; and let us bear in mind the fact that no positive evidence connects this title with any particular comedy of Shake- speare. What conditions, then, ought one of the comedies to satisfy, and what characteristics ought it to possess, if it is to establish as good a claim as possible, in the absence of definite external evi- dence, to be identified with Meres's Loue labours wonne ? A first requirement seems to be that the comedy selected shall not appear by name in Meres's list. Strangely enough, however, two of the solutions that have been proposed identify " Love's Labour 's Won " respectively with " Love's Labour 's Lost " and " A Midsummer-Night's Dream," though both of these plays are mentioned by Meres. There is an evident presumption against these views. A second requirement is, of course, that any comedy which is to represent " Love's Labour 's Won " must have been in existence in some form as early as 1598. In the absence of definite exter- nal testimony, a great variety of evidence bearing upon the probable date of a particular play may need to be considered. 252 LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON That the title " Love's Labour 's Won " should aptly designate the course of the action in the play which we suppose to have been thus named, seems to be a third reasonable reqtiirement. It is not entirely clear, however, that we have a right to expect that the name in question shall apply with peculiar fitness. The companion play, "Love's Labour 's Lost," is not very happily named. Tieck recognized this by giving to the German transla- tion the title " Liebes Leid und Lust." It may seem probable, just for this reason, that the other of the two parallel designations was peculiarly apt. But even if we were to accept this inconclusive ar- gument as sound, we should not be greatly helped, since the phrase " Love's Labour 's Won " is almost a formula for the action of a romantic comedy. We may almost exalt it to a class name and speak of the love's-labour 's-won comedies. Few good Eng- lish comedies would fail to be included in this class. Says Furness : — " Under Love labours wonne, I suppose he [Meres] may have had in mind any one of several Comedies, wherein the labours of love were successful, as they generally are in all Comedies." ^ The similarity of the names " Love's Labour 's Lost " and " Love's Labour 's Won " leads us to expect parallelisms and correspondences between the plays themselves. Considerations of this nature may be of some service in testing the claim of any 1 Preface to Variorum edition of Much Ado About Nothing (Philadelphia, 1899), p. xiv. LOVE'S LABOUR 'S WON 253 comedy to be accepted as having once borne the second of these designations. Just how far the two plays may fairly be ex- pected to correspond in structure it is hard to say. The dramatist is so dependent upon the nature of his material that a very high degree of structural agreement, or similarity, even between two com- panion pieces, is hardly to be looked for. Still, some correspondence of action to action, feature to feature, and character to character, would be prob- able. We should expect the two companion plays to be similar in style and versification. Especially should we expect them to agree in tone, ia spirit and men- tal attitude, in the mood which produced them and the mood which they produce. As one expression of this, about the same proportion of jest and earnest would probably appear in each. It seems probable, also, that the play referred to by Meres, if compared with " Love's Labour 's Lost," would show many detailed similarities of thought and expression. We have thus mentioned seven criteria, of various degrees of cogency, by which we may test the pro- posal to accept any particular comedy of Shake- speare as " Love's Labour 's Won " under another name. To summarize these seven points in a few words, we may caU them : absence from Meres's list, date, aptness of Meres's title, similarity to " Love's Labour 's Lost " in structure, in style and VBrsification, in tone, in details of thought and 254 LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON language. In treating each separate theory that we take up, it will usually be sufficient to refer to only those topics, or tests, among the seven just mentioned, under which definite evidence is pre- sented. The various theories which have been advanced concerning " Love's Laboiir 's Won " wiU be con- sidered in the following order : — I. That " Love's Labour 's Won " has been lost. II. That it is to be identified with " Love's Labour 's Lost." III. With " A Midsummer-Night's Dream." IV. With " The Tempest." V. With "All's WeU That Ends Well." VI. With " Much Ado About Nothing." Vn. With "The Taming of the Shrew." It will be useful to have before us also the chro- nological order in which these theories were made public. So far as the writer can determine, the above views were put forth in the following suc- cession : ^ — ■ 1. " All 's Well " ; proposed by Farmer in 1767. 2. « The Tempest " ; by Hunter, 1839. 3. " Love's Labour 's Lost " ; by a writer in " The Quarterly Keview," 1840. 4. That " Love's Labour 's Won " has been lost ; proposed by the same Quarterly Reviewer, as an alternative solution, 1840. ^ References will be g^iven later under the separate theories. THE PLAY HAS BEEN LOST 255 5. "The Taming of the Shrew"; by Craik, 1857. 6. " Much Ado About Nothing "; by Brae, 1860. 7. " A Midsummer-Night's Dream " ; by von Westenholz, 1902. As might be expected, many believe that the question wiU never admit of any fairly decisive set- tlement unless new evidence bearing upon it shall come to light. This inability to form any decided opinion may perhaps be said to constitute an eighth answer to the problem ; but it has seemed best not to classify and treat this together with the seven more positive theories. The statements of some who hold this opinion against opinions, or incline toward it, will be noted at the close of the paper. I. THE VIEW THAT THE PLAY CALLED " LOVE'S LABOUK 'S WON " HAS BEEN LOST A writer in the " Quarterly Review " is the sole representative of the theory concerning "Love's Labour 's Won " which is to be discussed in the next diidsion of this paper, i As an alternative to that theory, however, he considers the view that the play in question has been lost, to have much probability. In opposing Himter's advocacy of " The Tempest " as the play sought for, he says : — " Why should Mr. Hunter think it improbable that a play of Shakespeare's should be lost ? Surely, in the troubled times of the fanatical and anti-theatrical gen- eration which succeeded him, it was much more probable 1 Pages 257-62. 256 LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON that, unless published immediately after his death, any- work of our immortal dramatist's should be destroyed than preserved." ^ Halliwell-PhiUipps expresses the opinion that our play may have entirely disappeared. His words are: — " ' Love Labors Won,' a production which is no- where else alluded to, is one of the numerous works of that time which have long since perished, unless its graceful appellation be the original or a secondary title of some other comedy." ^ In his recent "Introduction to Shakespeare" Professor Dowden puts the matter thus : — " The ' Love's Labour 's Won,' which Meres names, may be a lost play of Shakespeare, or possibly, as has been conjectured, ' All 's Well that Ends Well,' in an earlier form may have borne this title." ° The fact that Fletcher's comedy "The Wild- Goose Chase " had been " long lost " when the Fo- lio edition of Beaumont and Fletcher appeared in 1647, might be thought to support the hypothesis now before us concerning " Love's Labour 's Won." But the publisher ia his address to the readers lamented the absence of " The WUd-Goose Chase " as the only omission in his volume. Moreover, the play was soon recovered, and was published in 1652.* 1 Quarterly Review, vol. Ixv. (1840), p. 481. ^ Outlines of the Life of Shakespeare, 10th ed. (London, 1898), Tol. i. p. 172. * London and New York, no date, p. 30. * Ward, A History of English Dramatic Literature, vol. ii. 2d ed. (London, 1899), p. 707. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST 257 We should note, however, that there is no early mention of " All 's Well that Ends Well," or allu- sion to it, ^ also that the only supposed early refer- ence to " Measure for Measure " is one that we could not possibly recognize if we did not possess the text.2 It is not impossible that an early comedy of Shakespeare shoidd so far disappear from men's knowledge that the only trace to reach us should be the mention of the title by a single writer. We cannot be sure that no early and relatively unim- portant play of Shakespeare had disappeared, sim- ply because the editors of the Folio said nothing about any such loss. II. "love's labour's lost" The Quarterly Keviewer whose article has been noticed in the previous section offers also the fol- lowing suggestion : — " May not ' Love's Labours Won ' be the second part of the title of ' Love's Labours Lost ' ? The passage in Meres, where the names immediately follow each other, would seem to countenance such a conjecture ; and the story of the comedy would fully bear it out. In it ' Love's Labours ' — comic labours — are both lost and won : lost, because they led to a year of penance ; and won, because, at the end of that year, they were to receive their re- ward." The fact, already referred to, that Tieck gave the title " Liebes Leid und Lust " to the German 1 Herford, Eversley Shakespeare, vol. iii. p. 111. 2 Ibid. p. 231. 258 LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON translation of this play is an interesting recognition of the truth of the last sentence quoted. When one reads the passage from Meres that furnishes the basis of our whole discussion, it seems perfectly clear that he mentions by name six dif- ferent tragedies and six different comedies, all by Shakespeare. Dowden makes the natural comment : "•It will be noticed that Meres mentions six plays of each kind, preserving a balanced symmetry which he affects." Dowden then adds : " Possibly he made omissions, possibly he pressed into his list the doubtfvd ' Titus,' with the object of equaliziog the nvunber of tragedies and comedies named by him." ^ How far does Meres " affect a balanced symme- try " in the sketch where occurs the passage that we are seeking to interpret ? It is impossible for us to reprint the entire essay ; but, as the six remaining references to Shakespeare fairly represent the style of the disquisition, and as they have an independent interest for students of the great dramatist, they are given here : — " As the Greeks tongue is made famous and eloquent by Homer, Hesiod, Euripedes, AeschUus, SopJweles, Pinda/rus, Phocylides, and Aristophanes; and the Latine tongue by Virgill, Ouid, Horace, Silius Italicus, Lucanus, Lucretius, Ansonius and Claudianus ; so the English tongue is mightily enriched, and gorgeouslie inuested in rare ornaments and resplendent abUiments by Sir Philip Sidney, Spencer, Daniel, Drayton, War- ner, Shakespeare, Marlow and ChMpman. ^ Shakspere Primer (New York, 1879), p. 34. LOVE'S LABOUR 'S LOST 259 "As Ouid saith of his worke ; lamque opus exegi, guod nee low's ira, nee ignis, Nee poteritjerrum, nee edax abolere vetustas,^ " And as Horace saith of his ; Exegi monumentwm aere perenniiis ; Begalique situ pyramidum aZtius; Quad non imber edax; Non Aquilo impotens possit diruere ; aut innumerabilis annorum series & fuga temporum : ^ so say I severally of sir Philip Sidneys, Spencers, Daniels, Draytons, Shakespeares, and War- ners worJces ; Non lottis ira : imbres : Mars : ferrum : flamma, senectus, Hoc opus unda : lues : turbo : venena ruent. Et quanquam ad pulcherrimum hoe opus euertendum tres illi DiJ conspiraMmt, Cronus, Vuleanus, Sf pater ipse gentis; Non tam£n annorum series, non flamma, nee ensis, Aeternum potuit hoc abolere Decus? " As Pindarus, Anacreon and Callimaohics among the Greekes ; and Horace and Catullus among the La- 1 And now my work is done, which not Jove's wrath, nor fire, Shall e'er destroy, nor sword, nor gnawing tooth of time. ^ I 've reared a lofty monument. More lasting far than time-defying hronze. And higher than the royal pyramids ; And this no biting storm, nor whirlwind's rage. Nor flight of time in countless sum of years Can overthrow. ^ Neither the wrath of Jove, nor storm, nor w£ir, nor sword, nor flame, nor age. Shall bring this work to nanght, nor flood, nor plague, nor whirl- wind's might, nor poison's baleful power. And though to overthrow this beauteous monument, three mighty gods Oonspire, old Cronus, Vulcan, and the very father of onr race. Still neither flight of years, nor flame, nor sword. Has power to dim the immortal splendor of this song. 260 LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON tines are the best Lyrick Poets : so in this faculty the best among our Poets are Spencer who excelleth in all kinds) ^ Daniel, Drayton, Shakespeare, Bretton. "As these Tragicke Poets flourished in Greece, Aeschylus, Euripedes, Sophocles, Alexander Aetolus, Aehaeus Erithriaeus, Astydamas Atheniensis, Apollo- dorus Tarsensis, Nicomaohus Phrygius, Thespis Atti- eus, and Timon Apolloniates ; and these among the Latines, Aecius, M. Attilius, Pomponius Secundus and Seneca ; so these are our best for Tragedie, the Lord Buckhurst, Doctor Leg of Cambridge, Doctor Edes of Oxforde, maister Edward Ferris, the Authour of the Mirrour for Magistrates, Marlow, Peele, Watson, Kidf Shakespeare, Drayton, Chapman, Decker and Benia- min lohnson. "The best Poets for Comedy among -the Greeks are these, Menander, Aristophanes, Eupolis Atheniensis^ Alexis Terius, Nicostratus, Amipsias Atheniensis, An- axandrides Rhodius, Aristonymus, Archippus Atheni- ensis and Callias Atheniensis ; and among the Latines, Plautus, Terence, Naeuius, Sext. Turpiliics, Licinius Imbrex, and Virgilius Romanics : so the best for Comedy amongst vs bee, Edward Earle of Oxforde, Doctor Gager of Oxforde, Maister Rowley once a rare Scholler of learned Pembrooke Hall in Cambridge, Maister Ed- wardes one of her Maiesties Chappell, eloquent and wit- tie lohn Lilly, Lodge, Gascoyne, Greene, Shakespeare, Thomus Nash, Thomas Heywood, Anthony Mundye our best plotter. Chapman, Porter, Wilson, Hathway, and Henry Chettle. " As these are famous among the Greeks for Elegie, 1 Eeprodueing the punctuation of the original. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST 261 Melanthus, Mymnerus Colophonius, Olympius Mysius, Parthenius Nicaeus, Phileias Cous, Theogenes Mega- rensis and Pigres Halicarnassaeus ; and these among the Latines, Maecenas, Ouid, Tibullus, Propertiuf, T. Valgius, Cassius Seuerus & Clodius Sabinics ; so these are the most passionate among vs to bewaile and bemoane the perplexities of Loue, Henrie Howard Earle of Sur- rey, sir Thomas Wyat the elder, sir Francis Brian, sir Philip Sidney, sir Walter Bawley, sir Sdward Dyer, Spencer, Daniel, Drayton, Shakespeare, Whetstone, Gascoyne, Samuell Page sometimes feUowe of Corpus Christi Colledge in Oxford, Churchyard, Bretton." ^ In the first of the above passages, eight Greek and eight Koman writers are mated with eight Eliz- abethans. In the second passage, there is no " bal- anced symmetry." In each of the four remaining quotations there seems to be some attempt to make the number of classical writers mentioned equal to the number of Englishmen ; but under the elegiac poets, according to the pimctuation of Ingleby and Arber, fifteen English writers are set over against seven Grreeks and seven Romans. The symmetry of the passage concerning " Poets for Comedy " is imperfect, ten Grreek and six Roman writers being balanced by seventeen Elizabethans. The suggestion of the Quarterly Reviewer is, practically, that Meres pressed into service the double title of a single comedy in order to secure a merely formal symmetry, and thus make the titles of five comedies balance those of six tragedies. Since 1 Shahspere Allusion-Books, edited by C. M, Ingleby (London, 1874), Part I. pp. 157, 160-2. 262 LOVE'S LABOUR 'S WON a similar explanation is brought forward more dis- tinctly by von Westenholz in the next division of this paper, the discussion of the question will be deferred until then. The natural presumption is against this method of meeting the difficulty. in. "A midsummee-night's dream" The view just examined makes " Love's Labour 's Won " another name for the play " Love's Labour 's Lost." But there is about the same grammatical and prima facie basis for another suggestion, namely, that " Love's Labour 's Won " is the first title, or the first half of the title, of the comedy which follows it in Meres's list, " A Midsummer- Night's Dream." This view seems to have been first put forward in 1902 in an acute and gracefully worded article by a German scholar, Professor von Westenholz.^ If we disregard for the moment the manifest ob- jection that Meres seems to mention six different comedies to balance six tragedies, it is reaUy sur- prising how much von Westenholz finds in support of his conjecture. He insists that in a play which is to be identified with " Love's Labour 's Won," we must expect to find a parallelism with " Love's Labour 's Lost " corresponding to the intentional parallelism in the titles. Agreement in the general tone, and marked correspondences in the action and the characters, are to be looked for. ^ " Shakespeares ' Gewonnene Liebesmiih,' " in the Beilage zur AUgemeinen Zeitung, January 14, 1902, pp. 77-9. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 263 Von Westenholz finds only two comedies of Shakespeare which in general plan and in tone can be accepted as mentally and spiritually related to " Love's Labour 's Lost." These are " As You Like It " and " A Midsummer-Night's Dream " ; and in the former of these the other correspondences desired are wanting. This critic considers that the Duke, Lysander, and Demetrius, in " A Midsummer-Night's Dream," correspond to three of the lovers in " Love's Labour 's Lost," the King, LongaviUe, and Dumain. He even finds the agreement in the initials of the courtiers' names to be significant, since the Eliza- bethans did " something affect the letter." Biron as a lover has no analogue in " A Mid- summer-Night's Dream," but as humorist and interpreter of the action we find a counterpart in Puck. It is Biron and Puck who express the difference in the outcome of the two plays in contrasted passages, which remind us at once of the titles " Love's Labour 's Lost " and " Love's Labour 's Won " : — " Onr wooing doth not end like an old play ; Jack hath not Jill." L. L. Lost, V. ii. 884r-5. " Jack shall have Jill ; Nought shall go ill." A M.-N. Dream, IH. ii. 461-2. The daring suggestion is made that perhaps Puck is called Eobin because that name contains the same letters that are in Biron. We may add 264 LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON that the strange identification of the dainty Puck with Eobin Goodfellow (A M.-N. D. II. i. 34), the toiling " lubber fiend " of Milton's « L' Allegro," is thus given a still stranger explanation. Von Westenholz sets over against each other the play, or procession, of the Nine Worthies, in one comedy, and the foolish characters who produce it, and, in the other, the play of Pyramus and Thisbe, and the craftsmen-actors. This is in many ways a striking parallel. The correspondence which is noted between Awnado's lofty wooing of Jaque- netta and Titania's infatuation for Bottom is less marked. The fact that Bottom jests with each of the other servants of Titania but not with Moth (A M.-N. D. III. i. ; IV. i.), von Westenholz explains by the bold supposition that Moth was a character added after the completion of the play, solely for the purpose of reminding us of the little page bear' ing that name in " Love's Labour 's Lost." It is suggested by von Westenholz that " Love's Labour 's Lost " failed to keep the stage because of its weakness as an acting play; that this setting aside of its companion piece took away the special significance of the title " Love's Labour 's Won " ; and that the play which had borne this last name came to be known later as " A Midsummer-Night's Dream." This new appellation should be inter- preted as a fanciful suggestion concerning the origin of the play ; thus we escape the difficulty that the action closes on the evening of May Day. Meres A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 265 is supposed to have used the double title both for the sake of greater clearness, the play having borne each name in tm'n, and especially that he might preserve a superficial balance between the two parts of his list. To say that Meres put in a double title for one comedy in order to preserve an outward equality between the two divisions of his catalogue, skillfully turns the fla/uk of those who have reUed upon the symmetry and balance of the " comparatiue dis- course " as proving that each half of the list con- tains six plays. According to von Westenholz, Meres was indeed so fond of outward sjrmmetry that he was content to balance six titles represent- ing five comedies against six titles representing six tragedies. In saying this, von Westenholz is really supporting the theory of the Quarterly Reviewer concerning " Love's Labour 's Lost," examined in the previous section, just as much as his own. One cannot help feeling that it would have been . more natural for Francis Meres to drop one of the tragedies from his catalogue, namdng only five dramas of each kind, than to set over against an actual play a mere cipher, a diunmy title. He cer- tainly could not hope by this misleading device to deceive the men of his own day, for whom he wrote. Von Westenholz might well have called atten- tion to the fact known to aU that the Folio and the early quartos do not show us a single play of Henry the 4, as cited by Meres, but two plays, " The First Part of King Henry the Fourth " and " The 266 LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON Second Part of King Henry the Fourth." Even if we admit that Meres felt his title Henry the 4 to represent two closely related dramas and not one long drama, this method of reducing or compress- ing seven titles to six in the list of tragedies offers little support to the conjecture that five real titles were extended to six apparent ones in the list of comedies. The form of the expression in Meres seems almost conclusive against both von Westenholz and the Quarterly Keviewer. The titles in Meres's list must surely designate separate plays, since each one is preceded by the word " his " : " witnes his Gejp- tlemen of Verona, his Errors, his Loue labors lost, his l/oue labours wonne, his Midsummers night dreame, & his Merchant of Venice." It is noticeable, too, that Meres shortens all but one of the titles in this list of comedies that we can positively identify, one of them being reduced to the single word Errors. It is entirely improbable that a long and elaborate double title is present. The First Folio, as is well known, prints the plays of Shakespeare in three separate divisions, called in the preliminary " Catalogue," or table of contents, " Comedies, Histories, Tragedies " ; and the " Histories," the plays named from English kings subsequent to the Norman Conquest, are given in their historical order. Von Westenholz argues from these facts that it is very probable that the order in which the plays are printed in the two other divisions of the Folio is based upon some real prin- A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 267 ciple or principles, althougli the existing arrange- ment has not seemed to show any distinct plan. He finds it significant that " Love's Lahour 's Lost " is followed immediately in the Folio by what he believes to be its companion play, " A Midsummer- Night's Dream." Meres names these two plays to- gether and in the same order, if we admit that " A Midsummer-Night's Dream " is first designated by a former title, " Love's Labour 's Won." It is a striking fact, which the present writer has not seen noted, that the comedies named by Meres, disregarding the uncertain "Love's La- bour 's Won," are printed in the Folio in the order in which he names them, though not consecutively. This is made clear in the following table : — Folio Order. Order in Meres, The Tempest. The Two Gentlemen of Verona. Gentlemen of Verona. The Merry WWes of Windsor, Measure for Measure. The Comedy of Errors. Errors, Much Ado about Nothing, Love's Labour 's Lost, Lone labors lost, Loue labours wonne, A Midsummer-Night's Dream. Midsummers night dreame. The Merchant of Venice. Merchant of Venice. As You Like It, The Taming of the Shrew, AU 's Well that Ends Well, Twelfth Night; or, What You Will, The Winter's Tale. How shall we account for this strange agreement in the order of the Folio and of Meres ? Can it be that the editors of the Folio were acquainted with 268 LOVE'S LABOUR 'S WON the passage in the " comparatiue discourse," and consciously or unconsciously made their arrange- ment agree therewith ? If the list of Meres is to conform throughout to the order of the Folio, as it does in the case of the five known comedies which it contains, then we are limited, apparently, to the three theories concerning " Love's Labour 's Won " that have now been presented, namely : " Love's Labour 's Won " has been lost ; the name is a sec- ond title for " Love's Labour 's Lost " ; the name is a first title for " A Midsummer-Night's Dream." Some of the arguments of von Westenhok have undeniable force ; and the acuteness and skiU. with which he has worked out and presented his theory almost blind one to its fundamental difficulty. IV. " THE TEMPEST " Much attention has been given during the past thirty years to the question of the chronological order in which Shakespeare's plays were written. The progressive development of Shakespeare's mind and art has been studied more carefully than ever before. Every student of the subject knows that, as one result of this inquiry, " The Tempest " has come to be accepted as one of the latest plays of its great author. The comedy shows in a high degree those peculiarities of versification, style, and spirit which have been found to mark the closing period of Shakespeare's writing. It seems really impossible that the play can have been in exist- ence at the time when Meres wrote his " compardi' tiue discourse." THE TEMPEST 269 We shall therefore give but little space to the theory of the Rev. Joseph Hunter that " Love's Labour 's Won " is a name that was once given to " The Tempest." This view was published in a separate "Disquisition" in 1839, and Hunter enlarged and fortified his statement of it in his " New Illustrations of Shakespeare " in 1845.^ " In what way is it," asks Hunter, " that Prospero makes trial of the love of Ferdinand for Miranda ? How, but by imposing upon him certain labours ? The par- ticular kind of labour is the placing in a pile logs of firewood. He serves in this as Jacob did for Bachel, winning his bride from her austere father by them. In other words he proves the sincerity of his afEection to the satisfaction of Prospero by the faithfulness with which he performs these labours, and thus his love labours win the consent of Prospero to their vmion." Concerning Hunter's fundamental contention that " Love's Labour 's Won " is a fitting designa^ tion for " The Tempest," Knight observes : — " Our belief in the significancy of Shakspere's titles would be at an end if even a ' main incident ' was to suggest a name, instead of the general course of the thought or action." ^ Says Furness upon the same point : — " For us who are not convinced by Hunter's argu- ments, it is sufficient to remember that Prospero's ^ Vol. i. Part II. pp. 123-89. Abundant extracts are given in Fumess's Variorum edition of The Tempest (Fhiladelpliia, 1892), pp. 284-94. ^ Ed. Shakspere, 2d ed. (London, 1842), Introduction to All 's Well, vol. i. p. 335. 270 LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON object in subjecting the young Prince to his power was gained as much after the first [log] had been carried, as after the thousandth, and that the labour in itself amounted to nothing, and could really win nothing ; Miranda's hand was not set as the price of it, and in fact Frospero had adopted Ferdinand as his future son-in- law before he was shipwrecked, so that it could not have been any labours of Ferdinand that won Miranda." * Hunter was never able to gain adherents to his view, and the later developments of Shakespear- ean study have deprived this theory both of proba- bility and interest. The further arguments for and against it are accessible in Fumess's edition of " The Tempest," and need not be detailed here. V. " ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL " Farmer, in his essay " On the Learning of Shakespeare," 1767, was presumably the first to offer a suggestion as to the meaning of the enig- matical title foimd in Meres. He speaks of " All 's WeU that Ends Well, or, as I suppose it to have been sometimes called, Love's Labour Wonne." ^ Farmer's conjecture was probably suggested by the fitness of the title " Love's Labour 's Won," considered by itself, to serve as a designation for " All 's Well." Malone, in 1778, in the first edi- tion of his essay, " An Attempt to Ascertain the Order in which the Plays of Shakespeare Were Written," accepted Farmer's conjecture, and gave 1 Variorum edition of The Tempest, p. 288. ^ The Boswell-Malone Variorum edition of Shakespeare (Lon- don, 1821), vol. i. p. 314. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 271 to "All's Well" the date 1598, the very year when we are to suppose that it is mentioned by Meres under another name. " No other of our au- thor's plays," Malone declared, " could have borne that title [' Love's Labour 's Won '] with so much propriety." ^ Nevertheless, the mature style of certain portions caused Malone later to assign 1606 as a more probable date for the writing, of this comedy .2 The difficulty which compelled this scholar to abandon his first opinion would probably have pre- vented a general acceptance of Farmer's conjec- ture, had not another peculiarity of " AU 's WeU " made it seem entirely feasible to combine in one theory all that was essential in both of Malone's opinions, apparently contradictory though they were. According to Collier, Coleridge expressed the opinion " in 1811, and again in 1818, though it is not found in his 'Literary Kemains,' that ' All 's Well that Ends Well,' as it has come down to us, was written at two different and rather dis- tant periods of the poet's life. He pointed out very clearly two distinct styles, not only of thought, but of expression." ^ In his "Lectures on Shakspere," as now col- lected and published, Coleridge speaks of " All 's Well " as having been " originally intended as the 1 Ed. Shakspeare (London, 1790), vol. i. Part I. p. 319. ^ The BosweU-Malone Yariomm Shakespeare of 1821, vol. ii. p. 406. ^ Ed. Shakespeare, J. P. Collier, 2d ed. (London, 1858), vol. ii. p. 529. 272 LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON counterpart of 'Love's Labour's Lost.'" It is clear, therefore, that he accepted the suggestion of Farmer also. Two facts already indicated — the prima facie fitness of the title " Love's Labour 's Won " to designate the play of " All 's Well," and the ap- parent existence in the play side by side of two widely dissimilar styles of writing — have led per- haps the majority of Shakespearean students at the same time to accept the identification proposed' by Farmer, and to admit that portions of " All 's WeU" are later than 1598. WhUe no two of these critics would express themselves in just the same way, Collier's statement of the matter is a fairly representative one : — "My notion is that 'All's Well that Ends Well' was in the first instance, and prior to 1598, called ' Love 's Labour 's Won,' and that it had a clear refer- ence to ' Love's Labour 's Lost,' of which it might be considered the counterpart. It was then, perhaps, laid by for some years, and revived by its author, with alter- ations and additions, about 1605 or 1606, when the new title of 'All's Well that Ends Well' was given to it." 1 The theory that in the title Loue labours wonne Meres refers to an earlier form of the play "All's WeU that Ends WeU" has been held by Coleridge (as already indicated), Tieck, CoUier (already cited), Lloyd, Verplanck, Dyce, White, Gervinus,'von Friesen, Ward, Elze, Fleay (first 1 Ed. Shakespeare, 1858, vol. ii. p. 530. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 273 opinion), Furnivall, Stokes, Hudson, Boyle, Bran- des, and Harford.^ Other scholars identify "All's "Well" with " Love's Labour 's Won " without any reference to the question whether or not it ever underwent a revision. This is in general the position of Farmer (already cited), of Drake (who was perhaps igno- rant of Coleridge's opinion), of Ulriei, Knight, Staunton, Delius, W. Konig, Kxeyssig, and Sidney Lee.^ The critics just named attach no importance to the suggestion that " AU. 's Well " experienced revision. Knight, to be sure, speaks of the possi- bility that the comedy may have been first pro- duced " in an imperfect form.' W. Konig thinks that a later revision, if it took place at all, can- not have been of any importance. Delius finds ^ A reference is here given only when the bibliographies at the close of the last four voliunes of Fumess's Variorum Shake- speare — A Midsummer-Night's Dream, The Winter's Tale, Much Ado, Twelfth Night — do not suffice. In these bibliographies the editions of Shakespeare are arranged chronologically, and all other works alphabetically by authors. Tieck is qnoted by Knight, and Verplanck by White. The 5th edition of Dyce, the 2d of Ward, the 5th of the translation of Gervinus, have been nsed. The following references are not in Fumess : von Friesen, Jahrbuch of the German Shakespeare Society, vol. ii. pp. 48-54 ; Fleay, Shakespeare Manual, 1876, pp. 224-6; Boyle, '"All 's Well that Ends Well ' and ' Love's Labour 's Won,' " Englische Studien, vol. xiv. pp. 408-21 ; Herford, Eversley Shakespeare, vol. iii. pp. 111-8. ' Knight has been nsed in the 2d edition, Kreyssig in the 3d. Delius, Shaksperes Werke, 1864, " Einleitung zu All 's Well " ; W. Konig, Jahrbuch of the German Shakespeare Society, vol. i. p. 215 ; Lee, Life of William Shakespeare, p. 162. 274 LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON no grounds for the view that " All 's Well " was composed at different periods. He gives the date as 1698, on account of the supposed reference in Meres, but says that the style of the play would suggest a later period. Some of those who uphold the view of Coleridge are very positive in asserting that " AU 's Well " contains passages written at widely separated dates. White and Verplanck state that they formed this opinion before learning that it had been held by Coleridge. Hudson and Boyle think that the con- trast between the two styles, " the Poet's rawest and ripest styles " (Hudson), is pronounced. Furni- vaU declares that " no intelligent person can read the play without being struck by the contrast of early and late work in it." Boyle has probably presented more fuUy and carefully than any one else the evidence for the view that " All 's Well " has been revised from an earlier version ; while Hertzberg, who does not ac- cept the identification with"Love's Labour's Won," has given the only detailed argument known to the present writer in support of the opinion of Delius that " All 's Well " was written at one burst.^ The outline of this controversy that is given here must be brief. The following passage is a specimen of those parts of " All 's Well " that are considered to be of early date : — 1 Shakespeares dramatische Werke, nach der Uebersetznng von ScUegel nnd Tieck, herausgegeben dnrch die deutsche Sh.-Gre- sellschaft, 2te Aufl. 1897 ; Eiuleitung zn Ende gut, Alles gut, vol. xi. pp. 345-62. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 275 " Helena. The great'st grace lending grace, Bre twice the horses of the sun shall bring Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring, Ere twice in murk and occidental damp Moist Hesperus hath qnench'd his sleepy lamp. Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass, What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly, Health shall live free and sickness freely die." II. i. 163-71. The Marlowe-like rhetoric and the youthful for- malism of these lines are noticeable. Other portions of the play that appear to show Shakespeare's early style are : Helena's rhymed solUoquy at the close of the first scene — I. i. 231^4 ; and the indeli- cate conversation a little earlier between Helena and ParoUes — I. i. 121-78. The hiatus at line 179 seems to indicate that parts have been carelessly patched together. Shakespeare's earlier versification appears to mark portions of " All 's Well." All passages in which rhymes are abundant have been called early by some, irrespective of deeper considerations. Her- ford has carefully discriminated and summarized the evidence from the rhyme.^ Some rhymed pas- sages are plainly of an early type. Hertzberg points out the number and quality of the run-on lines (en- jamhements) in the last speech of the first scene, as a proof that it cannot be early ; but the follow- ing run-on lines in " Love's Labour 's Lost " show that he has made too much of this : — 1 Everdey Shakespeare, vol. iii. pp. 111-3. 276 LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON (Biron.) " This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice, That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice In honourable terms : nay, he can sing A mean most meanly ; and in ushering Mend him viho can." V. ii. 325-9. Other run-on lines are found near these, for exam- ple: V. ii. 343, 351, 355, 367, 376, 408, 416. Arguments for the early date of portions of "All's Well" have been found in the colorless personaUty of the clown and his lack of connection with the action ; ^ in the fact that Parolles seems a first sketch for Falstaff (Tieck) ; in the indelicate conversations ; in the agreements of thought be- tween the dialogue of Helena and Parolles already referred to (I. i. 121-78) and the first seventeen of the Sonnets (these dwell upon the duty of hav- ing ofEspring) ; and in the inconsistencies in the portrayal of Helena and Parolles.^ A few features suggest a special connection of « All's "Well " with " Love's Labour's Lost." The First and Second Lords in one play and one of the four suitors in the other have the same name, Dumain. Certain similarities exist between the characters ParoUes and Armado.^ The tone of the indecorous jesting in the two plays is very similar. No better example can be given of the mature manner that marks portions of " AH 's Well " than ' Von Friesen, Jahrbuch, toI. ii. p. 52. '^ Boyle, Eng. Studien, vol. xiv. pp. 416-8. ^ Brandes, William Shakespeare, one-vol. ed., p. 49. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 277 the farewell words of the Countess to Bertram. This advice reminds us of that given by Polonius to La«- ertes, but surpasses that both in brevity and depth, " Countess. Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father In manners, as in shape ! thy hlood and virtue Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness Share with thy birthright ! Love all, trust a few-, Do wrong to none : be able for thine enemy Rather in power than nse, and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key : be eheck'd for silence. But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will, That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down, Fall on thy head ! " I. i. 70-9. Other passages showing Shakespeare's riper style are : Helena's sohloquy expressing her love for Bertram — I. i. 90-109 ; and her decision to leave RousiUon— III. ii. 102-32. Some of the maturer passages in " All 's Well " have parallels in " Hamlet " and " Measure for Measure." ^ One connection with " Hamlet " has just been pointed out. The disagreements between the dates assigned to this pla,y by reputable critics demand some such explanation as that afforded by the theory that an early play or fragment was afterward revised or completed. The dates of Knight, 1589-93, and Ulrici, 1591-2, are in marked contrast with that of Malone,^ 1606. Such a difference of opinion as this concerning the date of a play of Shakespeare can hardly be paralleled. 1 Boyle, p. 416 ; Brandes, pp. 393 £E. 2 The Boawell-Malone Variorum, 1821, vol. ii. p. 406. 278 LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON A direct reference to the supposed former title of the comedy has been seen by some in one line of " All 's Well," and a possible reference to its two names in another line : — {Helena.) " Will you be mine, now you are douWy won ? " V. iii. 315. {King.) " All is well ended, if tliis suit be won. That you express content." v. iii. 336-7 {Epilogue). Boyle has pointed out some inadvertences and inconsistencies which seem to him to support the view that the play experienced revision, but they hardly prove anything more than carelessness. The different conjectures as to when and why the supposed former title of this play was replaced by the present one are of interest. The usual view is the one already expressed by Collier, namely, that the comedy once existed in an earlier form, which was known as " Love's Labour 's Won ; " that when it was revised into its present condition the new form received the new name. The frequent references to the proverbial title, "All's Well that Ends Well," occur in passages showing the later style (IV. iv. 35 ; V. i. 25 ; V. iii. 333, 336), and are usually looked upon as intentional references to the new name that was already se- lected. Malone, in stating his first opinion, conjec- tured that it was the presence of the proverb in the text that brought about the change of name.^ Staunton thinks that the play " was originally in- 1 Ed. Shakspeare (London, 1790), toI. L Part L p. 319. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 279 tituled ' Love's Labour 's Won ; or, All 's Well that Ends Well.' " Ulrici and Kreyssig suggest that the change was made in order to avoid in- appropriate comparisons between this play and " Love's Labour 's Lost." The consciousness of having a large majority of Shakespearean scholars with them has led some of the later advocates of " All 's Well " to speak with unwarranted confidence. Brandes goes so far as to say: — " Since it is scarcely conceivable that a play of Shake- speare's, once acted, should have been entirely lost, the only question is, which of the extant comedies originally bore that title [' Love's Labour 's Won '] . But in reality there is no question at all : the play is ' AH 's Well that Ends Well ' — not, of course, as we now possess it, in a form and style belonging to a quite mature period of the poet's life, but as it stood before the searching revision, of which it shows evident traces." ^ In spite of the popularity of the view that " All 's Well " was referred to by Meres as " Love's La- bour 's Won," and in spite of the arguments in its favor, there are grave objections. " All 's Well " has, indeed, certain characteristics that seem to favor its claim, but it has also fundamental deficien- cies. Li the first place, no close connection between this comedy and its supposed brother play has been pointed out. The marked correspondences and par- aUehsms between the two pieces which we properly expect to find do not exist. The titles " Love's 1 William Shakespeare, one-yol. ed. (New York, 1899), p. 47. 280 LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON Labour 's Lost " and " Love's Labour 's Won " seem intended to designate companion plays. "All's Well " is not a good companion piece to " Love's Labour 's Lost," and it seems safe to say that it never was. Furthermore, there is a marked contrast in tone, in mood, between these two plays that are sup- posed to have been thus closely associated ; and this contrast can hardly have been preceded in an ear- lier version of " AH 's Well " by any genuine and deep-seated agreement. The central situation of " All 's Well," the desperate venture of the indom- itable Helena, would be intolerable if treated in the tone of easy banter that distinguishes " Love's Labour 's Lost." A Helena who was not funda- mentally serious would be nothing — yes, worse than nothing. " AH 's Well " satisfies some of the conditions, then, that must be met by a play that is a candi- date for the title " Love's Labour 's Won " ; what may fairly be termed the more f imdamental condi- tions it does not satisfy. Kenny uttered some plain truth on this subject nearly forty years ago, when he said : — " Coleridge believed that ' All 's Well that Ends "Well ' was originally intended as the counterpart of ' Love's Labour 'a Lost.' But we can discover no indication of any such intention^ and there is, we think, as little re- semblance between the two works as between any other two comedies of their author." * 1 The Life and Genius of Shakespeare (London, 1864), p. 202. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 281 Ingleby tells us : — " ' Love[s] Labours Wonne ' . . . has not been sat- isfactorily identified with any of the plays in our collec- tion. For one thing, we do not think it likely to be < All 's Well that Ends Well,' as Farmer conjectured, which, in our opinion, offers no sufficient resemblance or contrast to serve as a pendant to ' Loves Labours Lost."'i With the following well-considered words of von Westenholz we close this division of the subject: " But even if the action of ' All 's Well that Ends Well ' were to justify more than that of any other com- edy the title ' Love's Labour 's Won,' there is stUl a very important consideration that has been left out of count. That title evidently did not attach itself to the play, at least not primarily, for the sake of the play itself ; rather did the drama receive it as a deliberate contrast to the abeady existing ' Love's Labour 's Lost.' " The same parallelism, however, which existed be- tween the two titles must naturally have been evident also in the two plays themselves, showing itself in the occurrences, the persons, and above all in the character of the dramas, or, in other words, in the atmosphere which seems to envelop the action. " Especially in the last respect, it would be hard to find in the entire series of Shakespearean comedies two which have less in common than these. In the one, we have an almost total absence of dramatic action, but a half-romantic background, a graceful playing with words, a sparkling fire of wit; in the other, the sub- ject-matter, couched in weighty, often coarse language, 1 Shakspere Allusion-Books, Part I. (London, 1874), General Intio. p. xxiv. 282 LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON is earnest, serious rather than comic in its nature ; and the harsh, sometimes painful elements even the art of Shakespeare could only mitigate, not suppress." "■ VI. "MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING" In the year -1860, in an anonymous book, Mr. A. E. Brae argued that " Much Ado " should be accepted as the true " Love's Labour 's Won." ^ The date of 1599 is usually given to " Much Ado," because it seems to be omitted from Meres's list of 1598, while it was published in quarto form in 1600. The title-page of this first edition tells us that " it hath been sundrie times publikely acted by the right honourable, the Lord Chamberlaine his seruants." There is no grave diflS.culty, therefore, about the date ; especially since, as Fumess points out, the two other comedies which were published in 1600, " A Midsummer-Night's Dream " and " The Merchant of Venice," are found in Meres. Brae would apply the title " Love's Labour 's Won " to the story of Benedict and Beatrice. The name " Much Ado about Nothing " plainly applies to the action of Claudio and Hero. The refer- ence to a play " called Benedicte and Betteris " in an item in the Lord-Treasurer Stanhope's Accounts for May 20, 1613, suggests " that the present title 1 Translated from Beilage zur Allgemdnen Zeitung, January 14, 1902, p. 78. ^ Collier, Coleridge, and Shakespeare, by the author of Literary Cookery (London, 1860), chap. vi. pp. 131-48. The extracts in Furness's Variorum edition of Much Ado (Philadelphia, 1899), pp. 367-71, are ample. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 283 was not always adhered to." ^ Halliwell-Phillipps says, also, " that Charles the First, in his copy of the Second Folio, preserved in Windsor Castle, has added the names ' Benedick and Beatrice,' as a second title." ^ Before we examine Brae's interpretation of the titles " Love's Labour 's Lost " and " Love's La- bour 's Won," let us see what authority we have for the exact form in which they are usually given. We have noted that the two designations appear in Meres as Loue labors lost and Loue labours wonne. " Loues labors lost " is the form on the title-page of the first quarto of the play. The head- line of each right-hand page throughout the book is Loues Labor 's lost. In the quarto the apostrophe frequently marks the abbreviation 's for is, but seems not to be used before an -s that denotes a possessive case, a plural of a noun, or the third singular indicative of a verb. It seems clear, there- fore, as Furnivall points out,^ that Labor's is meant as a contraction for Labor is. The First Folio has Loues Labour lost in the preliminary " Catalogue," or table of contents, and Loues Labour 's lost as the heading for each page of the text. The proper form of the title in modern 1 Fnrness, Much Ado, pp. xxi, 368. ' The quotatioD is from Furness, Much Ado, p. zsii. He cites " Hiilliwell, Outlines, etc., p. 262," as his authority. The state- ment Is not in the 10th ed. of the Outlines. Professor I. N. Dem- mon finds that it was in the 2d ed. (1882). ' Grigg's, Facsimile of the First Quarto of Love's Labour 's Lost, note to p. iii of Forewords. 284 LOVE'S LABOUR'S WON spelling would therefore seem to be " Love's La- bo(u)r 's Lost." The corresponding title would naturally be " Love's Labo(u)r 's Won." Hertzberg feels, however, that in the case of " Love's Labour 's Won," the Labour 's must be interpreted as an abbreviation for Labour has, since one does not win labour, though he may lose labour.^ Probably this difficulty will not seem im- portant to one whose native tongue is English. It is easy to interpret labour as put by metonymy for the object of the labour, the desired result. Then " Love's Labour 's Won " would mean " the desired result of the labor is won, has been ob- tained." This explanation would also apply to the companion title, if desired. Hertzberg coidd find no example in Shakespeare of the use of 's as an abbreviation for has; but a difficult expression in " The Tempest " is thought by many to be an example of this contraction : " For he 's a spirit of persuasion" (II. i. 235). It does not seem proba- ble, however, that this abbreviation can be found in an early play, least of aU in the* title. Frequent and bold abbreviations of common words and com- binations, apparently taken from colloquial usage, are a distinct mark of Shakespeare's latest style. But we are not yet through with the labor — whether of love or aversion — which falls to those who would fuUy consider the question of the signi- 1 Shakespeares dramatische Werke, nach der Uebersetzmig von Schlegel und Tieok, herausgegeben duroh die dentsche Sh.-Ge- sellsohaft, 2te Aufl. 1897 ; Einleitung zu Ende gut, Alles gtU, toI. xi. p. 845, note. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 285 ficanoe of these troublesome titles. Brae offers an interpretation of his own : — " It seems to have escaped notice on all hands that the mythological sense of Love's Labour would be much more consonant with the age in which Shakespeare wrote, than the sentimental sense. That is, that Love's Labours in the dramatic writing of that time, would be much more likely to be understood as the gests or ex- ploits of the deity Love, in the same sense as the fabled Labours of Hercules. " That such is really the intention of the title in the case of ' Love's Labour's Lost,' must become apparent to any one who will attentively read the play with that previous notion. He wiU then perceive abundant evi- dence, all through, that it is the mythical exploits of the blind god that are alluded to : — in overcoming the ap- parently insurmountable difficulties opposed to him ; in setting at nought the vows of the king and his courtiers ; and in bringing to the feet of the princess and her ladies the very men who had forsworn aU women. After scat- tering human resolves to the winds, and reducing to subjection the hearts that had presumed to set him at defiance, Love at length succumbs to a still more absolute deity than himseM. Death steps in to frustrate his de- signs, at the very instant of fruition, and so his labour becomes Labour Lost. " The mythological allusions are unmistakeable. Biron exclaims, when the King enters love-stricken, ' Proceed, sweet Cupid : thou hast thumped him, with thy bird- bolt under the left pap' [IV. iii. 22-4]. In another place, 'Love' is 'a Hercules, still climbing trees in the Hesperides ' [IV. iii. 340, 341], a direct reference to the mythological labours of Hercules ! And when the whole ' mess of fools ' yield themselves, rescue or no 286 LOVE'S LABOUR 'S WON rescue, the King personifies Love and invokes him as his patron, — ' Saint Cupid, then ! and, soldiers, to the field!' [IV. iii. 366]. " Now, according to the interpretation the title of this play has hitherto received at the hands of Shakespeare's editors, the mythological sense is ignored. The love's labour vrhich, according to them, is lost, is not Love's labour, but that of the King and his fellows, ' in their endeavours,' as Mr. Knight explains, '"meT | se"s | on^l |whan) so"ft | was the | Bo"im 1 6 I) sho'pe I m^ in I shro'ud | is 1 1 as) 1' a | 8he"pB | we"r | h In) ha"tite { ^ an | he"re | mite 1 1 nn)ho"l | y* of | •wo"rk | ka W^nt I •wy"de | (n this | wo"rld| |wo"nd | rts to | he"r | 6." The double accent is not employed by Professor March. It is used here to mark the syllables which are accented by those who read the half line with two stresses, as does Professor Skeat. Those who hold the opinion that there were four accents in the alliterative half line of Anglo-Saxon and Middle English believe that the later rhymed poetry of the folk-songs, or popular ballads, came from the old alliterative verse. According to this view, the common ballad stanza is the equivalent of two fuU lines of the older verse, but has a silent measure at the end of the second and fourth Unes. For example: — " In som I er, when | the shawes { be sheyne, And leres | be laige | and long, | | Hit is I fnll mer | y in feyre | foreste To here | the foul | ys song." | ] Robin Hood and the Monk. This stanza becomes more regular in the Common Metre of our hymn-books. In the Long Metre stanza, every verse has four complete measures ; in the Short Metre, three of the four verses end with a silent measure. ^ Grammar of the Anglo-Saxon Language, New York, 1869, p. 228. 342 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY In a few cases in Anglo-Saxon we have end- rhyme joining together the two hali lines. Those favoring four stresses to the half line would read such a verse in this waiy : — ba'noo'fan on'ba'nd, breo'stlo'can on'wa'nd the bone-chamber unbound, the breast-enclosure unwound Such a line would be looked upon as the metrical ancestor of a couplet like this, one half of a Long Metre stanza : — "Jeans | shall reign | where'er | thesnn | Does his | success | ive jour I neys run." The predominant opinion among modern scholars is that the Anglo-Saxon half line had two accents, or measures. The present paper as originally written assumed the truth of this interpretation of our older verse, and for the most part the expressions which refer to this theory as the correct one have been left unchanged. This view finds four accents in the entire line ; as already indicated, three of these usually alliterate and two of them must do so. The relative power of the different word-classes to draw to themselves the accent, and so the alliter- ation, is clearly defined. Nouns and adjectives, the nomen class of the grammarians, have the highest rank, and imder ordinary circumstances cannot be passed over. Next come adverbs ; then, verbs ; and finally, pronouns and particles. These last words cannot ordinarily carry the rhythmical stress, but may if they have a strong logical accent. CONCISENESS AND ENERGY 343 I. CONCISENESS AND ENERGY We now turn to look at the style of Anglo-Saxon poetry, where we shall find some natural results, or at least accompaniments, of this metre. The ex- treme emphasis resulting from accent and alliter- ation combined upon the same syllables naturally goes with a highly intense, vigorous style. And this we have. Anglo-Saxon poetry is always more than lively; it is intense. One writer speaks of " the strange emphasis of the whole Anglo-Saxon style." 1 The great weight given to the nouns and adjectives in the construction of strong lines, and next after that class to the verbs, compels the poet to express himself powerfully and concisely. The verse demands strong nouns, adjectives, and verbs ; and these, of necessity, state the thought with brev- ity and power. The blows of the sturdy syllables, highly stressed in order to bring out the alliteration, must carry with them blows of expressed thought or action. The poet cannot retard the expression of a thought, but the moment it is broached he must hurl it forth. Says Taine : " The poet's chief care is to abridge, to imprison thought in a kind of mutilated cry." ^ This is partly true, and emphar sizes what has been said. Thus we see that con- ciseness of language and extreme energy of expres- sion constitute a central characteristic of the style of this poetry ; and we see the natural connection ^ Behrmann, *' Kssay conceniin§^ Anglo-Saxon Poetry,'' Jahres- bericht, etc., Liibben, 1877. ' History of English Literature, Book I. chap. i. sec. v. 344 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY of tJiis with the alliterative metre. Of course we need not suppose that this characteristic was not as much in accord with the disposition of the poet as with the nature of the metre. Professor ten Brink remarks upon this feature of style as follows : " The lack in the Old English epic of the clearness and fine completeness of the Homeric, is at least partially made good by the greater directness of expression. The poet's excitement is not seldom imparted to the listener; in situations that seem to justify it, this is very effective." ^ (a) Adapted to war poetry. — War is the leading subject of Anglo-Saxon poetry; and this vigorous style is pecuharly adapted to that theme. (b) Synonym instead of pronoun. — A device of style which often increases this emphasis of diction is the use of a strong synonym' or epithet instead of a simple personal pronoun. This, too, is a necessity of the metre, and wiU be dwelt upon in another place. (c) Vigor of the figwres of speech. — The re- markable vigor of the Anglo-Saxon figures of speech is one source of the abounding energy of this poetry. This feature will be considered later. (d) Simplicity of sentence-structure. — The typical Anglo-Saxon sentence is as simple as it is strong. Says Eehrmann : " The simple principal sentence is the most popular form, . . . accessory sentences [clauses] are employed as rarely as pos- sible. . . . Relative sentences are very frequent, 1 Early English ZdtercOure, New York, 1883, p. 21, REPETITION WITH VARIATION 345 of course, but they are always of the greatest sim- plicity." " The earl was for this the hlither, Laughed then the bold man, gave thanks to the Creator For tile day's work, which his Lord granted him." The Death of Byrhtnoth, 146. I cannot agree with Professor Lounsbury when he says of Anglo-Saxon poetry, " The construction of its sentences is often involved and intricate." ^ n. KEPETITION OF THOUGHT WITH VAEIATION OF EXPRESSION Here a difficulty arises closely analogous to that which the architect ■experiences in the use of iron as a building material. It is easy to get strength, but hard to get volume. The pUlar which is abun- dantly strong for its place, is yet too insignificant in size to be imposing. The Anglo-Saxon poet avoids this difficulty by repeating his ideas in every possible way, but not his words. The remorseless energy of the alliterative meti'e uses up, devours, the thought so rapidly that repetition becomes a necessity. The result is that Anglo-Saxon poetry progresses like a spirited horse, which takes a few long bounds forward, only to follow that by much prancing and tossing without any advance. But this repetition of the main idea is made enjoyable by the constant variation of the language. Each repetition must emphasize some new phase or char- acteristic by the use of new terms. Hence our second great principle of Anglo-Saxon poetical ^ History of English Language, 2d ed., New York, 1894, p. 32. 346 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY style is : Repetition of the thought with variation of the expression. This repetition with variation takes many forms. A noun may have three or four appositional phrases scattered through all parts of the sentence, or there may be complete paraUelism of successive sentences, which is a favorite form of expression. But parallelism is evidently not a prin- ciple with the Anglo-Saxon poet. The principle is as we have stated it. He is as weU satisfied to rfepeat a subject or object three or four times, and other elements of the sentence not at all, as he is to construct a complete parallelism. " A tumult arose Continually renewed. There stood to the North-Danes Dreadful terror, to each one Of those who from the wall heard the weeping, The antagonist of God singing his terrible note, Unvictorions song, bewailing his pain The hell-fettered one." Beowulf, 783. The repetitions in the next two extracts show no tendency to form complete parallelisms. " Then round the mound the battle-brave rode. Sons of athelings, twelve in all, Wished to tell their sorrow, bewail the king, Wreak their words, and speak of the man." Beowulf, 3171. "... they [Constantinos and Anlaf] might not laugh That they were better in the battle-work Upon the battle-stead, in the clash of banners. In the meeting of spears, the gathering of men, The interchange of weapons, after they on the slaughter-field Had played with the offspring of Edward." The Battle of Brunanburh, 47. (a) The poetical synonym. — From repetition REPETITION WITH VARIATION 347 with variation, taken in connection with, the pre- dominant metrical power of the nomen class, springs at once the importance of epithet, or syno- nym, iQ this poetry. Indeed, it may be called the poetry of synonym. The metrical weakness of the pronoun, on account of which it frequently cannot be used, is one explanation of the g^eat abundance of synonyms, epithets (Norse, Kenning ar). If a king has drawn the sword upon his enemy, Ae will not strike him with it ; but the noble lord, or the battle-bold one, will strike the hostile one, or the death-doomed one, with the ancient heirloom, or the battle-gleam. Of course many simple personal pronouns are used, but the tendency to replace them with poetical synonyms is very evident. For example : — " [Holofemes] laughed and roared, vociferated and dinned, So that the children of men mig^ht hear from afar How ihx fierce-minded one stormed and yelled." Judith, 23. Sometimes the unemphatic pronoun and the emphatic epithet stand side by side, instead of one forcing out the other ; as is the case with the ap- positive adjectives in the following : — " Went then straight away The women twain bold-of-conrage, Until they came strong-qf-mind, The joyfully triumphant maids, out of that army, So that they clearly could see Of the beautiful city the walls glitter, Bethulia. They then adomed-with-rings Hurried forward their steps. Until they glad-of-mind had come To the wall-gate." Judith, 132. 348 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY These synonyms, epithets, Keimingar, whether replacing pronouns, or mere appositions and syn- tactically superfluous, are a central feature of this poetry. It is very plainly more fond of using them than of repeating the action of the verb. This agrees with the metrical importance of the nomen class. Heinzel treats under a special head, as a feature of all early Germanic poetry, *'Ab- getrennte Apposition," or appositions which are separated from their nouns.^ But the distinction is not important for Anglo-Saxon ; appositive ex- pressions can come anywhere in the sentence after their noun or pronoun. It is perhaps even the exception for appositive synonyms to follow their antecedents directly. They are variously placed in the following extract (one of them is instead of a pronoun]) : — " The field flowed With the blood of the iraTiiors, after the son on high In the momin^-tide, illustrions star, Glided over the valleys, God's bright candle. The eternal Lord's, until the uoble creature Sank to his setting." The Battle of Bmnanburh, 12. It is very common for an epithet to close the sen- tence ; as here : — " They had rebelled against l^e defender of the Scylfings, The best one of the sea-kings. Of those who in the Swedes' kingdom distributed treasure, Ulustrious prince." Beowulf, 2382. * Ueber den Stil der akgermanischen Poesie, Strassburg, 1875, p. 5. REPETITION WITH VARIATION 349 The treatise of Dr. Wilhelm Bode, " Die Ken- ningar in der Angelsachsischen Dichtung," i is very full and satisfactory. He divides the syno- nyms, or Kenningar, into five classes, as follows : First, — those which portray their subjects di- rectly and fully; as, " the bright king," for God; " the black fiend," for the Devil: Second, — those which fix upon some particular part of the idea and present the thought by synecdoche ; as, " sword- play," for battle ; " shield-bearers," for warriors (these two classes are of the nature of epitheta or- nantid) : Third, — metaphorical synonyms, the most numerous group ; as, "the sail-road" and "the cup of the waves," for the ocean : Fourth, — syno- nyms which embody a definition of their subjects ; as, " slaughter-shaft," for spear ; " soul-bearers," for men : Fifth, — synonyms which contain an aUusion; as, " Weland's work," for Beowulf's coat- of-mail ; " God's handiwork," for men. These five classes run together more or less. — Strictly speak- ing, the term " synonym," which I have employed for the most part, is broader than either of the terms " epithet " and " Kenning," and includes all of the designations which can be used for a given idea. Hence it is the best term for my purpose. I am sorry that Dr. Bode has not given all of those expressions for each of the ideas treated by him, which he considers to be literal (" Eigentliche Ausdriicke "), since the line between these and the Kenningar is a shadowy one. ^ Darmstadt nnd Leipzig, 18S6. 350 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY I have collected with some care every noun in " Beowulf " and every noun followed by a genitive which is used to denote any one of the three ideas, — ocean, sword, and ship. In order to secure a clear line of demarcation, I have excluded all words which Heyne, in the glossary to his edition of the poem, gives as adjectives, even though they may occur also as substantives or appositives. With these exclusions I find forty-two simple and com- pound nouns in " Beowidf " which mean ocean, and ten nouns + genitives ; twenty-nine nouns which mean sword, and two nouns + genitives ; and twenty-one nouns which mean ship?- Some of the synonyms for ocean may be thus translated : the sea- 1 Ocean : — 'B-rim, brim-ldd, brim-stredm, brim-wylm, $g-stredm, edgar-stredm, eolet, farath, flbd, fldd-yth, ford, g&r-secg, geqfon, heqf, hedthu, holm, holm-wylmj lagu-strdet, hran-r&d, lagu, lagu- stredm, mere, mere-straet, sae, sde4&d, sde-wylmas, segl-r&d, stredm, sund, sund-gebland, swan-rdd, waed, waeg, wdeg-holm, waelm, wae- ter, waeter-egesa, waeter-yth, wylm, ytha, yth-gebland, yth-gewin. — Total, 42. Floda hegang,fl6da genipu, ganotes haeth, geqfenes begang, holma gethring, sidletha begong, waeteres krycg, ythaful, ytha geswing, ytha gewecdc. — Total, 10. Sword: — Beado-ledma, beado-m$ce, bil, brand, ecg, gSth-bU, gtUh-sweord, gtith-wine, ha^-mlce, heard-ecg, heoru, hUde-bil, hilde- ledma, hilde-mSce, hilt, hring-tren, hring-mdel, iren, laf, ledma, m&thum-sweord, maegen-fidtum, mece, secg, sige-wdepen, sweord, wdegsweord, wdepen, yrfe4&f. — Total, 29. Fela ISfe, Itfe homera. — Total, 2. Ship : — B(U, brenting, handenstefna, ceSl, Jaer, Jlota, hringed- stefna, hring-naca, lida, naca, sde-b&t, sde-genga, sde-vmdu, scip, stefn, sund-wudu, wig-Jlota, umdu, wunden-stefna, yth-lida, [y«A]- naca. — Total, 21. REPETITION WITH VARIATION 351 stream, the water-street, the whale-road, the tumult of waters, the swan-road, the battling of the waves, the cup of the waves. For sword we have : the hard-edge, the battle-gleam, the leavings of the files, the leavings of the hammers. A ship is : the ringed prow, the sea-goer, the sea-wood, the wave-floater, etc. In the 350 lines of " Judith " which remain to us, the poet varies with great skill his expressions for Holofernes, for Judith, for the Assyrians, and for the Jews. Within a few lines (9-20), for ex- ample, the Assyrians are termed heroes, retainers, shield-warriors, leaders of the folk, proud ones, companions-in-evil, bold corselet-warriors, hall- sitters, doomed ones, and brave shield-warriors (gumas, thegnas, rondwiggende, folces raeswan, wlance, weageslthas, bealde bymwiggende, flettsit- tende, faege, rofe rondwiggende). When he men- tions them again a few lines farther on (27—31), he does not begin repeating these terms, but calls them bench-sitters, liegemen, and nobles (benc- sittende, dryhtguman, duguth). Since prose does not need any such store of synonyms, many of these epithets are never found outside of poetry. It is to be expected that these epithets will be sometimes used in a stock way, without a clear regard to their full force. Even Homer says, in similar fashion, " Then the son of Menoitios kindled a great fire, the godlike man," (Iliad, IX. 211). But it does seem strange to find the course 352 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY of the narrative actually contradicting the epithet employed, as in this case : ^ — " The war-sword gave way, Naked in the contest, as it should not do, Excdlent iron." Beownlf , 2585. Epithets which the narrative does not call for or explain are quite common. It is usually clear that these are employed simply as general terms of praise or reproach. (b) Figures of speech. — Simile and allegory seem to be too conscious and elaborate for the Anglo-Saxon mind. Allegory is not found in " Beo- wulf "; and there are but five simil.es (lines 218, 728, 986, 1572, 1609), as follows: a ship saQs away " most like to a bird " ; the light from Gb-en- del's eyes is " most like to flame " ; his claws are " most like to steel " ; the sword with which Beo- wulf kills Grendel's mother melts away in her poisonous blood " most like to ice when the frost-fet- ters the Father unlooseth." This last simile and the only remaining one have each more than the ne- cessary two words. The sword which Beowulf has snatched from the wall lights up the ocean-chamber " Just as from heaven brightly shineth The candle of the firmament." LI. 1572-3. In really representative Anglo-Saxon poetry, the usage is very much as in " Beowulf." * The translation follows Heyne and Gamett. Professor F. A. Blackburn interprets " aer-god," translated " excellent," as mean- ing " always good before," an epithet that would be entirely fitting. REPETITION WITH VARIATION 353 Professor Heinzel, in the monograph already referred to, insists on connecting each peculiarity of the style of early Teutonic poetry with a similar peculiarity in the Sanskrit Vedas, and considers the Vedic hymns to be the closest existing representative of an original Indo-European literature, of which all the individual literatures are descendants. He treats the separate nations and languages as mere transmitters of early characteristics, and as occa- sionally failing to do even that. Thus the resources of poetry in any later literature, at least as regards the style, may he fewer than those seen in the Old Sanskrit, but cannot be more numerous. Heinzel cites this great scarcity of the simile in Anglo- Saxon, when contrasted with the Vedas, and feels obliged to explain this "loss of the simile." He attributes it to the influence of Christianity, which he thinks to have permeated and transformed even " Beowulf." The passionate character of the Norse- men, untempered by Christianity, explains, on the other hand, the " survival of the simile " in Old Norse. It seems to me that few can agree with this. Is simile the language of passion ? and would the alleviating influence of Christianity drive it out ? Most certainly not. Ten Brink says, substantially, that the impetuous character of the Anglo-Saxons prevented them from using the simile.^ But Hein- zel makes the Old Norse keep it for that very reason. At any rate, the fact is that the Anglo- Saxons are fond of the metaphor and the similar ^ Early English Literature, p. 19. 354 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY figures of speech. These figures are more short and forcible, more nervous, than the simile. The metaphor is a flash of lightning, giving the maxi- mum of light and heat in the minimum of time. It is plain, too, that those figures which can be com- plete in a single word are naturally agreeable to the Anglo-Saxon metre with its hammer-strokes. Dr. (now Professor) F. B. Grummere replied to Heinzel.^ His positions seem to me well taken, and they agree with ten Brink's explanation of the scarcity of simile in Anglo-Saxon. His statements are as follows, in substance : — 1. The passionate character of the Teutonic race is thoroughly opposed to simile. This is seen in Anglo-Saxon and Old High German. 2. Anglo-Saxon does, historically, take its simile from foreign influences. 3. The real task is to explain the presence of the simile in the passionate Old Norse. 4. " Beowulf " is a heathen poem, with no posi- tive Christian treatment. But let us look one moment at this assumed abundance of similes in Old Norse. Where in the literature are they found most plentifvdly ? And what is their character and importance ? I am not a student of Old Norse, but I have carefully looked through Vigfusson and Powell's translations of the earliest Northern poetry .2 In the " AtlarKvitha," ' The Anglo-Saxon Metaphor, Freibut^, 1881. ^ Corpus Poeticum BorecUe, 2 vols., Oxford, 1883. REPETITION WITH VARIATION 355 occupying eight octavo pages, there are no similes. In the " Hamthis-Mal," occupying seven pages, there are seven similes, three in one place. In all the fragments of the "Helgi Trilogy," covering twenty-four pages, there are four similes, three in one place. These pages are about equivalent to duodecimo pages, as the translation is printed at the bottom of each page. This is certainly not a great abundance of similes. Some of them are more highly developed than those in " Beowulf," but all are short. They bear no resemblance to the elabo- rate Homeric simile. Gummere's paper upon the Anglo-Saxon meta- phor covers the ground so completely that I wiU refer all persons to it for details and for a very elaborate classification. He really treats the whole question of figures of speech in this poetry, as he brings metonymy and synecdoche under metaphor, discusses the rarity of the simile, and treats per- sonification at length. On this general question I can agree with him for the most part, though I shall state my view somewhat differently : — We cannot conceive a language sufficiently de- veloped to have a literature unless the figures of Personification, Metaphor, Synecdoche, and Me- tonymy are aU present ; that is, Personification and the figures which easily condense themselves into a single word. AU of these figurative words Grummere calls "metaphors." Thus he uses the ^ovA metaphor in two senses. I should prefer 366 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY to call them tropes, as suggested by Professor Minto.i It maybe questioned whether any of these figures are at first employed consciously, except Personifi- cation, which, in primitive language, is the most natural and the most literal form of expression. Gummere says well, " A flexibility of terms is the real origin of the metaphor ; Cynewulf is conscious of no metaphor in calling a bird's nest a hus" (house). Any one fond of children is familiar with this stage of language. Their words are few and flexible, and are easily stretched to cover new ideas and objects. To a certain extent language is always in this stage. I can drive the dog " into his Tcenniel" or " into bis house." I am not even sure that such phrases in Anglo-Saxon as " the candle of the fir- mament," " the world-candle," etc., applied to the Sim, were conscious metaphors ; and a strictly un- conscious metaphor is none at aU to those who first use it ; it is only one of the meanings naturally included in a word which is still undefined. A later precision in the use of terms causes these words to shrink up in content, like lakes in a drought, and many of these old uses of the words and old phrases containing them are left stranded high upon the beach as metaphors. Accompanying this increasing precision of language, by which old words and phrases begin to be felt as figurative, there is the conscious origination of simple metaphors, metony- 1 Manual of English Prose Literature, 2d ed., p. 12, Edinborgh and London, 1S81. REPETITION WITH VARIATION 357 mies, etc., but not at first of similes. This is the point at which we must place the language of the representative Anglo-Saxon poetry, whatever Heinzel may think of its historic antecedents and relationships. Ten Brink says of the Anglo-Saxon metaphors that " most of them were not felt to be figurative." This is not, as is so common in culti- vated language, because the force once belonging to a metaphor has so faded out that it has become practically literal in its use. I am now speaking of words and phrases which have never yet been felt as figurative by their users, though they are such in our present use and to our present speech- consciousness. We see now why simile was so rare in this poetry, and allegory almost entirely lacking. The poets were not yet sufficiently self-conscious, not capable enough of analyzing their own mental pro- cesses, not well enough able to stand above the field of action and choose out scattered objects for comparison, — to employ elaborate and sustained simile. They were too vitally interested in what they said to be able to hold it off and examine it cooUy with a view to the most effective presenta- tion. They did not wish to do this ; and the strong shocks of the alliterating accents did not encourage fine-spun figures of speech. " Detailed and ample similes are first found in ' Christ,' " says ten Brink. " There are but two, . . . and these are very old ones that Cynewulf found in his originals." That the Anglo-Saxon poet was hardly conscious 358 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY of his metaphors and certainly not of some of them, is clear from his perfect readiness to mix meta- phors. " The typical Anglo-Saxon metaphor," as Gummere says, " is confined to one word, or at most to several words in the closest syntactical relation." One metaphor in the subject gives way to another in the verb, and perhaps to a third in the object. When Beowulf's sword would not woimd Grrendel's mother, the poet says, " The bat- tle-gleam would not bite " (line 1524), as though all well-regulated gleams were carnivorous. If a metaphor is preserved for a few words it is soon cast aside, as in this case : — " The wound-gates burst open, then the blood sprang forth From the body's hostile bite " (i, e. wound). Beowulf, 1122. Here are the best instances that I have been able to find in " Beowulf " of sustained metaphor (in the first Wiglaf is trying to revive Beowulf) : — " He began once more To cast water upon him, nntil the point of the' word Brake through the breast-hoard." Beowulf, 2791. "... nntil the ware of death Touched at his heart." Ibid. 2270. "... in him the love of woman Because of care-waves shall become cooler." Ibid. 2066. No one looked upon the cruel Thrytho (or Mod^ thrytho) " But he appointed for himself death-fetters firm, Twisted by hand." Beowulf, 1937. REPETITION WITH VARIATION 359 The Tigor of the tropes in this poetry is wonder- ful. In " Genesis " (1384) the drowning of wicked men is thus expressed : " The waves of the King of glory drove the souls of the impious ones from the flesh-garmentg." When the " Exodus " poet would tell us that no one was trying to cause amuse- ment, he says (43), " The hands of the laughter- smiths were closed." ^ In describing the overthrow of Pharaoh's host the same poem says (63) : " The mightiest of sea-deaths lashed the sky." It is re- freshing to turn to such verse from modern trio- lets and rondeaus. A striking instance of allegory is found in " Genesis," 987-95. This we probably owe to theological influences. The tree of death, of which Adam and Eve have partaken, is made to extend its myriad branches throughout all the earth and touch every child of man, " as it still doth " — an YgdrasU of evil. (c) Parallelism. — The principle of repetition with variation often resulted in complete paral- lelisms, as complete as those of the Hebrew po- etry. Though parallelism does not seem to be a priQciple of Anglo-Saxon poetry, it occurs very frequently, and seems to have been sometimes con- sciously sought. Repetition of the thought with variation of the expression necessarily took this form in many cases. Here are five successive ^ Professor F. A. Blackburn believes that "the hraghter- smiths " are an allusion to " the ma^cians " of Exodus viii. 18, etc. ; and that these are conceived as jugglers, or sleight-of-hand men, whose business was to amuse the court. 360 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY statements of the fact that Beovnilf's ship got under way : — " The sea-wood groaned ; Not at all there the ware-floateT did the wind o'er the bUlows From its conrse hinder ; the sea-goer went, The foamy-necked floated forth over the flood, The bound prow over the ocean streams." Beownlf , 1907. These are good examples of Anglo-Saxon paral- lels. (d) Negative form of statement. — The second one of the above clauses differs from the rest in being stated in the negative form. In the Anglo- Saxon repetitions the desired variation of the ex- pression is often assisted by denying the opposite of something already stated. The kUling of the dragon by Beowulf is so important that it must be set forth in every possible way. Notice the alter- nation of positive and negative clauses : — " The slayer also lay. The terrible earth-drake, deprived of life, Oppressed by bale : the ring-hoard longer The twisted worm might not control ; But the- edges of irons took him away. The hard hattle-sharp leavings of hammers, So that the wide-flyer, still from his wonnds. Fell on the earth near to the hoard-hall : Nat at all throngh the air did he go flying In the middle of the night, proud of costly treasures Showed his form : but he to earth fell On account of the hand-work of tihe battle-prince." Beowulf, 2825. DISCONNECTEDNESS 361 ni. DISCONNECTEDNESS Every reader of this poetry is at once struck by the abrupt, disconnected manner in which its ideas are expressed. It is hard to generalize, however. Here and there, especially in the later poetry, pas- sages can be found in which the rhetoric is really elaborate and the connections of thought are very fully indicated. This is true of that part of " Gen- esis " which Sievers showed to be closely related to the Old Saxon " Hehand," and which ten Brink calls the " Later Genesis." Of course an- tithesis is not uncommon, but we have an imus- ually clear-cut one in " Genesis," 353 < — *' Welled np within him Fride in his heart, hot was without him The grieTOQS torment." A little farther on we have a marked example of disconnectedness made expressive : — " Alaa ! had I control of my hands, And could I for a time get loose. Be free for one winter-hour, then I with this troop — But about me lie iron bonds, The rope of fetters rides me." Genesis, 368. A striking instance of full and elaborate syntax is the following : — " If I to any thane lordly treasures In former years gave, while we in the good realm All blissful sate, and had sway of our thrones, — Then he to me at no more acceptable time might with reward My bounty requite, — if for this purpose Any one of my thanes would offer himself. 362 ANGLO^AXON POETRY So that he upward and outward might go hence, Might come thi-ough these harrieis and strength in him had So that with feather-garments he might fly, Whirl on the welkin to where all fashioned stand Adam and Eve in the earth-kingdom With wealth surrounded, — and we are ca^t away hither Into these deep dales," Gknesis, 409. In spite of such passages, howeTer, the state- ments which have been made under this head are true in general for representative Anglo-3axon poetry. Here again I can call attention to the con- sonance of the style with the metre. If one is dis- connected, so is the other ; for the lines of this po- etry do not consist of " linked sweetness long drawn out," but of* small groups of vigorous accents. (a) Transitional particles, few and ambigu- ous. — The transitional particles of this poetry are few and somewhat ambiguous. Says ten Brink, — " [There is] a certain poverty of particles, which are the cement of sentence-structure, and indicate the delicate shading in the relations of thought." ^ Taine remarks, — " Articles, particles, everything capable of illuminating thought, of marking the con- nection of terms, of producing regularity of ideas, all rational and logical artifices, are neglected. Pas- sion bellows forth like a great shapeless beast ; and that is all." ^ The quotation from ten Brink covers the ground ; Taine, however, is wrong in thrusting aside as rude and worthless the poems which he cannot appreciate. Anglo-Saxon poetry is emphatic and intense always, and often excited and dra- ^ Page 20. ' Book I. chap. i. sec. t. DISCONNECTEDNESS 363 matic. It is only a natural consequence of this that it is disconnected and often inexact, and does not understand well how to take inventory in clear methodical fashion. It must not be compared Mrith Homer for finish of style ; it knows not the conso- lations and refinements of the imperfect and the second aorist, but read it, Teuton ! and your heart- strings wiU twitch as if plucked by a hand reached from out the past. (b) Clauses dependent in construction hut not in thought. — - 1 have said that the particles are also somewhat ambiguous. Indeed, they sometimes mean practically nothing in poetry, from the fact that clauses which are subordinate in form may be in idea simply restatements of the main clause. Consequently, a fact is liable to be stated as its own cause, or its own result, or as occurring at the time of itself, or in its own manner. This is disguised by the changed language of the new clause, and it is perhaps the desire to change the language com- pletely that causes the logical force of the particle to be overlooked. We had an illustration in our last extract from " Beowulf " : — "... the edges of irons took him away, The hard hattle-sharp leavings of hammers, So that the wide-flyer, still from his wounds, Fell on the earth near to the hoard-hall." LI. 2829 £E. This is not strictly a result of the dragon's death, but a restatement of it with new particulars. (c) Return to a dropped thought. — I wiU next 364 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY consider that return to a dropped thought which is often claimed to be a confusing feature of the Anglo- Saxon style. I should say that it is usually jarring rather than confusing. Says Taine, " The poet's ideas are entangled ; without notice, abruptly, he ■win return to the idea he has quitted, and insert it in the thought to which he is giving expres- sion." * Some of Heinzel's instances of " crossed repetition," in which the poet passes back and forth between two thoughts, are not practically dif- ferent from ordinary repetition or parallelism. Take this case (King Hrethel is mourning for his son who has been accidentally killed) : — " Always is remembered on each one of mornings, His son's departure ; he wishes not To live to behold within the palace Another heir, when this one hath By the power of death experienced these deeds. Sorrowfully he beholds in his son's dwelling The empty wine-hall, resting place of winds, Bobbed of merriment ; the rider sleeps, The hero in the grave ; no sound of the harp is there, Joy in the courts, as once there was." Beowulf, 2451. Heinzel cites this passage because the son is first mentioned, then the house of the son, then the son again, and finally, the house. He does not regard this as causing any obscurity, and it plainly does not. What wonder if, in the account of Eve's cre- ation in " Genesis," the poet calls our attention first to the Creator, then to Adam, and so back and forth ? The balance of expression is preserved ^ Book I. chap. i. sec. t. DISCONNECTEDNESS 365 by this presentation of two thoughts, or two sides of one thought. In the same way it causes no ob- scurity if the writer in a long description" or narra- tive turns for a moment to dwell upon some cause or circumstance, only to return with renewed energy to the main theme. His coming back to the central topic is not strictly a " return to a dropped thought," though it may be called so. In this way the early Milton of the " Genesis " is enabled to increase the effectiveness of his portrayal of hell-torment. The brief reference to the cause of the punishment, which intervenes between the two parts of the de- scription, is not at all foreign to the subject ; yet Dr. Rehrmann says, "After two lines he returns once more to the same matter " : — " They siifEer torment, Hot fierce fire in the midst of hell, Burning and broad flames, also hitter smoke, Vapor and darkness, hecause they were unmindful Of thaneship to God ; their lust betrayed them, The pride of the angel [Satan] ; they willed not to obey The commands of the Almighty ; they had terrible torment, Were felled then to the bottom of the fire. Into the hot hell through folly And through arrogance : they sought another land, Which was devoid of light and full of flame, A vast terror of fire." Genesis, 823. (d) Clauses independent in construction, hut dependent in thought. — We can see from this last passage why it is that Anglo-Saxon poets are charged with leaving thoughts and returning to them at pleasure. It is because this poetry ex- 366 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY presses paratactically, in independent clauses, those ideas of time, cause, manner, and accompaniment, which we sire accustomed to express syntactically, in subordinate clauses. Thus, there is nothing in the construction to indicate that the poet has not aban- doned his first line of thought and taken up a new one. Hence, if the reader does not keep his own mind on the key, he may fancy that the author is jumping about aimlessly. These short independ- ent constructions are a natural accompaniment of the poverty of the particles and the energy of the metre. A plainer instance of " return to a dropped thought," due simply to parataxis, is found in " Beowulf," at the point where the hero and his men have left their boat upon the strand to seek the court of Hrothgar : — " Then they went on their way (the boat remained still, Bested at ita moorings the wide-bosomed ship, At anchor fast) ; the boar-likeness shone Over their visors adorned with gold." Beownlf, 301. This backward glance at the ship as they leave it is not unnatural ; but, even if it were not so far prolonged, the passage of the mind once more to the warriors woidd be somewhat awkward and dif- ficult because of this blunt, independent manner of stating thoughts which are really not unconnected. The following instance is still more striking; but the return to a dropped thought could be ex- pressed in a well-worded clause of cause or reason, without causing any jarring : — DISCONNECTEDNESS 367 ' ' The sword then began On account of the battle-gore in clots of blood The war-bill to vanish (that was a wonder), So that it all melted most like to ice, When the frost's fetters the Father unlooses. Unwinds the ice-ropes. He who has power Over times and seasons ; that is the true Creator. Took he not in that dwelling, the Weder-Geats' prince. More of rich treasures, though he many there saw, But only the head [of Grendel] and the hilts together, With jewels adorned : the sword before melted, The etched brand burnt : the blood was so hot, The strange-spirit poisonous, who therein died. Soon was he swimming who lived through the strife. The war-rush of the foes, dived he up through the water." Beowulf, 1606. (e) Neglect of the order of time. — In the ac- counts of battles and similar tumultuous occur- rences an accurate order of time is often not observed. A mass of striking details are brought out in consecutive sentences, which details are not consecutive in their appearance or occurrence. This often becomes what has been called " the method of intersecting moments " (ten Brink). It is always a total effect that is sought, and this is often secured to a wonderful degree. Says ten Brink : " The portrayals of battles, although infi- nitely poorer in cast and artistic grouping, although much less realistic than the Homeric descriptions, are yet, at times, superior to them, in so far as the demoniac rage of war elicits from the Germanic fancy a crowding affluence of vigorous scenes, has- tily projected in glaring lights or grim half gloom." > (f) Absence of climax. — The language of these 1 Page 21. 368 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY poems often seems somewhat haphazard and un- arranged, simply because no clear order of climax is observed in the repetitions — the appositives and parallels. The extracts have made this feature evident. Climax is so nearly an instinctive device with us moderns that one is not fitted to do justice to the power of this poetry until he becomes ac- customed to the absence of it. A good illustration is furnished in two lines that have already been cited : — " [They] Wished to tell their sorrow, bewail the Mng^, Wreak their words, and speak of the man." BeowTilf, 3173. (g) Abrupt transitions. — As an example of the abrupt transitions which are found in this poetry, notice how quickly Beowulf is transferred from the shore of the lake into the midst of his contest with Grendel's mother : — " The water-flood took The warrior strong : then was a day's time JBre he the bottom-plain might perceive. Soon that discovered she who the course of the floods, Eager for slaughter had held for fifty years, Grim and greedy,, that there some one of men The house of the monsters sought out from above. She grasped then against him, the warrior seized In her terrible grip." Beowulf, 1495. (h) Pronoun preceding its noun. Ambiguous 'pronoun. — It is a characteristic of Anglo-Saxon poetry, directly connected with its vividness and not usually causing any obscurity, to introduce an idea with a pronoun ; so that a person or thing may DISCONNECTEDNESS 369 be under discussion or employed in the narrative before it has been clearly named. Says Heinzel : " A new conception floats so distinctly before the eyes of the poet that he introduces it with the pro- noun as if well known, and afterwards for the first time designates it unquestionably by its distinctive name." ^ This preposed pronoun is noticed by all writers upon Anglo-Saxon poetical style as fre- quently standing at the head of the sentence. But the idea that it introduces is usually one that has been already expressed or suggested, so that there is no confusion. For example : — " That from home learned Hygelac's tliane, Good 'mong the Geats, the deeds of Grendel." Beowulf, 194. The " deeds of Grendel " have been mentioned in the preceding lines, unless we agree with Miillen- hof that the poem once began with these words. It is a similar feature of the style (noted by Heinzel) that we do not learn the name of " Hyge- lac's thane " until he says to Hrothgar, one hundred and fifty lines later, " Beowulf is my name." A good instance of this feature comes in a passage just cited under " abrupt transitions," — "Soon that discovered she," etc. An instance of an entirely ■ new idea introduced by the pronoun, but one easily understood from the context, is the following : — " Then Scyld departed at the honr of fate, The warlike one to go into his Lord's keeping : They him then hore to the ocean's flood, Hi's trusty comrades, as he himself bade." Beowulf, 26. ' Page 7. 370 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY Thus this preposed pronoun does not cause ob- scurity, and its great vividness is its sufficient justi- fication. — With reference to the Anglo-Saxon pro- noun in poetry, it must be freely admitted that it is not always clear which one of two possible references a pronoun is intended to have. IV. FREEDOM FROM THE SENSUAL AND IDEALIZA- TION OF THE COMMON It is now time to mention a feature of Old Eng- lish poetry which must be always kept in mind. This feature is not connected in any way with the sharp impetuous alliteration ; indeed, it often seems to be hostile to it in spirit. It comes from the imaginative, poetical nature of the people, idealizing every experience. I refer to the freedom from the sensual and the idealization of the common. War and sorrow are the central ideas of this poesy ; but both are idealized. War is heroism, not slaughter. Beowulf fights twice to save the followers of his father's friend, and dies fighting to save his own subjects. Taine says, " Saxon poets painted warfare as a murderous fury, as a blind madness which shook flesh and blood, and awakened the instincts of the beasts of prey." ^ To this statement I must, in all humbleness, give a plain denial. Except so far as all warfare is a " murderous fury," it seems to me positively untrue. We have very few Anglo-Saxon love poems. The ^ Book I. chap. ii. sec. ii. PURITY AND IDEALITY 371 almost complete absence of the relation of lover and maid from this poetry, and the scanty references to that of husband and wife, are very striking. Woman appears but rarely, and then as the noble, honored spouse, chaste and dignified. She is her husband's best and dearest friend, bone of his bone. That this reticence concerning the most intimate of earthly relations did not come from coldness of heart is certain. One clear indication that it did not is contained in two poems, " The Lament of the Exiled Wife," " The l/essage of the Exiled Husband." The latter poem is better called " A Love-Letter," since there is nothing in it to show that the writer is a husband rather than a wooer.i Each of these tells of the torture of exile. The message of the banished lover says to the dear one: — " Himself now bids thee . that thou stir the sea, When thou shalt hear on the clifF'a edge The singing of the sad cuckoo in the grove. Then do thou let no litdng man Hinder thy going, stay thy'joutney ! Straightway the mere seek, home of the mew. Sit in the sea^-hoat, until thou far to the south Oyer the mere-flood the man findest. Where the prince waits in hope of thee. . The man has no longing desires For steeds, nor for jewels, nor joys of the mead, For any treasures on earth fit for earla, O daughter of a prince, if he have not thee." 1 F. A. Blackburn, " The ' Husband's Message,' " etc., Journal of Germanic Philology, vol. iii. pp. 1-13. 372 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY The thousand years that separate us from this poem are but as one day : " Thanks to the human heart by which we live ! " Outside of a few of the Kiddles, there is perhaps not a single impure suggestion in all the Anglo- Saxon poetry. I doubt if the world has ever seen a purer literature. The relation which is dearest of aU to Anglo- Saxon poetry is that of lord and follower. This is free from fleshly taint, pure, ideal. Upon this pure, almost abstract relation, the Anglo-Saxon poet lav- ishes his loving attention. The retainer who de- serted his master in battle, were that master dead or alive, was forever disgraced. The Comitatus, Gef olg^schaf t, was Pan-Germanic, I know, but where else was it so spiritual, so noble ? What other na- tion so dropped from its poetry the love of man and woman, and so fastened its attention upon the love of lord and follower ? Indeed, the true lord became exalted under this treatment to a very noble con- ception. He is the kind friend and guardian of all. Beowulf and Hrothgar grieve over the sufferings of their harassed people. Every pang is their own. It reminds one of the Christian conception of Christ's followers, that they constitute his very body — this intimate, loving relation between king and people. " The Wanderer," one of the most touching poems ever written, is the lament of a poor solitary over his dear, dead lord-friend. Such a nation easily became Christian. Many religious applications of the relation of lord and follower PURITY AND IDEALITY 373 appear in the poetry as a result of the introduc- tion of Christianity. A favorite use of this con- ception was in order to express the love of Christ, the prince, toward the apostles or toward aU true disciples, and their tender allegiance to him. Other sacred relations, too, were not unworthily typified by this central feature of Anglo-Saxon life. In the words of ten Brink, " God himself, in his relation to angels and men, was conceived as the almighty prince, as the beloved chieftain ; the devil, as the faithless vassal who antagonizes his gold-friend ; the heavenly throne was the gift-stool of the spirits." ^ The harsh sounds both of war and grief are idealized into " songs." When Grendel's ^rm has been torn off, the Danes hear him singing " a ter- rible song," " an unvictorious lay " (Beowulf, 787). Beowulf's ringed blade " sang a greedy war-song " upon the head of Grendel's mother. And so with every class of sounds. The idealization of all that is commonplace permeates Anglo-Saxon life and poetry. The poor, unlettered hind, Caedmon, must sing in his turn. Over his barren life must be thrown the light of the ideal world. Etiquette is a prime consideration with the Anglo-Saxon ; and no good warrior fails in the definite ceremonials which are evidently considered of very great importance. The poem " Beowulf " is full of interesting details of court and warrior life. This life is all idealized, and nothing gross appears. Every person and object 1 Page 38. 374 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY is exalted almost to a state of perfection, or is dis- missed from sight and mention as completely bad. Hunferth alone, as Heinzel notes, has any mixture of traits. The drinking itself is not a merely sensual pleasure. The warriors " bear themselves well " at the feast, declare their devotion to their lord, and promise to perform deeds of valor. This is not the influence of Christianity. Even when Christian- ity becomes, in different forms, the subject-matter of the poems, they are still thoroughly national. Christianity is a new wine in the old bottles. One cause of the fact already mentioned, that the battle-scenes in Anglo-Saxon poetry are not clear, is«an indisposition to dwell upon woimds and slaughter. The poet delights in describing the preparations for a contest (see, for example, Cyne- wulf's " Elene," 25 ff.). The dewy-feathered eagle soars over the combatants. The wolf of the wold comes stealing forth and sings his terrible song. The warriors welcome the contest with bold words. But when the actual fighting begins, the poet takes refuge in striking generalities and powerful metar phors. The details of slaughter neither interest nor concern him. Such anatomical details as Homer gives in describing wounds would disgust an Anglo- Saxon singer. And when the hero " dies, the poet says, " he chooses the light of God," or " his soul goes from his breast to seek the glory of the sooth- fast," or " he departs on his journey forth." The imagination must be satisfied by a metaphor, rather than the sense by a strict description or narrative. PURITY AND IDEALITY 375 In order to satisfy the imagination, also, causes, consequences, and accompaniments are often por- trayed, rather than the action or object itself, or at least more fully. The description of Grendel's haunted mere shows this at its best : — " There may each night an evil wonder be seen, Fire on the flood ; so 'wise a man lives not Of. the sons of men, that he knows its bottom : Although the heath-stepper pressed bj the hounds, The stag, strong of horns, may seek the grove, Pursued from afar, he his life will give. His life on the shore, before he will therein Hide his head. That is no pleasant place : Thence the, surging waves mount up Wan toward the clouds, when the wind arouseth Loathly weather, until the air darkens. The heavens weep." BeowuU, 1366. The self-control which enables the poet to turn aside and give three and one haM lines to this de- scription of the flying stag refusing to enter the haunted lake even to save his life, — is rare in this poetry; but the general method of the de- scription is eminently Anglo-Saxon. The dry facts about the lake are not given, but their poetical values : you do not see the lake clearly, but you shudder. Notice how a full account of Beowulf's struggle with Grendel is avoided in the following lines : — " He (Grendel) seized then with his hands the firm-minded Warrior at rest ; he (Beowulf) reached out against The fiend with his hand, quickly he grasped The evil-minded one and took firm hold of his arm.l 1 This is the translation of Professor Blackburn. Gamett translates, "and on his krm sat." 376 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY Soon that perceWed the hostile guardian That he had never met in the mid-earth, In the regions of earth, in another man A greater hand-grip : he in mind became In his soul frightened, not therefore could he sooner get away ; His mind was death-ready, wished to flee into darkness, To seek the devil-band : there was no employment for him there Such as he informer days before had found." Beowulf, 747. Next the poet depicts at length the devastation of the beautiful wine-hall ; and then the effect of the contest upon the panic-stricken Danes who were listening. Thus there is no full account of the combat itself, but a complete recital of such accessories and results of the combat as will tend to exalt our conception of it. V. SERIOUSNESS There was an ethical sternness and a grand earnestness in the Anglo-Saxons, which was mir- rored in an all-pervading seriousness of style. Says ten Brink, — "A profound and serious conception of what makes man great, if not happy, of what his duty exacts, testifies to the devout spirit of English paganism, a paganism which the Christian doctrine certainly softened, but did not transform in its innermost nature." ^ This temperament excludes from the poetry of this people everything which the poet feels to border upon the comic ; even evil and crime are idealized into an unrelieved blackness and gloom which is too solemn to admit of mirth. 1 Page 29. SERIOUSNESS 377 Cynewulf leaves out of his "Juliana" several comical features in his Latin original. Within a hundred years of the landing of the missionaries from Kome, the Anglo-Saxons were the most in- tensely religious people on eartli, the most active in missionary effort. Heinzel would make their seriousness and tenderness, " Erweichung des Ge- miithes," to be the result of Christianity. Gum- mere has the whole weight of authority and the only natural interpretation of the literature on his side when he opposes this view. A great fondness for moralizing appears every- where. The shortness and uncertainty of life are constantly called up. This is often an artistic blemish. A remarkable instance of moralizing is offered in " Beowulf," when the hero has just kUled Gxendel's mother, and so exterminated the hated race. King Hrothgar salutes him with a few courtly compliments, followed by a long moralizing speech of eighty-five lines (1701-85). Miillen- hoff cuts this speech out, but it fits Hrothgar's character. At any rate, some Anglo-Saxon poet wrote it, and some Anglo-Saxon poet put it into " Beowulf." At the moment of Beowulf's triumph, Hrothgar predicts the sorrows which shall surely come : — " Now the fame of thy strength Lasts for a time ; afterward it soon shall be That thee sickness or the sword shall deprive of strength, Or the graap of fire, or the wave of the flood, Or the grip of the sword, or the flight of the shaft, 378 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY Or cruel old age ; or the brightness of the eyes Shall fail and grow dark : it suddenly shall be That thee, great warrior, death shall OTercome." Beowulf, 1762. He cites the vicissitudes of Ms own life, and at different points warns Beowulf against the sins which beset rulers. Some of the massive generali- ties in such passages are almost " Bunsbyisms " in their solemn saying of little or nothing: — " Fate oft preserves The undoomed earl, if his strength holds out." Beowulf, 572. The beautifid close of " Widsith " is weakened by an expression like this. Passages which have a touch of the humorous to us, very certainly did not have it to the serious Anglo-Saxons. The poet of that part of " Beowulf " takes the following way of sajring that Hrothgar's warriors did not dare to sleep in Heorot after Grendel's visits : — " Then was it easy to find one who elsewhere, More commodiously, rest for himself sought." Beowulf, 138. Cynewulf saw no absurdity in the following pas- sage. Elene says to the Jews : — " Ye with filth did spit On his countenance who for yon the light of the eyes, A remedy from blindness wrought Anew through that noble spittle." Mene, 297. VI. TENDERNESS If the forcible style demanded by the aUitera. tive metre was especially fitted to express vigor TENDERNESS 379 of thought and action and the rage of battle, for what topics was the constant repetition, the great abundance of epithet, the endless ringing of aU the changes upon a thought, especially adapted ? Can any device of style be better fitted than this cease- less caressing of a thought for expressing grief, sorrow, especially in the milder forms of melan- choly and tender memory ? And the Anglo-Saxons are as tender and thoughtful as they are brave. The vast problems of life and death oppress the hearts which do not quake before the enemy. The well- known comparison of the life of man to the flight of a swallow through a lighted hall and out into the darkness, finds an echo in almost every Anglo- Saxon poem that has come down to us. The extent to which Matthew Arnold often reproduced the tone of much of Anglo-Saxon poetry is marvelous. His paganism and Beowulf's have the same sad earnestness : " The wheel is come full circle." The blood of race, or of a common humanity, is thicker than the water of culture. Elegiac pathos, tender moumfulness, is then, an important feature of the style of this poetry. "Beowulf" is fuU of it. But it finds /perhaps its most complete artistic expression in " The Wan- derer." This poem, while distinctly Anglo-Saxon in atmosphere, marks a higher gi-ade of style and literary skill than is common. The author stands above his subject, even while identified with it in spirit. Instead of repeating the same ideas, he em- ploys new ones which arouse the same feelings ; 380 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY new references and methods of approach, which yet have the same spiritual effect and relationships. Thus he constantly brings in fresh elements, while securing all the power which came from the more usual repetitions. All the different thoughts agree in illustrating the brief life, the unhappy lot of man. " The Wanderer " has lost his dear lord and is friendless in the world. Hear him ! " Oft the fugitive findetli mercy, The mildness of God. Moody and weary, Wandering ever over the water-way. Hath he with hands of toil, homeless and sad, Stirred the sea, rime-cold. Higorons fate ! " General moralizing is followed and enforced by his own particular misery with great pathos : — " The weary of mind may not withstand Fate, nor his fierce heart furnish him help ; Therefore do those thirsting for glory Oft the sad spirit shut in the breast-case. I, too, distressed with care, torn from my country, Oft have been forced, far from my kinsmen, My spirit within me with fetters to seal." " Bitter his lot who long must forego The counsel and love, the care of his lord-friend. When sorrow and sleep stealing upon him Fast the poor lone one lock in their folds. It seems to his mind, the man-lord once more He embraces and kisses, and bends on that lap His hands and his bead in homage, as once In days that are gone he knelt at the gift-stool. Then waketh from dreaming the desolate man. Fallow before him the waves of the flood Sees, and the birds, bathing and soaring. The hoar-frost, the snow mingled with sleet." His own past happiness and present grief are CONCLUSION 381 mirrored in much that he sees about him. Sorrow and death are the lot of man : — " The stteng^ of the speara, weapons of slaughter, Bronght death to the lords (illustrious doom !) ; And beaten by rain stand the ramparts of stone. The earth in the frost-chains the falling storm binds, The terror of winter, and darkens the world ; The night-shadows fall, from the north rushes forth On the heroes of earth the hail in its fury." ' This is poetry ; and would be counted such in any cultivated nation, at any time. If we thus let our subject go out with an elegy and to a dead- march, it is only what this poetry is always doing. Behind every joy and at every banquet, to the mind of the Anglo-Saxon, wait disappointment and sorrow. He will be heroic, because heroism is right and good ; but, whether by the gate of failure or by that of success, he knows that he will soon come where " sits the Shadow feared of man." CONCLUSION It will be seen that I have treated the Anglo- Saxon poetry of all periods and all authors as a homogeneous whole. It can be so regarded in a general paper like this. Its epics have aU elegiac passages and episodes. Its lyrics, whether warlike or elegiac, read like extracts from such epics as " Beowulf," « Genesis," and « Judith." It wiU be noted also further, that the first three qualities of the style of this poetry which have been pointed out, pertain to the style in the strictest sense of that term, that is to the manner of saying what 382 ANGLO-SAXON POETRY is said — the grammatical and rhetorical devices employed in the expression of thought. The last three qualities are more general, and concern also the subject-matter of the poetry. The fourth qual- ity, the Freedom from the Sensual and the Ideal- ization of the Common, indicates the mental stand- point of the Anglo-Saxon poet — his method of approach to his themes. The last two qualities, Seriousness and Tenderness, call attention to his predominant emotions — the settled, familiar ex- periences of his soul. NATUKAL SCIENCE IN A LITERARY EDUCATION NATUEAL SCIENCE IN A LITERAEY EDUCATION 1 The greatest forms of literature hold the mir- ror up to Nature — that is, to life. Literary con- ventions, even, go back at some point to real life. Because actual Sicilian shepherds once piped their happy songs where Theocritus heard them, the world has had its long line of pastoral poetry, an intolerable deal of the sack of empty repetition and formalism to one half pennyworth of the bread of reality. In spite of traditions, however, the more important literature of the world has kept in touch with actual life. Of Shakespeare and Chaucer we can confidently say that, though each had a library at home, he found another and a better one upon the street. Science has invaded the life of to-day ; its de- vices meet us at every turn, its great conceptions fill our minds. What shall be the attitude toward science of those students who wish a literary edu- cation? Shall they devote themselves entirely to the study of the classic productions in the languages of ancient and modem nations ? or shall they take up also those advancing lines of scientific investi- gation and speculation which are producing new 1 Beviaed from the The Popular Science Monthly for May, 1896. 386 NATURAL SCIENCE instruments for every-day life and new themes for thought, and which are fashioning anew the very minds and language of men ? In answer to this question we shall note briefly that scientific facts and conceptions are steadily finding their way into literature itself; also that the study of science is of special service to the writer, whether he be engaged in the production of pure literature or in the exposition of thought. We shall consider, too, that mental largeness, intel- lectual catholicity, demands the development of the mind upon the scientific side ; and that each department of science supplies a valuable form of mental training. The literature of an age takes up into itself the whole mental life of the time. He who would ade- quately interpret present literature should know the major facts and theories of modem science, for these have pressed their way even into writing that is especially marked by beauty and imagination. Henceforth literature will increasingly draw sub- ject-matter from the domain of the sciences. This is a revolution which cannot go backward. The clearness with which Wordsworth foresaw, in 1800, that poetry itself would submit to this tendency, is truly remarkable. He said in that year, in the preface which he wrote for the second edition of the " Lyrical Ballads " : — " If the labors of men of science should ever create any material revolution ... in our condition, and in the impressions which we habitually receive, the poet IN A LITERARY EDUCATION 387 will sleep then no more than at present ; he will be ready- to follow the steps of the man of science. . . . The re- motest discoveries of the chemist, the botanist, or miner- alogist, wiU be as proper objects of the poet's art as any upon which it can be employed, if the time should ever come when these things shall be famUiar to us, and the relations under which they are contemplated by the fol- lowers of these respective sciences shall be manifestly and palpably material to us as enjoying and suffering beings. If the time should ever come when what is now called science, thus familiarized to men, shall be ready to put on, as it were, a form of flesh and blood, the poet will lend his divine spirit to aid the transfiguration,- and will welcome the being thus produced as a dear and genuine inmate of the household of man." There are many illustrations of the fact that a general knowledge of science is needed to interpret contemporary literature. Tennyson constantly re- fers to the great scientific discoveries and concep- tions of his time. How shall a reader ignorant of those conceptions fully appreciate him ? Professor William H. Hudson, in a striking article,^ speaks of " Tennyson's keen interest in science ; his sym- pathetic hold upon the vast movements in progress around him ; his manly attitude toward the changes that life and thought were everywhere undergoing." Even the casual reader of Tennyson must have noted how deep is his interest in scientific study, and how fully the great conceptions of modem science find expression in his poetry. Indeed, there seems to be a prophetic element in this. As Miss 1 " Poetry and Science," Popular Science Monthly, October, 1894. 388 NATURAL SCIENCE Scudder has noted,^ it is hard to realize in read- ing some parts of "In Memoriam" that it was published in 1850, nine years before Darwin's " Origin of Species." The study of science has a bearing, too, upon the production of literature, as well as upon its interpretation. The great scientific ideas have espe- cial power to arouse the imagination, and they furnish symbols of incomparable value for the skUlf ul setting forth and enforcing of thought. Great forms of thought, mighty moulds which of necessity give shape to our thinking and then to our very imaginings, — these come to us from the study of things, not from the study of language. Literature itself must largely find its raw material, its great metaphors and similes, its vivid pictures and mighty sjrmbols, within the domain of natural science, and this increasingly as the years go by. The chemist's law of definite and multiple propor- tions; the laws of motion; the phenomena and laws of light, heat, and electricity ; the strata, the glaciers, and the processes of earth-sculpture of the geologist ; the winds, tides, and ocean currents ; the theories of animal evolution ; the struggle for existence, the survival of the fittest; the mighty phenomena, the impressive uniformities, the neb- ular hypothesis of astronomy — these are great forms of thought as well as facts and theories of science. A man who is imacquainted with modem 1 The Life of the Spirit in the Modern English Poets, Boston, 1895, p. 10. m A LITERARY EDUCATION 389 science cannot well understand the language of educated men, he cannot interpret sympathetically and adequately the literature of his own day, and he cannot make use of some of the most powerful symbols that exist for the expression of ideas. Standing in the midst of a mighty speaking uni- verse, he will find himself, in a measure, tongue-tied because deaf. Profes^r Drummond's suggestive book, " Nat- ural Law in the Spiritual World," showed what powerful instruments science furnishes for the ex- position and enforcement of thought. The funda- mental importance to the speaker and writer of finding effective symbols for his thought is perhaps best illustrated by the parables of Christ ; " with- out a parable spake he not unto them." This point deserves Ulustration. A friend of the writer wished recently to present in a sermon the idea and conviction that man's moral nature tes- tifies truly concerning the great moral ideas, and truly, even though not fully, concerning the nature of God. Undoubtedly a sermon upon this theme might appeal directly to the facts of each soul's experience and to the great moral affirmations of our nature with such effectiveness as to awaken in the hearer a sense of the great moral realities that underlie our lives, and a vision of the truth that the spirit of man is the candle of the Lord, that we are also His offspring. But an immaterial truth of this kind needs some great symbol from the physical world to aid in expounding and im- 390 NATURAL SCIENCE pressing it, to give it clearness, freshness, and power. In this case the symbol chosen was that of the spectroscope, as it receives the rays from the distant sun, and testifies truly by the lines across the spectrum concerning the nature of the great source of light. " Just as the spectroscope testifies that what is true on the earth is true in the sun ako, and afEords one more proof of the material unity of the universe, — so the whole world of men is a kind of moral spectrum, across which appear the lines which represent truth, duty, righteousness, love, aspiration, — lines which re- present man's way of thinking and feeling about things in life because they first of aU represent God's way of . thinking and feeling about them. Our moral convic- tions, our moral ideals, then, have actual worth. Our knowledge is knowledge as far as it goes ; it corresponds to something that is real, something that is in the back- ground, greater than we can grasp or understand, but still the reality on which we can build our life." It is also true that the larger facts of modern science constitute an incomparable challenge and stimulus to the imagination. The electric thrill circles the earth ere a swift-footed Achilles could gird up his loins to run. An instructor in rhetoric in the University of Chicago made the statement a few years ago that the most vivid and imaginar tive themes which came to him from a certain class were written by some pupils interested in geology upon simple topics connected with the his- tory of the earth. Some of the great writers of coming days are already IN A LITERARY EDUCATION 391 " nourishing' a youth sublime With the fairy tales of science." The value of scientific study is not to be mea- sured, of course, by the extent to which it ministers to the production and appreciation of good litera- ture. The necessity of some knowledge of science, in order that the educated man may possess his in- tellectual birthright as a member of his own gen- eration, furnishes a fundamental and unanswerable argument for such study. It seems almost a viola- tion of mental integrity, of intellectual wholeness, for an educated man to turn away from that por- tion of human knowledge which is increasing most rapidly, which is changing the outward fashion of our life, and which is transforming the world of thought. That ideal of education wiU never go entirely out of fashion which demands that each student make a brave and earnest attempt, even though it can never be more than partially suc- cessful, " to see life steadily, and see it whole." This ideal wiU always appeal to some minds, and its advocates wiU judge colleges and universities by their success in furnishing education of this type. Is there any practical difficulty besides the obvi- ous limitations of time and strength which prevents students of literature from obtaining an outline knowledge of the more important branches of modern science ? Unquestionably, the great diffi- culty is a conviction on the part of these students themselves that scientific study is without value for them. But in some cases this is not the only 392 NATURAL SCIENCE obstacle. Some of the introductory courses in science in the American institutions of collegiate grade seem to be planned for those who wish to make specialties of the sciences. Brief, synoptic culture courses are accessible in many institutions, and sometimes in all of the major sciences ; but in other cases they are disbelieved in and are not offered. It may be granted that literary students should study some one fundamental science more fully than has been indicated, as a guard against habits of superficiality ; but if they are to make any such acquaintance with the " circle of the sciences " as it seems clear that they should, it must be by means of synoptic culture courses, since literary studies wiU of necessity claim most of their time. Some scientists will think this proposal foolish and impracticable. It will seem to them absurd that a man should try to study chemistry, for ex- ample, especially because of its value for mental culture ; that he should be vitaUy interested in the fundamental facts of metallurgy, in the law of definite and multiple proportions, and the atomic theory, and have only a languid interest in the details of the chemical laboratory. But there are scientists whose standing is unquestioned who be- lieve in the value and practicability of the courses here advocated. The particular kind of mental training which each science is fitted to impart gives to it a distinct educational value. The power to observe and in- IN A LITERARY EDUCATION 393 terpret the vital and material phenomena of the great world enlarges and enriches the mental life. The mathematics and the more exact physical sci- ences, on the other hand, help, as no other branches of study can, to give to the mind habits of accu- racy and a sense of proportion. Some persons would claim that the different branches of study, whether scientific or humanistic, are substantially equal and even identical in disciplinary power and general educational value. This proposition I can- not accept. Literature, for example, is an indis- pensable element in an education, but it does not give aU kinds of knowledge and mental training. Those students who look upon literature as in itself an education will find — or others will find it out if they do not — that they have accepted it in some measure instead of an education. One cannot omit the other great subjects from his training, and then make up for their loss by reading his Browning, his Chaucer, or even his Shakespeare, more often and more strenuously. In a class in literature many questions do not admit of exact answers ; the personal element must come in ; the answers of the most careful instructor are only an approxi- mation to the truth ; the answers of the most superficial scholar will not be entirely wrong. In- deed, since a literary masterpiece makes its appeal primarily to the emotions and the imagination, the whole conception of definite, exact answers to specific questions has but a limited application to the work of the class in literature. In mathe- 394 NATURAL SCIENCE matics and the more exact physical sciences each problem is specific, and has one answer that is exactly right ; all other possible answers are ex- actly and entirely wrong. Every man needs the discipline of such study. Even professional literary critics are often de- cidedly lacking in proportion, poise, and sharpness of outline. Let me illustrate. Mr. Swinburne speaks thus of Collins : " He could put more spirit of color into a single stroke, more breath of music into a single note, than could all the rest of his generation into all the labors of their lives." ^ The same critic comments as follows upon some of the poems of Keats : " ' The Ode to a Nightingale,' one of the final masterpieces of human work in aU time and for all ages, is immediately preceded in aU editions now current by some of the most vulgar and fulsome doggerel ever whimpered by a vapid and effeminate rhymester in the sickly stage of whelphood." ^ Without objecting now to the qualitative judg- ments here expressed, let us ask. How about the quantity of praise and blame that is bestowed? Is it probable that the writer of these words ever had much thorough training in the mathematics and physical sciences ? Indeed, can he ever have studied anything quantitatively ? It is not the main purpose of this article, how- ever, to argue for the disciplinary value of scientific 1 Ward's English Poets, iii. p. 282. ' EncyclopcBdia Britannica, article upon Keata. IN A LITERARY EDUCATION 895 study ; its more direct and substantive value for the student of literature is the primary thought set forth. There seem to be two great types of coUegiate education, the literary and the scientific. The writer firmly believes that natural science has an important role to play in the ideal literary education ; and in support of this position he appeals to the prophecy of Wordsworth, to the poetry of Tennyson, and above all to the reason of the case. WAS POE ACCUEATE? WAS POE ACCURATE? In an article entitled " The American Rejection of Poe," which appeared in " The Dial " of Jan- uary 16, 1899, Mr. Charles Leonard Moore used these words : — " Poe, a logic machine, was absolutely incapable of those pleasing flaws and deficiencies which allow other people to have a good opinion,, of themselves. He al- ways added up true." Probably most persons would think of "The Gold-Bug " as the best illustration of the accurate working of Poe's mind. The celebrated crypto- graph there found solves itself aU right, I presume. There are some mathematical statements in this story, however, which are impossible. The negro, Jupiter, is compelled by his master, William Legrand, to climb " an enormously tail tulip-tree, which . . . far surpassed . . . aU other trees which I had then ever seen, in the beauty of its foliage and form, in the wide spread of its branches, and in the general majesty of its ap- pearance." The first great branch was " some sixty or seventy feet from the ground." Jupiter is told to pass by six large limbs on a particular side of this tree, and to climb out upon the seventh. This 1 Keprinted from The Dial, March 16, 1899. 400 WAS POE ACCURATE f last proves to be a dead branch, but capable of bearing the negro's weight, and he climbs " mos' out to de eend." Here he discovers a skull nailed to the limb. Legrand tells him to use the " gold- bug," tied to the end of a string, as a plumb-line, dropping it through " the left eye of the skull." A peg is driven into the groimd at the precise spot where the beetle falls. Legrand then fastened one end of a tape-measure " at that point of the trunk of the tree which was nearest the peg, . . . unrolled it tiU it reached the peg, and thence farther un- rolled it, in the direction already established, . . . for the distance of fifty feet." About the spot thus obtained as a centre, the three associates excavated a pit four feet in diameter to the depth of seven feet, but found nothing. It was then discovered that Jupiter had dropped the beetle through the wrong eye. The peg was therefore removed to' " a spot about three inches " from the previous point. " Taking, now, the tape-measure from the nearest point of the trunk to the peg, as before, and con- tinuing the extension ia a straight liue to the dis- tance of fifty feet, a spot was indicated, removed hy several yards from the point at which we had been digging." The impossibility of the statement italicized wUl be at once apparent. If the skuU was found ten feet away from the trunk of the tree — was it not farther ? — the centre of the new circle for digging was about six times three inches from the point around which they dug at first, that is, about eight- WAS POE ACCURATE f 401 een inches. If the skull were only five feet from the trunk, the second point for digging would be about thirty-three inches from the first. The journey of the three associates to the place where the chest was discovered lay "through a tract of country excessively wild and desolate." After traveling " for about two hours," they " en- tered a region infinitely more dreary than any yet seen. It was a species of table-land, near the sum- mit of an almost inaccessible hUl, densely wooded from base to pinnacle, and interspersed with huge crags that appeared to lie loosely upon the soU. . . . Deep ravines, in various directions, gave an air of still sterner solemnity to the scene." The chest found contained " rather more than four hundred and fifty thousand dollars " in gold coins of various nations, " estimating the value of the pieces, as accurately as we could, by the tables of the period." The gold dollar of the United States weighs 25 4-5 grains, and there are 7000 grains in the avoirdupois pound. Gold coia to the value of $450,000 would weigh, roughly stated, about 1655 pounds. Poe tells us that the weight of the other valuables in the chest " exceeded three hundred and fifty pounds avoirdupois," not includ- ing "one hundred and niuety-seven superb gold watches." This makes the total weight of treasure over 2000 pounds. The three companions, un- exhausted by their journey and prolonged digging, carried home one third of this treasure in the solid chest over the route indicated above. They reached 402 WAS POE ACCURATE f their hut " in safety, but after excessive toil, at one o'clock in the morning." After a rest of one hour, they set off, " armed with three stout sacks," to secure the remaining two thirds of the booty. They got back to the hut with this, " just as the first streaks of the dawn gleamed from over the treetops in the east." On the second return jour- ney, if the estimate here given "adds up true," each of the three must have carried about 450 pounds of gold and gems. Certainly, at the time of this achievement, Poe — who tells the story as if himself the third party in the enterprise — had not weakened his bodily powers by dissipation. In " The Murders in the Eue Morgue " we read : " On the hearth were two or three long and thick tresses of gray human hair, also dabbled with blood, and seeming to have been pulled out by the roots." Later in the story, the infallible Dupin says : " You saw the locks in question as well as myself. Their roots (a hideous sight !) were clotted with fragments of the flesh of the scalp — sure token of the prodigious power which had been ex- erted in uprooting perhaps half a million of hairs at a time." (The italics are not in Poe's text.) The Bible suggests that God alone can accurately number the hairs upon the human head ; but one cannot think that it would have involved any impiety if Poe had made his partial estimate in this passage a little more reasonable. Let us disabuse our minds, then, of the notion that Poe always " adds up true." WAS POE ACCURATE? 403 But a truce to petty fault-finding ! Poe's fame is secure, though it is not probable that he wiU ever be popular. His was essentially an original mind : he was a literary discoverer, and the world does not often forget its discoverers. His message is mainly, perhaps, to literary craftsmen. Whether we think of the detective story; of the scientific romance, since carried farther by Jules Verne and others ; of what we may call " the short-story of atmos- phere " ; of certain fundamental truths in " the philosophy of composition " ; of the true theory of English versification, since elaborated by Sidney Lanier ; or of Poe's own peculiar type of intensely musical poetry, with its fascinating use of tone- color, parallelism, and repetition — we can say with substantial truth, that he was — " the first that ever bnrst Into that silent sea." SUcirot^d and printed by H. O. Hmghton &• Ca. Camiri4ei, Mass., U.S. A.