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THE STUDY OF 
 SHAKESPEARE 
 
BT THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 THE ELIZABETHAN PEOPLE 
 With 70 illastrationB. $3.00 net 
 A vivid account of Shakespeare's fellow-citi- 
 zens. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S LONDON 
 With 42 illustrations, mostly from old prints. 
 $3.00 net. 
 
 Portrays and details the typography, customs 
 and picturesque side of Elizabethan life. 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 Publishers New York 
 

 /^tw^-^^u 
 
 The Globe Theater 
 
 Enirraved by Wilkinson from a drawing in the collection of John Cliarles Crowle, Esq. 
 
THE 
 STUDY OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 BY 
 HENRY THEW STEPHENSON 
 
 AUTHOR OF "SHAKESPEARE'S LONDON" AND " THE 
 ELIZABETHAN PEOPLE" 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 1915 
 

 COPTBISHT, 1915, 
 BY 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 THE QUINN & eODEN CO. PRESS 
 RAHWAY, N. J. 
 
 MAR -8 1915 
 
 ^CIA893874 
 
TO 
 MARGARET LOUISE STEPHENSON 
 
PREFACE 
 
 For some fifteen years I have conducted classes 
 in the study of Shakespeare at the University of 
 Indiana. I early found that great advantage was 
 derived from an intimate knowledge of the social 
 conditions that obtained at the time the plays were 
 written. My attempt to furnish some assistance in 
 this direction by the publication of an account of 
 Shakespeare's London and of the people of Eliza- 
 beth's generation has given me confidence in the 
 preparation of a handbook designed differently from 
 many now in use. 
 
 Though criticism of the plays forms the larger 
 part of the following pages, I have had no intention 
 of writing a volume of criticism. The book is not 
 intended to be read on its independent merits, but in 
 conjunction with a study of the texts. Though I 
 hope it will be of interest to those already familiar 
 with the plays of Shakespeare, it is primarily ad- 
 dressed to students. 
 
 Inasmuch as it is intended to be an assistance, 
 I have not felt it necessary to discuss the obvious. 
 Oftentimes a mere suggestion is sufficient to start 
 the reader aright so that he will discover all that is 
 necessary without further assistance. For instance, 
 I have frequently observed a class which read The 
 Taming of the Shrew without the least compre- 
 hension of its meaning. To the members of the class 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTKR 
 I 
 
 Shakespeare's Biography . 
 
 PAGK 
 1 
 
 II 
 
 A General View of London . 
 
 7 
 
 III 
 
 The Playhouses .... 
 
 25 
 
 IV 
 
 Quartos and Folios . 
 
 49 
 
 V 
 
 Shakespeare's Verse . 
 
 55 
 
 VI 
 
 Chronological List of Plays . 
 
 . 62 
 
 VII 
 
 Dramatic Structure . 
 
 64 
 
 VIII 
 
 How to Read a Play 
 
 . 75 
 
 IX 
 
 A Brief Working Bibliography 
 
 82 
 
 X 
 
 Richard the Third . 
 
 85 
 
 XI 
 
 Richard the Second . 
 
 . 112 
 
 XII 
 
 Henry the Fifth 
 
 . 134 
 
 XIII 
 
 Romeo and Juliet 
 
 . 155 
 
 XIV 
 
 The Taming of the Shrew . 
 
 168 
 
 XV 
 
 The Merchant of Venice 
 
 174 
 
 XVI 
 
 Julius C^sar .... 
 
 190 
 
 XVII 
 
 Hamlet 
 
 207 
 
 XVIII 
 
 King Lear 
 
 250 
 
 XIX 
 
 Macbeth . . . ." . 
 
 264 
 
 XX 
 
 The Tempest .... 
 
 285 
 
 
 Index 
 
 297 
 
THE STUDY OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 SHAKESPEARE'S BIOGRAPHY 
 
 The poet's father was John Shakespeare of Snit- 
 terfield, who married in 1557 Mary Arden of Wilm- 
 cote, near Stratford. Some five or six years before 
 his marriage John Shakespeare moved from Snitter- 
 field to Stratford, where he was living at the time 
 of the poet's birth. Stratford was then a small but 
 flourishing country town on one of the main thor- 
 oughfares to London; and John Shakespeare soon 
 became one of its prominent citizens. 
 
 In 1552 he was living in a house in Henley Street, 
 either the house now known as the poet's birthplace, 
 or the one adjoining. He set himself up in business 
 as a trader with a miscellaneous assortment of wares, 
 a fact which doubtless accounts for his designation 
 among older historians as a glover by one, a butcher 
 by another. During the next few years he was pros- 
 perous in a worldly way, occupying successively sev- 
 eral important offices in the gift of the municipality. 
 
 The poet was the third child and first son of John 
 Shakespeare. He was baptized in the parish church, 
 April 26, 1564. It was then customary for this cere- 
 mony to take place as soon after birth as possible. 
 
2 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 There is, however, no authority for the usually ac- 
 cepted date of his birth, April 22 or April 23. 
 
 Stratford possessed a good free grammar school, 
 which Shakespeare probably entered about 1571. In- 
 struction was principally carried on in Latin, a lan- 
 guage the rudiments of which were known to the 
 poet, though he seems never to have become a pro- 
 ficient scholar. There is no reason to believe that 
 he ever studied Greek. A reading knowledge of 
 Italian was probably picked up after leaving Strat- 
 ford. The acquirement of his knowledge of French 
 may have begun at Stratford and have been continued 
 by himself in later years. He possessed no claim to 
 be called " one skilled in the tongues " ; on the other 
 hand, he certainly possessed a good foundation in 
 Latin, French, and, perhaps, Italian. Doubtless he 
 read little. The Bible was probably to him the most 
 accessible book in English. Though his plays con- 
 tain many biblical allusions, they suggest, as Mr. 
 Lee puts it, " youthful reminiscence and the assimi- 
 lative tendency of the mind in a stage of early de- 
 velopment rather than close and continuous study of 
 the Bible in adult life." * It should be remembered 
 in this connection that the service of the Church of 
 England provides for the continuous reading of both 
 the Old and the New Testament. 
 
 Shakespeare was still a schoolboy in 1575 when 
 Queen Elizabeth visited Robert Dudley at Kenil- 
 worth. He was, however, probably withdrawn from 
 school in 1577, when but thirteen years of age, to 
 be apprenticed to his father. This move was proba- 
 
 * Sidney Lee : A Life of William Shakespeare. Revised 
 edition. Page 17. 
 
SHAKESPEARE'S BIOGRAPHY 3 
 
 bly due to the declining family fortunes. For some 
 years John Shakespeare's fortunes and his promi- 
 nence in civic affairs had been on the wane. Records 
 of his borrowings and of the sale of some of his prop- 
 erty show that in a worldly way he was in distress. 
 Never again did he regain his former position of im- 
 portance. 
 
 Shakespeare's marriage in 1582 has given rise to 
 endless speculation. The whole subject has been 
 treated in detail by Mr. Lee. The facts, stripped of 
 all inference, are as follows: Anne Hathaway was 
 the poet's senior by eight years; the marriage was 
 arranged and solemnized in a hasty and irregular 
 manner, mainly at the instigation of the friends of 
 the bride; within six months a daughter was born to 
 the poet. In after life Shakespeare did not scruple 
 to live away from his wife and family for the better 
 part of twenty years, though he visited Stratford 
 occasionally, and at last returned to his home and 
 family to spend the years that followed his retirement 
 from the London stage. 
 
 While still a resident of Stratford, Shakespeare 
 acquired a familiar knowledge of outdoor life. In his 
 plays the art and practice of falconry is at his tongue's 
 end. He knew about horses and dogs. Flowers were 
 his familiar friends. He knew every superstition 
 and all the folklore of the countryside. Above all, 
 he knew the country characters and their pranks. 
 
 In fact, association with a group of these country 
 characters in one of their ribald escapades was, ac- 
 cording to persistent tradition, the cause of his leav- 
 ing Stratford. The hall and park of Charlecote was 
 the most pretentious estate in the immediate neigh- 
 
4 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 borhood of his home town. Shakespeare^ in company 
 with other idle fellows, raided the deer park at 
 Charlecote. For this they were severely prosecuted by 
 the owner of the park, Sir Thomas Lucy. In retalia- 
 tion Shakespeare is said to have written a ballad which 
 so incensed Sir Thomas that he redoubled his perse- 
 cutions. In order to escape, Shakespeare fled from 
 Stratford. In later years he vented his spleen by 
 caricaturing Sir Thomas Lucy in the person of Jus- 
 tice Shallow of The Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 Traditions that attempt to fill up the gap of the 
 next few years in the poet's life are wholly without 
 a proved foundation. It is idle to guess where he 
 went; and what he did is not known. He probably 
 left Stratford in 1585. We next hear of him in 
 London about 1590, under circumstances that imply 
 that he had been there for some time and was already 
 firmly footed in the theatrical world. 
 
 During Shakespeare's career there were many com- 
 panies of actors ; not nearly so many, however, as the 
 numerous names applied to them would suggest. 
 There were two companies of men actors of far 
 greater prominence than any others. One was under 
 the associate management of the money lender, Philip 
 Henslowe, and his son-in-law, the great actor, Edward 
 AUeyn. From their patron, the Lord High Admiral, 
 they were known as the Admiral's Men. 
 
 The other and more notable company was the one 
 to which Shakespeare belonged. It is known by 
 many names. Leicester's early company, under the 
 patronage of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, be- 
 came at his death in 1588 Lord Strange's Men. They 
 became known later, in all probability, by the name 
 
SHAKESPEARE'S BIOGRAPHY 5 
 
 of his subsequent title. Lord Derby. Under suc- 
 cessive patrons this company was known as Lord 
 Hunsden's Men, and as the Chamberlain's Men. 
 After the accession of James in 1603 they were known 
 as the King's Men. Shakespeare is known to have 
 been a member of the company as early as 1594; and 
 there is no reason to doubt the probability that he 
 was connected with it from the beginning of his the- 
 atrical career. 
 
 What Shakespeare's first duties about the play- 
 house were we do not know. When he appears again 
 in history after his flight from Stratford he is an 
 actor of minor roles, and a maker-over of old plays, 
 with, perhaps, a play or two of his own to his credit. 
 For many years he continued to act, taking subordi- 
 nate parts in some of his own plays. For the next 
 twenty years, however, his biography, as known to us, 
 is mainly the record of the succession of his dramas. 
 
 It is easy to piece out in broad lines the history 
 of his life during this period of twenty years. He 
 never became a great actor. He soon, however, passed 
 beyond the apprentice stage of play writing. From 
 a maker-over of old plays he soon became a writer 
 of original plays, for some years mainly in imitation 
 of the established writers of the day. Then he broke 
 loose from the trammels of imitation to write the long 
 list of dramas on which his fame rests to-day. A 
 study of his plays shows him a constant student. 
 Books he read, to be sure, and many of them; but 
 it is as a student of the life about him that he stands 
 pre-eminent. A consideration of plays following the 
 Essex Rebellion discloses a temporary morbidness 
 that to many implies some unfortunate connection with 
 
6 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 that ill-starred attempt to supplant Elizabeth. An- 
 other dark page in his history is disclosed vaguely to 
 some by the description of an intrigue set forth in the 
 sonnets. But this is a shadowy inference at the best. 
 
 Meantime he was growing rich. He derived a rev- 
 enue, not only as play writer and play actor, but also 
 as sharer in the company's profits. The latter was 
 probably his chief source of income. About 1610 or 
 1611 he retired from the theatrical world. He had 
 from time to time purchased properties in Stratford, 
 among them the most prominent private house in 
 town. To New Place he returned to live the remain- 
 ing years of his life. 
 
 Shakespeare died at Stratford, April 23, I6I6. On 
 April 25 he was buried in the parish church. His 
 wife and his two daughters, Judith [Quiney] and 
 Susanna [Hall] survived him. By 1623, the year the 
 Folio Edition of his plays was published, a bust of 
 the poet was placed in Stratford church. This is one 
 of the two likenesses that are known to have been in 
 existence at such an early date. The other is the 
 portrait engraved on the title page of the First Folio. 
 
 Besides his worldly goods Shakespeare left a book 
 of sonnets, a few minor poems that are doubtfully 
 attributed to him, two long narrative poems, and the 
 plays. The list of plays shows Shakespeare's versa- 
 tility. Nine of them are history plays, among which 
 are the very best of their type; there are a couple 
 of farces, one of which is, perhaps, the best produced 
 during the generation. There are numerous comedies 
 and tragi-comedies. But upon the great series of 
 tragedies which began with Julius Ccesar and ended 
 with Coriolanus Shakespeare's position rests supreme. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 A GENERAL VIEW OF LONDON 
 
 Roughly speaking, mediaeval London began with 
 the building of the White Tower by William the Con- 
 queror, and ended with the great fire of 1666. 
 Throughout this long period changes were made from 
 year to year; but, after the great religious establish- 
 ments were once built, the face of London changed 
 so slowly that the picture of one generation is the 
 picture of the next. The most sudden sweeping 
 change was made at the Dissolution of the Monas- 
 teries, and the period of most rapid expansion was 
 the reign of Elizabeth. It is the London of the latter 
 half of the sixteenth century and the beginning of 
 the seventeenth, the most brilliant period in its his- 
 tory between Hastings and the Fire, that the follow- 
 ing pages essay to present. 
 
 Three hundred years ago the relative importance 
 of London to the rest of England was even greater 
 than it is to-day. All the theaters and all the pub- 
 lishers of note were in London or in the immediate 
 vicinity. The court was held for most of the time 
 at Westminster. There was but one Royal Exchange 
 in the kingdom. All persons of any pretense to 
 wealth or influence possessed their town house or inn. 
 The city set the manners and furnished the news for 
 the whole island; it was, indeed, the heart of the 
 kingdom. 
 
 7 
 
8 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 In order to draw a fancy picture of the Eliza- 
 bethan city as Shakespeare knew it, one who is fa- 
 miliar with the modern metropolis must blot from 
 his mind all present associations — not only in regard 
 to size, but also in regard to outward aspect, and in 
 the manners and customs of the people; for in these 
 respects the city of that day was wholly different 
 from the city of this. It should be remembered that 
 the fire of 1666 practically swept away all but the 
 suburbs of Elizabethan London. Hardly a town in the 
 world of ancient origin preserves so few of its orig- 
 inal structures as does the capital of England. One 
 can go about the city to-day and encounter practically 
 nothing besides the street names that reminds him 
 of times before the Fire. Roughly speaking, a line 
 connecting the Tower, Crosby Hall, Christ Church, 
 Ludgate Circus, and the approach to Blackfriar's 
 Bridge includes the part of the city destroyed by 
 the great conflagration. And this area, though it is 
 but a small part of the city we know, constituted the 
 major part of the city in I6OO.* 
 
 In the latter part of the sixteenth century a Dutch 
 traveler by the name of Hentzner visited England, 
 and afterward wrote a very interesting account of 
 his foreign travels. He visited London, and his quaint 
 account of the sights is full of the local color of 
 which we are so desirous. Let us for a moment sta- 
 tion ourselves where he must have been when he first 
 caught a glimpse of what was then, as it is to-day, 
 one of the chief cities of the world. 
 
 We are on the Surrey side, approaching London 
 
 * The part of the modern metropolis known as The City 
 approximates in area the Elizabethan city. 
 
A GENERAL VIEW OF LONDON 9 
 
 along the old Roman road which leads to the bridge. 
 Perhaps before Hentzner crossed the river he visited 
 St. Mary Overies. If he had ascended the Tower 
 he would have seen a splendid sight. Across a river 
 that was as unlike the modern Thames as imagina- 
 tion can picture lay the bustling city. The river was 
 clear and shining, sparkling with swans that swam 
 gracefully in miniature fleets of snowy whiteness. Be- 
 hind, on either side, and beyond the busy capital were 
 green fields spotted with flowers or covered with 
 golden grain and emerald turf. The city itself was 
 nestled upon three hills. On an eminence to the right 
 rose the many-towered walls of the citadel surround- 
 ing the lofty White Tower of William the Norman. 
 Two small valleys rendered visible by the dip in the 
 red-tiled roof line separate it from the great cathedral 
 pile of St. Paul's. This church was the glory of all 
 England. No other cathedral in the kingdom was so 
 beautiful, the source of so much pride; and one who 
 looks at the modern structure that occupies its site 
 sighs with deep-felt regret over the ignominious 
 contrast. 
 
 What perhaps impressed the Dutch traveler most 
 was the innumerable collection of spires that rose 
 from the densely populated city. The Dissolution of 
 the Monasteries had not fallen lightly upon London; 
 in fact, it had left it, as Mr. Besant says, a city of 
 ruins. For all that, the parish churches had been 
 spared. Hardly one had fallen in the national game 
 of snatch-grab that followed the Dissolution. Stow 
 tells us that there were no less than a hundred and 
 twenty, and all of these were provided with towers 
 or steeples. Yet, high above the clustered mass of 
 
10 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 slender spires rose the great bulk of the cathedral. 
 Its lofty, graceful spire, however, had been burned 
 some years before, and only a mutilated stump re- 
 placed it. 
 
 If we pause for a moment to listen we can hear 
 the mingled peals of bells and the roar of the city, 
 for it was even more noisy then than now. People 
 lived in the streets and used them constantly as a 
 daily convenience that is suggested to one by modern 
 Paris, not by London. 
 
 Immediately beneath us lies the only bridge across 
 the Thames. London Bridge of those days was a 
 little east of the present structure; in fact, it crossed 
 the river just where St. Magnus' Church now stands. 
 It was an arched bridge of nearly a score of arches, 
 no two of them exactly the same in width. About 
 the piers were timber frameworks of wood that so 
 encroached upon the waterway that the flow while the 
 tide was rising and falling was greatly impeded. 
 Such obstacles were thes. lozenge-shaped " starlings," 
 that the backing up of the water at mid-tide pro- 
 duced a fall beneath the bridge of several feet. Pen- 
 nant alludes to the sound of the falling waters in the 
 following words : " Nothing but use could preserve 
 the rest of the inmates who soon grew deaf to the 
 sound of falling water, the clamors of watermen, or 
 the frequent shrieks of drowning wretches." The old 
 plays sometimes refer to the sound of the bridge 
 being heard over the whole city. This natural water- 
 fall was pressed into use to operate a set of force 
 pumps that supplied water to a large part of the 
 city. Much of the local travel that is now carried 
 on in cabs was then performed upon the river in small 
 
A GENERAL VIEW OF LONDON 11 
 
 boats. The cry with which one hailed a waterman 
 was Westward ho ! or Eastward ho ! according to the 
 direction. If, in the journey, it was necessary to 
 cross the bridge at mid-tide the passenger had to 
 land and wait. Sometimes they " shot " the bridge, 
 that is, took their chances of mishap and went over 
 the fall. The danger that attended this kind of 
 rapid transit gave rise to the proverb : London Bridge 
 was made for wise men to walk over and fools to 
 go under. When the Princess Elizabeth, afterwards 
 the Queen, was conveyed a prisoner to the Tower, 
 it was necessary for the boatman to row about in the 
 neighborhood of the bridge for an hour before it was 
 deemed safe to " shoot." 
 
 What to us appears the most peculiar feature of 
 this old bridge was not the starlings or the noisy 
 river, but the covered way or arcade that capped 
 the arches throughout the entire length. From end 
 to end, with the exception of two small openings, 
 London Bridge was covered with houses that inclosed 
 and roofed a narrow street: dwellings above and shops 
 below. There were many kinds of shops, but in the 
 time of Elizabeth the bridge was especially noted for 
 the manufacture of pins, and the fair dames of Lon- 
 don often bargained among the narrow stalls above 
 the water for this indispensable article of dress. 
 
 At the southern end of the bridge was a huge 
 towered gate-house whose principal use in the days 
 of Queen Bess was to afford a resting place for 
 traitors' heads. Imagine the trait of character that 
 prompted the people to flock to an execution by the 
 hundred, in holiday attire, and afterward gaze un- 
 shocked upon a score of bloody heads on pikes, grin- 
 
12 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 ning ghastly from the battlemented tower. About 
 midway on the bridge was a handsome chapel. Be- 
 neath the last three arches of the northern end were 
 the pumps for forcing water to which allusion has 
 already been made. At the London approach was 
 another tower, almost in ruins by the third quarter 
 of the century, and taken down by the end. 
 
 Unless Hentzner hailed a boat at the stairs of the 
 Bear tavern by the bridge foot with the cry of North- 
 ward ho ! he must have entered the city along the 
 gloomy bridge. The roadway through this structure 
 was scarcely wider than a single cart, and in the 
 press one had to exercise considerable ingenuity to 
 escape collision, the bridge being always a busy thor- 
 oughfare. At two places only were open spaces 
 where people could stand for safety. 
 
 Instead of following the Dutch traveler to his 
 tavern, let us take a general view of the outward 
 appearance of the city in methodical order. The city, 
 as has been said, was then comparatively small; it 
 was also comparatively open in the manner of build- 
 ing. For, though the streets presented solid and 
 continuous lines of house fronts, there were gardens 
 behind most of them. In fact, many of the city 
 blocks resembled open courtyards occupied on the 
 four sides with buildings. There were numerous 
 churches, and about most of them burying grounds of 
 considerable size. Furthermore, it was but a short 
 walk to the country in any direction. Ten minutes 
 was sufficient for a person to reach the open fields 
 from any part of London afoot. Hunting and hawk- 
 ing were still common sports of the neighborhood 
 and were carried on as near the center of the city 
 
A GENERAL VIEW OF LONDON 13 
 
 as the British Museum or the Liverpool Street 
 Station. 
 
 Elizabethan London, which in area corresponded 
 closely with the modern City, was surrounded by a 
 wall that remained almost intact on three sides till 
 a time long subsequent to that under description. 
 Even so early as the days of Fitzstephen the river 
 side of the wall had disappeared, leaving no trace of 
 its existence except in such names as Dowgate and 
 Billingsgate. The course of the Elizabethan wall was 
 from the north side of the Tower ditch, along the 
 Minories in a northwesterly direction to Aldgate; 
 then, curving west and north, followed Camomile and 
 Wormwood Streets and London Wall. The angle of 
 the wall at the northwest corner is still marked by the 
 existing base of the tower which stands in the church- 
 yard of St. Giles, Cripplegate. From this point the 
 wall turned directly south along the present Noble 
 Street, west, crossing Aldersgate Street, and south- 
 west between St. Bartholomew's the Great and 
 Christ's Hospital to a point west of Newgate prison. 
 Thence it ran south to Ludgate Hall, west to Lud- 
 gate Circus, and south again to the river. 
 
 The wall was built, except for a small portion, 
 upon the foundation of an earlier Roman wall. The 
 more recent structure was partly of rough stone and 
 partly of tile, and was capped by a battlemented wall 
 of brick and stone. At short and irregular intervals 
 were small towers in addition to the fortified gate- 
 house. None of these smaller towers has survived, 
 nor is there any accurate description of them. The 
 base of one in St. Giles churchyard has been men- 
 tioned and another was discovered after a fire about 
 
14. SHAKESPEARE 
 
 a century ago. It was two and twenty feet in height, 
 but not complete. 
 
 There were several gates: the Tower postern, Aid- 
 gate, Bishopsgate, Moorgate postern, Aldersgate, 
 Greyfriar's postern, Newgate, and Ludgate. These, 
 with the exceptions of the posterns, were huge tow- 
 ered structures, with, usually, a triple passage: one 
 for vehicles, the others for pedestrians. The latter 
 were closed at night by heavy doors, the former by 
 ponderous portcullises. Newgate and Ludgate were 
 used as prisons, the others often as private dwellings 
 for those who guarded the gates. 
 
 The wall on the outer side was bordered by a 
 ditch two hundred feet across ; on the west side, how- 
 ever, the place of the ditch was taken by the Fleet 
 River. Of old time the ditch not only was a defense, 
 but also supplied most of the water and much of 
 the fish used in the city. In Elizabethan times, 
 however, it had become too filthy for such purposes, 
 and was, moreover, encroached upon in many places, 
 filled up with debris, turned into garden plots, and 
 otherwise marred and displaced, much to the chagrin 
 of the old historian Stow. 
 
 This relic of mediaeval life had been of real service 
 to the city in the time of Queen Mary, and actually 
 formed an obstacle that turned to naught the ill- 
 starred rebellion of Essex; yet, in spite of these facts, 
 the wall was an obsolete and useless feature of Lon- 
 don life. It was no longer necessary as a protection, 
 and, in consequence, the city began to spread beyond 
 the limits of its confines at the beginning of the reign 
 of Elizabeth. By the end, the jurisdiction of the 
 Lord Mayor extended over the adjacent ground north 
 
A GENERAL VIEW OF LONDON 15 
 
 of the river in every direction for a distance varying 
 from one to three-fourths of a mile. All this area, 
 however, was not wholly occupied by buildings. On 
 the east, running northwest from the Tower, was a 
 single row of houses along the Minories. The same 
 was true of much of the north side of the city; but 
 in the immediate vicinity of the gates the populated 
 portion extended along the high road for some little 
 distance. There was, Stow tells us, a continuous line 
 of houses along the river east of the Tower for half 
 a mile or more; and the road from Bishopsgate was 
 well occupied all the way to Shoreditch Church, which 
 was well outside the city limits. Northwest of the 
 city in the vicinity of Smithfield, and the church and 
 hospital of St. Bartholomew's, a considerable hamlet 
 had sprung into existence. The Strand was lined 
 upon the south side with palatial residences all the 
 way to Westminster, though the mayor's jurisdiction 
 stopped then, as it does now, at Temple Bar. The 
 north side of the Strand was built upon for the first 
 time during the reign of Elizabeth. 
 
 The population of the city of that day cannot be 
 accurately given; but a fairly trustworthy estimate 
 can be obtained. The city contained in all likelihood 
 not far from one hundred thousand people, with as 
 many more in Westminster, Southwark, and the 
 neighboring suburbs to the north and west. It is in- 
 teresting to note the foreign population at this time. 
 In 1567 there were 40 Scots, 428 French, 45 Span- 
 iards and Portuguese, 140 Italians, 2,030 Dutch, 44 
 Burgundians, 2 Danes, and 1 Liegois. In 1580 there 
 were 2,302 Dutch, 1^838 French, ll6 Italians, 1,542 
 English born of foreign parents, and 664 not specified. 
 
16 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 The increase of native population kept pace with 
 the foreign increase, a tendency the government tried 
 hard to interrupt. A proclamation of Elizabeth for- 
 bade the erection of any new buildings upon hitherto 
 unoccupied sites within three miles of any of the 
 city gates. The same proclamation forbade more 
 than one family to live together in the same house. 
 The noble persons were fast removing their mansions 
 to new locations without the walls, and the last- 
 mentioned provision of the above proclamation was 
 directed against the popular custom of turning the 
 abandoned mansions into tenement houses, crowded 
 and filthy fosterers of the plague. The reason given 
 for this proclamation and some others of a similar 
 nature, which, however, were frequently violated, was 
 to prevent the danger arising from disease and dis- 
 order, both important factors in the Elizabethan life; 
 but there can be but little doubt that under the sur- 
 face of these building regulations lay a substantial 
 jealousy, if not an actual fear, of the rapidly growing 
 wealth and power of the city corporation. 
 
 Within the area bounded by the old wall the city 
 was divided by a few grand thoroughfares, but, for 
 the most part, by narrow and filthy streets. They 
 were dark and dingy from the proj ecting upper stories 
 of the gabled houses that shut out most of the light, 
 and dirty under foot, while one in passing was not in- 
 frequently deluged with the house-maid's slops from 
 an upper window. Most of the streets were poorly 
 paved, or not at all, with a kennel half full of stagnant 
 water in the center. Sometimes there was no specially 
 prepared footway; often such a convenience was little 
 more than indicated by a low line of posts. The 
 
A GENERAL VIEW OF LONDON 17 
 
 public streets were made the dumping grounds for 
 all sorts of rubbish. Scalding Alley owed its name 
 to the habit of scalding chickens there for sale in 
 the neighboring market of the Poultry. So little 
 was the value of correct sanitation known that as 
 late as 164-7 the following permission is recorded in 
 the official reports of the Royal Hospital: " No man 
 shall cast urine or ordure in the streets afore the hour 
 of nine in the night. Also he shall not cast it out 
 but bring it down and lay it in the channel." It is 
 not to be wondered at that the people often encoun- 
 tered the blue cross on a doorpost, the sign of plague, 
 or that statutes required every householder to build 
 a fire opposite his house three times a week in order 
 to purge the atmosphere. 
 
 The houses that lined these streets were of various 
 kinds. There were still standing many of the fine 
 old mansions of the nobility that retained the appear- 
 ance, though no longer the reality, of stone fortifica- 
 tions. One of the finest of these remained almost 
 until yesterday — Crosby Hall. The houses of con- 
 temporary build were usually of brick and timber, 
 eked out with lath and plaster, and constructed on a 
 less pretentious scale. The woodwork of the fronts 
 was often grotesquely carved and painted, and the 
 roof usually gabled towards the street, as is still to 
 be seen in the Staple Inn. 
 
 The windows were generally composed of small 
 panes of glass imbedded in lead, and opening case- 
 ment-wise; while each story of the house projected 
 several feet beyond the line of the story below. Often 
 a street of fair width on the ground showed but a 
 narrow sky line above, the house fronts being so 
 
18 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 close together that people could shake hands across 
 the space. In addition, shop-keepers often built pent- 
 houses against their lower walls for the display of 
 goods, thus encroaching still further upon the narrow 
 passage. 
 
 One is particularly struck by three details in con- 
 nection with the houses of old London : ( 1 ) The num- 
 ber of churches, to which allusion has already been 
 made. (2) The frequency of taverns. It would be 
 useless to attempt to catalogue the city taverns. Be- 
 sides the scores that are famous, there were other 
 scores and scores. Often and often Stow finishes the 
 description of an unimportant street with the words, 
 " containing many fair houses and divers taverns." 
 (3) The proximity of shops of the same nature. 
 Until quite recently Holywell Street, Strand, pre- 
 sented an aspect typical of Elizabethan London. 
 Both sides of the street were lined with the shops 
 of petty dealers in second-hand books, one adjoining 
 the other throughout the whole length of the street. 
 In Elizabethan times this custom was carried out 
 over the whole city. Thus the pin makers were upon 
 London Bridge, the apothecaries in Bucklesbury, the 
 goldsmiths in Cheapside, etc. Only the ubiquitous 
 tavern possessed no local habitation. 
 
 Then as now the smaller streets were named in 
 connection with their proximity to larger streets. As 
 there were no numbers in use, each house was indi- 
 cated by a sign, and much ingenuity was required 
 to diversify them. These signs were occasionally 
 painted upon the house fronts, or carved in the stone- 
 work; but more commonly they hung out over the 
 street, suspended from elaborate wrought-iron brack- 
 
A GENERAL VIEW OF LONDON 19 
 
 ets. Originally a sign had indicated an individual 
 shop-keeper's trade, but, just as the number of a 
 house remains to-day unchanged with change of occu- 
 pant, so the Elizabethan sign was generally perma- 
 nent. Thus came about the state of affairs that 
 Addison ridicules in The Spectator. 
 
 " I would enjoin every shop-keeper to make use 
 of a sign that bears some affinity to the wares in 
 which he deals. A cook should not live at the ' Boot,' 
 nor a shoemaker at ' The Roasted Pig,' and yet for 
 want of this regulation I have seen a goat set up 
 before the door of a perfumer and the French King's 
 head before a sword cutter's." 
 
 The streets of London were poorly lighted at night, 
 or not at all. Various acts provided that householders 
 should at regular intervals hang out lanterns; but 
 these lanterns did little or no good, for they were 
 only horn boxes containing a dim candle. Even so, 
 the acts were seldom obeyed, and one of the common 
 street cries was that of the watchman reminding a 
 delinquent householder that his lantern was not in 
 place. 
 
 The watchman, who was, too often, not at all unlike 
 Dogberry and his companions, went his rounds armed 
 with a huge halberd, and was about as useless for the 
 preservation of order as the numerous " Statutes for 
 Streets," which among other things forbade persons 
 to cry out at night, to blow a horn after nine o'clock, 
 to whistle, to cause a disturbance, or to do a thousand 
 and one other necessary acts. From time to time 
 special attempts were made to improve the efficiency 
 of the police, especially in regard to the arrest of 
 " sturdy beggars," the pest of Elizabethan London. 
 
20 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 But, do what they could, the fact remained that one 
 always wore his side arms for protection, and took 
 his life in his hands, when he stirred abroad after 
 nightfall. 
 
 In connection with the streets of London one might 
 mention the water supply of the city, since so great 
 a part of it was drawn from the public conduits in 
 the streets. Till the thirteenth century London de- 
 pended for its water supply wholly upon the neigh- 
 boring brooks and springs and upon the Thames. 
 With the growth of the city, however, the smaller 
 streams became polluted and, in 1236, the citizens 
 were given permission to convey water in pipes from 
 Tyburn to Cheapside. In 1285 was commenced the 
 great lead-lined cistern with a castellated structure 
 over it that was known as the Great Conduit in Cheap, 
 to which the water was conveyed a distance of three 
 and a half miles. 
 
 There were in and about London many springs and 
 wells that were turned to account in serving other con- 
 duits; and there was also a system of pipes supplied 
 by a pump under London Bridge. Besides the con- 
 duits in Cheapside, the principal conduits throughout 
 the city were as follows: the Tun upon Cornhill, the 
 conduit in Aldermanbury, the Standard in Fleet 
 Street, the Standard without Cripplegate, the con- 
 duit in Gracechurch Street, the conduit at Holborn 
 Cross, the Little Conduit at the Stocks Market, the 
 conduit at Bishopsgate, the conduit in London Wall 
 opposite Coleman Street, the conduit without Aldgate, 
 the conduit in Lothbury, and the conduit in Dow- 
 gate. 
 
 An annual custom in connection with the conduits 
 
A GENERAL VIEW OF LONDON 21 
 
 is thus described by Stow : " And particularly on the 
 18th of September, 1562, the Lord Mayor and others 
 . . . rid to the conduit heads for to see them after 
 the old custom (of annual inspection), and after 
 dinner they hunted the hare and killed her, and 
 thence to dinner at the head of the conduit . . . and 
 after dinner they went hunting the fox." 
 
 The vehicles encountered in the streets were mostly 
 the carts of costermongers, still more clumsy wagons, 
 men on horseback, chairs, and coaches. The latter, 
 however, were of infrequent use, having been but re- 
 cently introduced. It was considered so effeminate 
 as to be almost a disgrace for a man to be seen riding 
 in a coach, unless it were the occasion of some civic 
 or royal ceremony. 
 
 Stow in many places expresses his heartfelt en- 
 thusiasm for the city, such enthusiasm as a native 
 Londoner born within sound of Bow Bells would feel. 
 Elsewhere, however, the same Stow bewails the fol- 
 lowing state of affairs in the streets of his native 
 city: 
 
 "But now in our time, instead of these enormities, 
 others are come in place no less meet to be reformed, 
 namely purprestures, or encroachments on the high- 
 ways, lanes, and common grounds, in and about this 
 city; whereof a learned gentleman and grave citizen 
 hath not many years since written and exhibited a 
 book to the mayor and commonalty; which book 
 whether the same have been read by them and dili- 
 gently considered upon, I know not, but sure I 
 am nothing is reformed since concerning this mat- 
 ter. 
 
 " Then the number of cars, drays, carts, and 
 
22 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 coaches, more than hath been accustomed, the streets 
 and lanes being straightened, must needs be dan- 
 gerous, as daily experience proveth, 
 
 " The coachman rides behind the horse tails, lash- 
 eth them, and looketh not behind him; the drayman 
 sitteth and sleepeth on his dray, and letteth his horse 
 lead him home. I know that, by the good laws and 
 customs of this city, shodded carts are forbidden to 
 enter the same, except upon reasonable cause, as 
 service of the prince, or such like, they be tolerated. 
 Also that the fore horse of every carriage should be 
 led by hand ; but these good orders are not observed. 
 Of old time coaches were not known in this island, 
 but chariots or whirlicotes, then so called, and they 
 only used of princes or great estates, such as had 
 their footmen about them ; . . . but now of late years 
 the use of coaches, brought out of Germany, is taken 
 up, and made so common, as there is neither distinc- 
 tion of time nor difference of persons observed; for 
 the world runs on wheels with many whose parents 
 were glad to go on foot." 
 
 The close crowding of the city and the timber 
 framework of the buildings gave rise to the two great 
 dangers of the Elizabethan city: fire and plague. 
 People are prone to think of the great plague which 
 Defoe described as the only plague to which the 
 metropolis has been subjected; but, as a matter of 
 fact, this dread disease visited the city about once 
 in thirty years. It was not an uncommon happening 
 to have the court moved inland because of the danger 
 of infection, and it furnished the cause of many of 
 the brief closures of the theaters long before the 
 Puritans carried their way on moral grounds. Cam- 
 
A GENERAL VIEW OF LONDON 23 
 
 den asserts that in 1563 there were 21,530 deaths 
 from plague in London alone. 
 
 The streets of Elizabethan London were proverbi- 
 ally noisy, not only from the busy, jostling traffic, 
 but also from the innumerable street cries heard upon 
 every hand. It was the custom for an apprentice to 
 stand in the door of his master's shop and to solicit 
 trade of the passers-by with the cry of " What do 
 you lack?" A foreigner, who was likely to be ridi- 
 culed by the common people wherever he was met 
 in those days, or any other person who examined 
 articles without making a purchase, was liable to 
 the sarcastic chaff of the disappointed 'prentice; and 
 if the customer answered impudently he was likely 
 to have the whole brotherhood down upon him with 
 their clubs in a trice. Sir Walter Scott in The For- 
 tunes of Nigel has given an excellent picture of the 
 Elizabethan shop, the rude behavior of the appren- 
 tices, and a subsequent riot. 
 
 In the days of Elizabeth they declare by act of 
 common council that in ancient times the lanes of the 
 open city have been used and of right ought to be 
 used as the common highway only, and not for huck- 
 sters, pedlars, and hagglers to stand or to sell their 
 wares in, and to pass from street to street, hawking 
 and offering their wares. The preventive acts of 
 Elizabeth, however, chiefly illustrate the abuses in 
 full operation notwithstanding the violation of the 
 law; hence we are not surprised to find a number of 
 forbidden street cries alluded to in the old plays, 
 among which are the following: " Old clothes, any 
 old clothes " — " Buy, sell, or exchange, hats, caps, 
 etc." — " Any kitchen stuffs, have ye, maids " — (the 
 
24. SHAKESPEARE 
 
 latter was the cry of those who collected refuse for 
 the manufacture of soap and candles). " Ballads, 
 Almanacks," was the frequent cry of the itinerant 
 book-seller. Heywood, in The Rape of Lucrece, 
 under the head of cries of Rome, gives a series of 
 amusing illustrations of the London cries of his own 
 day. Many others are to be found in the second act 
 of Bartholomew Fair. Suffice it to say here that they 
 were of innumerable variety, representing nearly 
 every trade imaginable, and were heard like a con- 
 stant chorus in the streets. 
 
 The principal thoroughfares of London were as 
 follows : ( 1 ) From Newgate, across the city by Cheap- 
 side to Aldgate. (2) From Bishopsgate, south by 
 London Bridge to the Surrey Side. These were the 
 only thoroughfares that crossed the city completely. 
 
 (3) From Ludgate to the Tower by way of Candle- 
 wick Street, interrupted, however, by the necessity of 
 going through or around the churchyard of St. Paul's. 
 
 (4) Thames Street, that ran parallel to the river from 
 Blackfriars to the Tower. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 THE PLAYHOUSES 
 
 As early as the time of Henry the Seventh com- 
 panies of players constituted a part of the households 
 of the great noblemen of England. The players 
 were attached to the musical part of the establish- 
 ment; and presented the morality plays and the in- 
 terludes, the forerunners of the Elizabethan drama. 
 When the services of the players were not needed 
 by the master the actors were allowed to wander 
 about the country at will. The most adaptable place 
 to be found in the rural districts for dramatic pur- 
 poses was the interior of the village tavern. During 
 the years just previous to 1576 a small group of 
 London taverns had become in reality the theaters 
 of the day. 
 
 The English tavern of those days contained a cen- 
 tral quadrangular courtyard entered through a large 
 doorway at one end. About this court were galleries, 
 one above the other, at the level of each story. When 
 a play was to be performed, the actors would erect a 
 temporary platform upon trestles at the end of the 
 court, and extending back beneath the first gallery. 
 From this gallery they would hang draperies so as 
 to convert the back part of the platform and the 
 court into a sort of dressing room. The spectators 
 of the play stood about in the open court, or sat upon 
 
 25 
 
26 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 stools placed in the galleries. As we shall see in a 
 few moments, this impromptu arrangement contains 
 all the essential features of the earliest Elizabethan 
 theaters. 
 
 The principal London taverns thus used were the 
 Bull and the Cross Keys, both in Gracechurch Street, 
 and the Bel Savage on Ludgate Hill. The Black- 
 friar's tavern should not be confused with later the- 
 aters of the same name. There was another Bull in 
 Bishopsgate Street, and one " Nigh Paul's " about 
 which nothing else is known. So, too, was used the 
 Boar's Head in Eastcheap, the gathering place of 
 Falstaff and his merry companions. 
 
 By the end of the third quarter of the century 
 Puritanism had taken a fair hold on the people of 
 London. This is no place to describe in detail the 
 long factional quarrel which resulted in the expulsion 
 of the players from the city. Suffice it to say that 
 the long dispute culminated in an order from the 
 town council prohibiting the performance of plays 
 within the jurisdiction of the Lord Mayor. So the 
 actors set to work at once to build theaters. The 
 first two to be built were north of the city wall. 
 Soon, however, the Bankside, on the opposite shore 
 of the river, became more popular. It is now alone 
 associated with the original performance of most of 
 the greatest Elizabethan plays. 
 
 The first playhouse to be built was The Theater, 
 erected in 1576 by James Burbage, once a carpenter, 
 later a play-actor. Of the construction of The The- 
 ater practically nothing is known. No picture or 
 detailed description of it is extant. It must, however, 
 have been a ramshackle affair, for, in regard to it. 
 
THE PLAYHOUSES 27 
 
 one of the Lord Mayor's proclamations refers to 
 " the perils from ruins of such weak buildings." And 
 it was subsequently demolished quickly and with ease. 
 In December, 1598, or January, 1599^ The Theater 
 was taken down and the material, so far as possible, 
 used in the construction of Shakespeare's new play- 
 house on the Bankside, the Globe. 
 
 The other theater north of the city was probably 
 built the same year — 1576. It was near at hand, 
 and from what scanty information we have of it, one 
 fancies it much like The Theater. Its name, the 
 Curtain, does not imply the use of a curtain therein. 
 The name was derived from a military fortification, 
 a curtain, on whose site it was built. 
 
 The Rose, the earliest of the Bankside theaters, 
 was built by Henslowe, probably before 1592. It 
 was circular, whereas most of the other Bankside 
 theaters were hexagonal or octagonal. It was also 
 a very low building in comparison with the others. 
 The flagstaff rises from the interior, and the usual 
 hut is lacking. This flag and hut, as we shall see, 
 are very important details in the construction of the 
 early theaters. 
 
 When The Theater north of the city was demol- 
 ished the materials were carried across London Bridge 
 to Southwark, where they were incorporated in the 
 new Globe. This was in 1599, in all likelihood. The 
 theater became the home of Shakespeare's company. 
 Here he acted minor parts in his own plays, and here 
 appeared for the first time the great series of his 
 tragedies from Julius Coesar to Coriolanus. It served 
 as the model of the Fortune to be referred to later, so 
 little need be said of its construction here. It is 
 
28 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 sufficient to say that it was a relatively tall building, 
 open to the sky, and that it possessed a double- 
 gabled hut from which projected the flagstaff. These 
 huts will be spoken of later. They constitute one 
 of the Elizabethan theatrical enigmas. 
 
 This theater was burned to the ground in 1613 
 during a performance of Henry the Eighth. It was, 
 however, immediately rebuilt and remained in exist- 
 ence till 1644, when it was taken down to make room 
 for a pile of tenements. 
 
 The original site of the Bear Garden contained a 
 circular inclosure for the baiting of bulls and bears 
 — hence its name. The first bear ring, we know not 
 when, was rebuilt rectangular in form. In I6O6 it 
 was again rebuilt by Peter Street, who had already 
 built the Globe. And in l6l3 it was again rebuilt 
 in its final form. For a short time the new theater 
 was known as the Hope, but it soon returned to the 
 use of its more venerable name. 
 
 Farther west was the Swan. Though one of the 
 largest theaters, it was not long, and never exclusively 
 used for plays. Like the Eear Garden, it possessed a 
 movable stage which could be taken down when the 
 interior was to be used for bear-baiting. Though 
 one of the minor theaters, it is of great historical im- 
 portance. This is due to the fact that a view of the 
 interior which has come down to us is the only con- 
 temporary picture of the interior of an Elizabethan 
 playhouse extant. 
 
 In 1599 the Rose theater was falling into decay. 
 Again Peter Street was called upon to build a the- 
 ater, this time the Fortune, this on the city side of 
 the river, not on the Bankside. The contract for 
 
Interior of tiiI': Swax Theater 
 
THE PLAYHOUSES 29 
 
 building the structure has been preserved and forms 
 the basis of the graphic reconstructed drawing given 
 opposite page 32. This square theater was burned in 
 1621, and rebuilt as a round brick building. 
 
 The other of the two theaters b«.longing to Shake- 
 speare's company was called the Blackfriars.* It 
 was on the city side of the river, and was known 
 as a private theater, that is, it was smaller, higher- 
 priced, more select, and roofed over. This latter de- 
 tail necessitated some kind of artificial lighting during 
 the performance, notwithstanding the fact that the 
 plays were given in the daytime. 
 
 It was common practice in those days for the play- 
 ers to parade the streets of London with music on 
 the day of performance. As there was then but one 
 bridge across the river and Bankside on the opposite 
 side from the city, persons on their way to the the- 
 aters often made use of the numberless small ferry- 
 boats that plied upon the river. As the playhouses 
 were open to the sky bad weather often prevented 
 a performance — hence the value of the flag appearing 
 in all the early representations. This flag could be 
 seen across the river from the city side. If, for 
 any reason, an advertised performance was aban- 
 doned at the last moment, the flag was lowered. Thus 
 the would-be theater-goer would be saved the trouble 
 of crossing the river to a disappointment. 
 
 General admission was collected at the outer door. 
 The increased price of the best seats was collected 
 
 * Recent discoveries have revealed the existence of an 
 earlier theater by this name. A convenient account of the 
 matter is to be found in The Elizabethan Playhouse and 
 Other Studies, by W. J. Lawrence; Lippincott, 1912. 
 
30 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 inside. Prices, of course, varied with the occasion, 
 and with the theater. Admission was sometimes as 
 low as a penny (about twenty cents, for money was 
 then worth about ten times its present value). A 
 good seat, however, frequently cost a shilling, that 
 is, about two dollars in our money. Prices for a first 
 performance were usually double. The plays were 
 performed by daylight in the afternoon. 
 
 Once within the doorway of the theater the spec- 
 tator found himself within a large, circular inclosure 
 into which projected the stage. The floor of the 
 central area, called the " yard " was the bare clay or 
 turf, and was not furnished with seats. About the 
 yard were three galleries, one above another, divided 
 into sections called " rooms." The lower rooms could 
 be reached by steps from the yard as well as from 
 a door in the rear of each room. The music room, 
 so often referred to in the old plays, was probably 
 one of these rooms nearest the stage. Later, how- 
 ever, as structural improvements were introduced, 
 the portion thus called and reserved for the use of 
 the musicians was in all likelihood a continuation on 
 either side of the upper stage, which will be described 
 later. The people who occupied the yard were called 
 " groundlings," because they stood on the ground. 
 They were the commoner sort of tradesmen, appren- 
 tices, and petty venders, loose women, pickpockets, 
 and the like. The better sort of quietly disposed 
 people sat in the rooms. Respectable women some- 
 times accompanied their husbands to the rooms, but 
 on such occasions they always went masked. Not 
 to do so was a sign of loose morals. 
 
 The stage projected into the yard, was rectangular. 
 
THE PLAYHOUSES 31 
 
 and occupied about one-fourth of the area. In the 
 earlier theaters the stage was an open platform upon 
 trestles, later it was boxed in, and in one or two of 
 the theaters it may have been provided with a railing. 
 At any rate, from its projecting position it was open 
 to the view of the audience from three sides. This 
 necessitated all entrances and exits being made from 
 the back or very near it. The stage, however, was 
 not wholly given up to the actors. It was upon either 
 side of the stage that the gallants placed their stools, 
 often arriving late for the mere fun of making a 
 disturbance. These were the most expensive seats 
 in the house, corresponding in a way to the box seats 
 of to-day. 
 
 The space directly behind the stage was occupied 
 by a three-story structure. The stage doors opened 
 into the dressing rooms on the first floor. The sec- 
 ond story was like a room with the front wall re- 
 moved, so that its interior was visible to the audi- 
 ence. It was called the upper stage, or the upper 
 gallery. In it were originally represented those parts 
 of the play that were supposed to be separated from 
 what was being acted on the lower or main stage. 
 Before the added improvement of a rear or inner 
 stage on the ground floor, we should imagine the 
 Juliet in the famous balcony scene as appearing on 
 the upper stage, while Romeo stood on the stage 
 proper. The play before the king and the court in 
 Hamlet was acted on the upper stage. In the history 
 plays the defenders of the city walls and ramparts 
 would appear on the upper stage, and the besiegers 
 on the stage proper below. 
 
 The third story of this rear structure was the hut 
 
32 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 that was visible from the outside of the building, 
 and whose use can only be guessed at. It seems 
 almost too elaborate to have been built merely to 
 shelter the bugler before he came out to announce 
 the beginning of the play. Nor is its erection justi- 
 fied on the score that it was a mere support for the 
 flagstaff. This point, however, will be returned to 
 later. 
 
 From a point above the upper stage a canopy 
 projected forward sufficiently to cover one-third or 
 one-half of the lower stage. It was called the 
 " heaven," or the " shadow," and served partly as a 
 shelter for the actors in inclement weather. 
 
 All of these chief structural points are illustrated 
 in the interior of the Swan, the only contemporary 
 picture of the interior of an Elizabethan theater that 
 has come down to us. 
 
 What is certainly a more trustworthy guide to the 
 interior construction of these theaters in the zenith 
 of their fame is the drawing of the interior of the 
 Fortune opposite this page. It is constructed by 
 a modern draughtsman from all the data obtainable, 
 including the builder's contract for the Fortune. 
 Note that the space between the stage and the ground 
 is concealed from the sight of the audience. Such 
 a scene as that of Hamlet at the grave of Ophelia 
 could be adequately represented on this stage, but 
 not on the stage of the Swan, where the spectators 
 could see beneath the floor. Note the two doors, one 
 at either side towards the rear of the middle stage.* 
 
 * The portion of the stage proper from the columns that 
 support the shadow forward towards the audience is re- 
 ferred to as the front or the outer stage. From this point 
 
YARD 
 
 Intkrior of Tin: ]'^)i;TrN'E Theater 
 
THE PLAYHOUSES 33 
 
 In a moment reference will be made to the traverse 
 curtain. This curtain was drawn across so as to cut 
 off the rear stage from the middle stage. Probably 
 there was another traverse drawn between the col- 
 umns supporting the shadow which could be used to 
 cut off the middle stage from the outer stage. 
 
 From the same data has been constructed the plan 
 shown opposite page 34. Notice that when either of the 
 traverses is drawn there is nothing to indicate any 
 division of one stage from another. It is all one 
 space, with a slightly irregular shape. 
 
 The cross-section of an Elizabethan theater 
 shown facing page 38 is the result of one of those 
 attempts to incorporate what is known as generally 
 applicable into a typical drawing rather than to make 
 a representation of any particular theater. Note the 
 provision made for sub-stage effects. Also notice that 
 scenes upon painted cloths could be let down from 
 rollers contained in the triangular spaces above the 
 middle stage. And there is fairly presumptive evi- 
 dence that something of the sort was actually done. 
 
 Now let me describe the usual form of stage 
 presentation in Shakespeare's time. After a bugler 
 had announced from the hut by three calls of the 
 bugle at intervals of a minute that the play was about 
 to begin, the prologue entered. He was dressed in 
 a black cloak and crowned with bay leaves. When 
 the prologue had finished his speech, which usually 
 contained an apology for the stage effects, or an 
 
 in the opposite direction to the wall of the tiring house is re- 
 ferred to as the back or the middle stage. In the center, 
 and beyond this towards the rear, was a space yet to be de- 
 scribed which is referred to as the rear or the inner stage. 
 
34> SHAKESPEARE 
 
 explanation of what was to follow, or some other 
 matter in connection with the play, he withdrew, leav- 
 ing the stage to the possession of the actors. The 
 place of the scene was in some cases indicated by 
 a placard or " title." 
 
 It is known that a title was often hung out to 
 indicate the name of the play. It was the custom 
 then to decide, oftentimes, at the last moment, what 
 play was performed. Sometimes the bill was quickly 
 changed at the will of the audience. More difference 
 of opinion exists among critics as to the use of the 
 title to represent the scene. In earlier times the 
 staging was much cruder than in later years. There 
 was what was known as multiple staging, where one 
 part of the stage represented one location, another 
 another, and so on. In such cases titles were proba- 
 bly hung up. If the actor made his exit through one 
 door labeled Rome, or entered through that door, the 
 audience understood the scene as at Rome. But as 
 improvements in the theaters were introduced and 
 the staging became more realistic, this practice be- 
 came less and less used. It is probable that the title 
 was used very little in the height of the Elizabethan 
 age to represent the location of the scene. 
 
 As the play progressed the end of the scene was 
 usually marked by the clearing of the stage for a 
 moment, or the drawing of one of the traverse cur- 
 tains. The end of the act was frequently marked by 
 dancing or by music. In some plays specific direc- 
 tions are given in this regard. In others there is no 
 indication of the fact. The time of duration of a play 
 in those days precludes the possibility of many or 
 long intermissions. Some places show that the inter- 
 
Plan of the Fortixe Theater 
 
THE PLAYHOUSES 35 
 
 act music began before the act was quite finished, and 
 continued till after the next act was begun, thus 
 minimizing the actual time of intermission. It is prob- 
 able that the Elizabethans did not consider the di- 
 vision into acts as a structural necessity, and that 
 intermissions were introduced sparingly for the pur- 
 pose of relief to the audience, or changing of setting: 
 
 At the end of the play was music and a sort of 
 comic aftermath known as the jig. The verses at 
 the end of Twelfth Night constitute such a jig. Else- 
 where in the present volume the last act of the Mer- 
 chant of Venice is explained as an expansion of the 
 customary jig. This diversion, we suppose, followed 
 even a serious tragedy. 
 
 The Elizabethan writers constantly refer to the 
 poverty of their stage effects. Doubtless they spoke 
 in comparison with the costly machinery of the court 
 masks. At all events, these statements seem to have 
 been sometimes taken a trifle too seriously by critics. 
 The Elizabethans were certainly rich in properties. 
 The following are taken from the numerous lists 
 quoted by Fleay and others. 
 
 The castle for Lady Peace or Lady Plenty, and 
 the prison in which Discord is watched by Argus; 
 frozen heads ; Turk's heads ; a monster in which Ben- 
 bow played; women's masker's hats; fisher's masker's 
 nets; spears for play of Cariclia; holly for Dutton's 
 play; holly for forest; fishermen's trays; palmer's 
 staff; vizard for ape's face; key and hailstones for 
 Janus; altar for Theogines; Andromeda's picture; 
 black physician's beard; palmer's hair; two squirts 
 for Paul's children; the monarch's gown; a basket to 
 hang Diligence in in the play of Probia, etc. 
 
36 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 In February, 1577, a play was prepared for court 
 presentation in which a " counterfeit well " was car- 
 ried from the Bell in Gracious Street. Artificial 
 horses often figure in the old plays; a box-tree is 
 used in Trvelfth Night; Slitgut climbs into a tree in 
 Eastward Hoe; Isabella cuts down the arbor in The 
 Spanish Tragedy; ordnance was constantly shot off 
 in the history plays; in Locrine there is a crocodile 
 stung by a snake and both of them fall into the water ; 
 tents are pitched in many of the history plays; 
 tables, chairs, beds, boxes, chests, piles of rock, etc., 
 etc., are frequently mentioned. 
 
 The greatest money outlay referred to in the ex- 
 pense accounts of Henslowe is for costumes. The 
 clothes worn by the actors were often magnificent. 
 They were, however, Elizabethan garments. Cos- 
 tuming in the modern sense of the word was then 
 unknown. Julius Caesar wore an Elizabethan doublet, 
 and alludes to it in the lines of the play. Richard 
 the Third wore Elizabethan armor. One of the ear- 
 liest notices of the actual use of garments in accord- 
 ance with correct historical setting relates to that ill- 
 starred performance of Henry the Eighth in which 
 the Globe Theater was burned to the ground. 
 
 Wright, in The Second Generation of Actors, says 
 that there were no scenes in Elizabethan times, and 
 it is impossible to disprove his assertion absolutely. 
 There is reason to believe, however, that there was 
 some scenery in the modern sense of the word. There 
 are numerous passages in the old plays where people 
 point to and discuss certain things in a way that 
 would seem far more unreal if the actor were point- 
 ing to nothing in particular than if the descriptive 
 
THE PLAYHOUSES 37 
 
 passage were altogether left out. The burlesque in 
 A Midsummer Night's Dream, performed by Bottom 
 and his companions, loses its point if we imagine 
 that there was no scenery on the Elizabethan stage 
 to become the subject of a burlesque.* 
 
 The Elizabethans were not shocked by certain sit- 
 uations that would seem impossibly incongruous to us ; 
 but this fact is hardly warrant for supposing that 
 they altogether lacked the sense of congruity. While 
 searching about for a cheap substitute for the elab-" 
 orate scenery of the court masks that was so familiar 
 to the Elizabethans, one is struck by the mention of 
 painted cloths among their expense accounts. These 
 were the popular substitutes for tapestry and interior 
 hangings of all kinds, decorated with pictures, often 
 narrating whole stories by a series. Such properties 
 the players had, for we find them mentioned in their 
 lists. Why should they possess them if they did not 
 use them } Why should not many of the passages that 
 so readily apply to a visible scene have been uttered 
 with the scene described actually present in the form 
 of a painted cloth covering the back of the stage.'' 
 The hut above the upper stage, or stage gallery, seems 
 to have been too pretentious a structure to have served 
 no other purpose than that of a flagstaff support, or 
 a standing ground for the bugler. It may have con- 
 tained rollers by which the painted cloths were let 
 down. The idea of elaborate stage scenery was not 
 unknown to the Elizabethans, though barred from the 
 public stage by expense. Nor is it possible to un- 
 
 * The full significance of this fact in relation to A Mid- 
 summer Night's Dream was first pointed out to me by one 
 of my students, Mr, Russell Sharp. 
 
38 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 derstand the rapid development in construction and 
 staging after the Restoration unless we imagine a 
 beginning in earlier times. Such facts^ at least, lend 
 probability to the surmise that the Elizabethans had 
 crude representations of scenes other than what were 
 merely suggested by suitable properties. 
 
 There was, we know, a fair-sized space closed off 
 at times by a curtain which could be drawn open 
 at will. This space seems to have been about ten by 
 twenty-five feet and was located at the rear of the 
 stage. There was also a middle space with two doors 
 opening to it in such a position that exits and en- 
 trances could be managed independently of the inner 
 stage. This is what we call the middle stage. There 
 must have been secondary curtains. One was the 
 traverse used to shut off the inner stage. The others 
 were probably merely draperies temporarily placed 
 for the occasion of need. Possibly there were side 
 curtains used, to be referred to elsewhere. 
 
 The entrances to the inner stage were from the 
 side. It is possible, however, that this convenience 
 existed only in the more up-to-date theaters. The 
 gallery was certainly in existence from an early time, 
 and was usually called the upper stage. This also 
 could be cut off from the view of the audience by a 
 curtain. I am not so sure that the upper stage was 
 directly over the inner stage. Possibly it projected 
 over it slightly, but this is a detail of minor impor- 
 tance. A window in the back part of the inner stage 
 enabled one to look out into space and to suggest by 
 his words a prospect that the audience could not see. 
 
 There is fair presumption that windows existed 
 above the doors that opened upon the lower stage. 
 
g'Sra^rSarSS^asSSBTOBRI^ 
 
 Cross-section of the Elizabethan Stage 
 (A(lai)ted from a print by Brodineier) 
 
 A. Loft, possibly used for painted rloths, E. Inner Stage. 
 
 B. Loft for proi>erties and nuichinery. F, Outer Stage, 
 
 C. Balcony Stage. G. Steps for Trap, etc. 
 
 D. liear Stag-e. II. Space under Front Stage. 
 
 From The Deir/'irment .it Shak'sfenre as a Dramatist by George P. Baker 
 rrlie Macniillan Company I 
 
THE PLAYHOUSES 39 
 
 This is an important detail in staging such scenes as 
 the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet, as this ar- 
 rangement would allow both actors to stand sideways 
 to the audience, a much more effective position than 
 that in which one faced and the other stood with his 
 back to the audience. 
 
 Scenes in Elizabethan plays are of two kinds. 
 There are those having an indefinite location, or, at 
 least, a location which enables them to be easily 
 staged without accessory properties; and also those 
 scenes that do require the setting up of various prop- 
 erties and paraphernalia. The former are called 
 outer scenes because they were acted on the outer 
 stage with no scenic accompaniment; and the latter 
 inner scenes because they made use of the middle and 
 inner stages where the properties had been set in 
 preparation. 
 
 And this is the point. While an outer scene was 
 being acted with the traverse curtain hiding the inner 
 stage the setting of the inner scene to follow was 
 being put into place. At the proper time the traverse 
 was drawn and the scene acted on the inner and outer 
 stage combined. At the end the curtains were again 
 drawn shut. While scene three was being acted on 
 the outer stage the setting of scene two was being 
 taken away and that of scene four put in place. And 
 so on alternately. It must not be assumed that this 
 principle was followed with such monotonous regu- 
 larity as is suggested by the above. See the discus- 
 sion of The Merchant of Venice, where it is shown 
 that the same inner scene is returned to again and 
 again throughout the first three acts of the play. 
 
 This conception of the method of staging Eliza- 
 
40 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 bethan plays removes two stumbling-blocks that have 
 hitherto been in the way. First, the rapidity with 
 which an Elizabethan play was performed, for we 
 know that the duration of a performance was scarcely 
 longer than it takes to pronounce the lines, is ac- 
 counted for. Second, the old idea that everything in 
 the way of change upon the stage was performed in 
 plain sight of the audience not only contradicts and 
 renders unintelligible many of the contemporary stage 
 directions but also suggests intrusions and distractions 
 necessary to the changing of properties which would 
 have entirely upset the unity if not the gravity of the 
 piece. 
 
 If I were constructing a new picture of an Eliza- 
 bethan stage I should attempt to include one detail 
 which, though of great importance, has been thus far 
 altogether ignored. I refer to the fact that part of 
 the audience sat upon the stage itself. And this 
 detail is of twofold importance. Elizabethan men 
 wore clothes that for variety of form and brilliancy 
 of color exceeded the fashion even of party dress 
 among women of to-day. What hostess to-day could 
 give a ball and decorate her drawing-room in advance 
 so that the colors would harmonize with the colors 
 of the gowns worn by her expected guests ? Yet those 
 who have had anything to do with theatrical aflfairs 
 know how necessary it is to plan harmoniously every 
 detail of the stage picture from costume to drapery, 
 and paper on the wall. Now this possibility was 
 denied the Elizabethan stage manager, who could 
 never estimate in advance the unknown quantity of 
 many gaily-dressed young men on the stage itself in 
 close proximity to the actors. 
 
THE PLAYHOUSES 41 
 
 On the other hand^ this very fact gave him one 
 splendid opportunity denied the modern playwright. 
 I once saw The Merchant of Venice played in a small 
 country town by a troupe of barnstormers. In the 
 great trial scene, impressive as it was even under 
 such circumstances, the ticket seller, two ushers, and 
 a village lad were pressed into service to make up 
 the unruly rabble of spectators in the court-room. 
 At another time I saw the same play put on the stage 
 by Sir Henry Irving. In his production a score of 
 trained persons, carefully costumed and drilled in 
 their parts, appeared in this scene with never a line 
 to speak. I was impressed at the time with the rela- 
 tive expense of this detail. This, however, is what 
 the Elizabethan stage manager found ready to hand. 
 Actors and people wore the same kind of clothes, 
 though they might differ in cut and color. Nothing 
 was seen in the audience that might not have appeared 
 on the stage. In The Knight of the Burning Pestle 
 a member of the audience climbs upon the stage, and 
 it is some time before it becomes apparent that he 
 is in reality one of the actors. If an actor stepped 
 suddenly among the spectators seated along the sides 
 of the stage he could not be distinguished by general 
 appearance from one who had just risen to his 
 feet from among the stage portion of the audience. 
 Thus the stage manager could always count upon 
 merging his small handful of actors on the stage into 
 the larger group of spectators, also on the stage, 
 without the least hint of discord, just as the real 
 scenery of a modern stage merges into the painted 
 perspective at the back. 
 
 And now let us look for a moment at the character 
 
42 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 of the audience in an Elizabethan playhouse. For, 
 perhaps, it was largely due to this unruly audience 
 that Ben Jonson was put upon the shelf and his rival 
 Shakespeare kept alive for us to to-day. 
 
 That was a cruel, boisterous, half-savage age. The 
 people were superstitious; they believed ardently in 
 witchcraft, ghosts, and fairies; many of the sports 
 both of boys and of men were cruel to a degree with 
 which we now have no sympathy. Branding in the 
 face, slitting the nose, clipping the ears, even hang- 
 ing, were penalties inflicted for petty crimes. Men 
 wore swords as a habit and were accustomed to taking 
 the law into their own hands. From such a people 
 we must expect noisy behavior in the playhouse, 
 though they were, in many respects, much more ap- 
 preciative of the drama than the modern audience. 
 
 The people who sat in the rooms were, as a rule, 
 well enough inclined. The characteristic scenes hap- 
 pened in the yard and on the margins of the stage. 
 The former, having no seats, tempted people to move 
 about during the performance. Doubtless a person 
 bent on crossing the yard used his arms and elbows 
 freely, and trod on people's toes. If the audience 
 was in a good humor this sort of behavior would pro- 
 voke a general laugh; but, likely as not, there would 
 be angry blows, sometimes a general row. 
 
 During the play venders of apples, cakes, ale, to- 
 bacco, etc., hawked their goods about the yard and 
 in the galleries. Sometimes a deeply tragic part 
 would be interrupted by a cry of " Pickpocket ! 
 Caught ! " The play would be stopped while the luck- 
 less cutpurse was hustled out of the theater. 
 
 The gentlemen on the stage were little better. It 
 
THE PLAYHOUSES 43 
 
 was thought a clever trick to come in late enough to 
 interrupt the prologue with a lot of noise in placing 
 one's stool. Once in their seats the gallants did not 
 scruple to bandy words with people in the yard, flirt 
 with women in the rooms, or interrupt the players 
 during a speech. We are told that sometimes these 
 gallants crowded so close upon the stage that the 
 players came forward and appealed to the audience 
 to know whether more room was not needed in which 
 to act. If the play for the day was not liked, the 
 actors were pelted and hooted off the stage. 
 
 Among the numerous pamphlets of Elizabethan 
 times, none is so racy, so amusing, or so useful as 
 a bit of social history as The Gull's Hornbook. The 
 following is taken from the direction of a young gal- 
 lant about to go to the theater. 
 
 "Whether therefore the gatherers of the Publique or 
 Private Play-house stand to receive the afternoones rent, 
 let our Gallant (having paid it) presently advance him- 
 self up to the Throne of the Stage ... on the very Rushes 
 where the Commedy is to daunce, yea, and under the state 
 of Cambises himself must our feathered Estridge like a 
 piece of Ordnance, be planted, valiantly (because impu- 
 dently) beating down the mewes and hisses of the op- 
 posed rascality. 
 
 "By sitting on the stage, you may (with small cost), 
 purchase the deere acquaintance of the boyes; have a good 
 stoole for sixpence; at any time know what particular 
 part any of the infants present; get your match lighted, 
 examine the play suits, lace, and perhaps win wagers upon 
 laying it is copper, etc. 
 
 " And to conclude, whether you be a fool or a Justice 
 of the peace, a Cuckold or a Capten, a Lord-Maiors Sonne, 
 or a dawcock, a knave or an under-Sheriff ; of what stamp 
 soever you be, current or counterfeit, the stage, like time, 
 will bring you to most perfect light and lay you open: 
 
44, SHAKESPEARE 
 
 neither are you to be hunted from thence, though the 
 Scarecrows in the yard hoot at you, hiss at you, spit at 
 you, yea, throw dirt even in your teeth; 'tis most gentleman 
 like patience to endure all this, and to laugh at the silly 
 Animals: but if the Babble, with a full throat cry away 
 with the foole, you were worse than a madman to tarry 
 by it; for the gentleman and the foole should never sit 
 on the stage together. . . . 
 
 " Present yourself not on the Stage (especially at a new 
 play) untill the quaking prologue hath (by rubbing) got 
 color into his cheeks, and is ready to give the trumpets 
 their Cue, that hees upon point to enter; for then it is 
 time, as though you were one of the properties, or that you 
 dropt out of ye Hangings to creep from behind the Arras, 
 with your Tripos or three footed stoole in one hand, and 
 a teston mounted between a fore-finger and a thumb in 
 the other; for if you should bestow your person upon the 
 vulgar when the belly of the house is but half full, your 
 apparell is quite eaten up, the fashion lost, and the propor- 
 tion of your body in more danger to be devoured than if 
 you were served up in the Counter amongst the Powltry; 
 avoid that as you would the Bastome, It shall crown you 
 with rich commendation to laugh aloud in the middest 
 of the most serious and saddest scene of the terriblest 
 Tragedy; and let that clapper (your tongue) be tost so 
 high, that all the house may ring of it. . . . As first, all 
 the eyes in the gallery will leave walking after the Players, 
 and onely follow you; the simplest dolt in the house 
 snatches up your name, and when he meets you in the 
 streets, or that you fall into his hands in the middle of 
 a Watch, his word shall be taken for you; heele cry Hees 
 such a gallant, and you passe . . . 
 
 "Before the play begins, fall to cards; you may win 
 or loose (as fencers do in a prize) and beat one-another 
 by confederacie, yet share the money when you meet at 
 supper; notwithstanding, to gul the Raggamuffins that stand 
 aloofe gaping at you, throw the cards (having first torn 
 four or five of them) round the Stage, just upon the third 
 sound, as though you had lost; it skills not if the four 
 knaves ly on their backs, and outface the Audience; theres 
 
THE PLAYHOUSES 45 
 
 none such fools as dare take exception at them, because, 
 ere the play go oflF, better knaves than they will fall into 
 the company. 
 
 " Now, sir, if the writer be a fellow that hath both 
 either epigrammd you, or hath had a flirt at your mis- 
 tress, or hath brought either your feather, or your red 
 beard, or your little legs, &c. on the stage, you shall dis- 
 grace him worse than by tossing him in a blanket, or 
 giving him a bastinado in a Tavern, if, in the middle of 
 his play, you rise with a screwd and discontented face 
 from your stoole and be gone; no matter whether the 
 scenes be good or no; the better they are the worse do you 
 distaste them; and, being on your feet, sneak not away 
 like a coward, but salute all your gentle acquaintance, that 
 are spread either on the rushes, or on stooles about you, 
 and draw what troup you can after you; the Mimicks are 
 beholden to you, for allowing them elbow roome ; their poet 
 cries, perhaps, a pox go with you, but care not for that, 
 theres no music without frets. 
 
 " Marry, if either the company, or the indisposition of 
 the weather bind you to sit it out, my counsel is then that 
 you turn plain Ape, take up a rush, and tickle the earnest 
 eares of your fellow gallants, to make other fooles fall 
 a laughing; mew at passionate speeches, blare at merrie, 
 find fault with the musicke, whew at the childrens Action, 
 whistle at the songs, and above all, curse the sharers. ..." 
 
 Though The Gull's Hornbook is a comical satire, 
 Dekker truly represents the time. Yet the Eliza- 
 bethan audience was not all bad. Their rudeness was, 
 in the main, good-natured, not a rudeness due to 
 malice. Furthermore, the Elizabethans knew a good 
 play when they saw it. Many a poor comedy that 
 satisfies the popular taste to-day would never have 
 got safely through the first night three hundred years 
 ago. This fact has much to do with the general ex- 
 cellence of the Elizabethan drama. After all, there 
 was manifested in the audience of that day the gen- 
 
46 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 uine spirit of true sport, of every fellow for himself, 
 and give the Devil his due, that has always character- 
 ized the English, whether of the time of the Armada 
 or of Waterloo. 
 
 So far I have attempted to give the generally ac- 
 cepted picture of the Elizabethan stage. Let me end 
 the chapter by reference to one of the mooted points 
 about which there are two opinions. 
 
 In the study of Shakespeare's plays the present 
 writer lays great stress upon two points as con- 
 tributive above all others to thorough appreciation: 
 1. A knowledge of the social life and conditions of 
 the people at the time the plays were written. 2. An 
 understanding of Elizabethan staging. It is true that 
 the effect of modern stagecraft is often ruinous to 
 Shakespeare's plays. They were written for other 
 conditions. The modern dress is an awkward misfit. 
 Wherever possible or necessary, I have attempted in 
 the following pages to suggest the Elizabethan setting. 
 
 This chapter has shown from what scanty material 
 much of the story of Elizabethan staging has been 
 constructed. The question may be put as to some of 
 the suggestions contained in the following pages as 
 to how I know it was done that way. To be truthful, 
 I do not know. But I bear the following constantly 
 in mind. We know enough of the Elizabethan court 
 masks to know that stage scenery as elaborate as any 
 used to-day was then in use. We know that this was 
 debarred by expense from the public stage. We also 
 know that the Elizabethans were extremely imitative, 
 imaginative, and ingenious. We know in general the 
 construction of their playhouses. We have many lists 
 of their properties. Oftentimes we can read almost to 
 
THE PLAYHOUSES 47 
 
 a certainty between the lines that certain things were 
 done upon the stage, though we do not know just how 
 they were done. 
 
 To my mind the situation suggested by these facts 
 reduces itself almost to a mathematical problem. If 
 one of us can easily invent such a staging for an 
 Elizabethan scene as any ingenious person could con- 
 struct out of what we know they had in those days, 
 is it unfair to assume that the ingenious Elizabethans 
 did as well, if not better ? More likely better. They 
 were more used than we are to making a little go a 
 great way. 
 
 One point in particular needs a note in this con- 
 nection. Not only do many of the Shakespeare scenes 
 imply a considerable setting, but some of them also 
 imply a darkened stage. Consider the last act of 
 The Merchant of Venice. Innumerable allusions cry 
 out for a darkened stage. It may be urged that the 
 stage was not darkened and that these references are 
 put in for the sole purpose of suggesting night. In 
 many cases this situation is doubtless true. But is it 
 true here.'' My own feeling is that the number of 
 references is so large that all value as suggestion on 
 a light stage would be lost through overdoing. Fur- 
 thermore, some of the points, such as the failure of 
 one person to see or recognize another when he first 
 comes upon the stage, could be easily managed more 
 effectively in other ways if the stage were light. Does 
 not the fact that it was not done otherwise imply that 
 the stage was not light .^ 
 
 There appeared in the Century Magazine for De- 
 cember, 1911, an article by Mr. Corbin. In this he 
 calls attention to the canopy over the stage, frequently 
 
48 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 referred to as the Shadow, or the Heavens. He con- 
 jectures that some canvas arrangement could be 
 spread from the shadow which would effectually close 
 the open top of the theater, thus producing a consid- 
 erable gloom upon the stage. I might further cite a 
 phrase from Henry the Sixth, " Hung be the heavens 
 with black/' to show that arrangements were actually 
 in use for dropping hangings from the stage canopy. 
 It would be easy, by means of a few wires stretched 
 across the top of the playhouse, a roll of canvas, and 
 a bundle of rings, to sufficiently darken the space 
 below as it is to-day to control by the same means 
 the light in a photographic studio. It is no com- 
 pliment to the Elizabethans to assume that they lacked 
 the ingenuity to do so. (See the discussion of The 
 Merchant of Venice for a further treatment of this 
 subject.) 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 QUARTOS AND FOLIOS 
 
 Playhouse owners in Shakespeare's day consid- 
 ered it unwise to publish plays. Plays, however, got 
 into print in spite of opposition. Oftentimes a play 
 was so popular that its publication would be a profit- 
 able venture to any printer who could get hold of a 
 copy of the play. Laws were so loose and public 
 opinion so lax that there was little likelihood of pun- 
 ishment as the result of publishing a play without 
 permission. On such occasions, actors and managers 
 guarded their written copies of the plays zealously. 
 If neither love nor bribery could procure a copy for 
 the piratical publisher, he resorted to actual theft in 
 the open playhouse. That is, he would send a man 
 to take down the play while it was being acted. As 
 shorthand writing was not then developed to the ex- 
 tent it is to-day this process usually resulted in very 
 imperfect copies. 
 
 On the other hand, as plays were usually short- 
 lived upon the stage, managers willingly resorted to 
 publication when the play was no longer popular on 
 the stage. In such cases, however, the publication 
 followed the original production of the play by sev- 
 eral years. 
 
 There is, however, an interesting and unique ex- 
 ception. Two quartos of Hamlet appeared very 
 
 49 
 
50 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 promptly after the appearance of the play on the 
 stage, and both before it had in any way lost its 
 popularity. Various theories have been advanced to 
 account for this fact. I incline to believe that the first 
 quarto, which seems to be a very imperfect copy of 
 the play as we know it, is the result of a piratical 
 publisher's theft in the playhouse, as described above. 
 And that the second quarto, an excellent copy, was 
 published with the authority of Shakespeare's com- 
 pany in order to protect itself against the spurious 
 first quarto. 
 
 However, the plays that in one way or another 
 got into print during Shakespeare's lifetime were pub- 
 lished in quarto form. They were thin pamphlets, so 
 called because the sheet after printing was folded 
 into four. The average size of the page was about 
 six by nine inches. During Shakespeare's life and 
 the intervening years before the publication of the 
 Folio sixteen plays were published in quarto form. 
 Some of them appeared successively in several edi- 
 tions. These plays were: 
 
 1594 Titus Andronicus. 
 1597 Richard II. 
 1597 Richard III. 
 
 1597 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 1598 1 Henry IV. 
 
 1598 Love's Labour's Lost. 
 
 1600 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 1600 Henry V. 
 
 1600 2 Henry IV. 
 
 1600 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 1602 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 1603 Hamlet. (Mutilated copy.) 
 
 1604 Hamlet. (True copy.) 
 1608 King Lear. 
 
QUARTOS AND FOLIOS 51 
 
 1608 Pericles. 
 
 1609 Troilus and Cressida. 
 1622 Othello. 
 
 Before 1557 there was very little supervision over 
 publication. A guild of publishers, called the Sta- 
 tioners' Company, exercised practically no authority 
 over its members. Later a law was passed making 
 it illegal for any one not a member of the Stationers' 
 Company to operate a printing press. During the 
 greater part of Elizabeth's reign no book could be 
 printed till it was licensed by the Stationers' Company. 
 When permission was granted the fact was entered 
 upon the company's register. Thus the Stationers' 
 Register * affords many interesting details regarding 
 the early publication of Shakespeare's plays. Grad- 
 ually the company acquired the power and developed 
 the will to protect the printers to whom it licensed 
 books. It paid, however, little or no attention to the 
 author or his rights. Though he had some recourse 
 in the courts, the process was so cumbersome and 
 expensive that it was seldom resorted to. Thus, even 
 under the protection of the Stationers' Company the 
 publication of a book fit for publication at all was 
 merely a question of the possession of the manuscript, 
 with or without the author's permission. 
 
 Shakespeare retired from London to Stratford sev- 
 eral years before his death in l6l6. After his death, 
 seven years elapsed before any one thought of pub- 
 lishing a complete edition of his plays. The work 
 was done, however, in 1623. The volume which then 
 appeared is known as the First Folio, or, merely, the 
 Folio. 
 
 •Abbreviated S.R. 
 
52 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 The following account of the Folio is abridged from 
 Mr. Sidney Lee's life of the poet. In 1623 the first 
 attempt was made to give to the world a complete 
 edition of Shakespeare's plays. Two fellow-actors 
 and intimate friends, John Heming and Henry Con- 
 dellj were nominally responsible for the venture, but 
 a small syndicate of printers and publishers undertook 
 all pecuniary responsibility. The First Folio was 
 printed at the press in the Barbican, which Jaggard * 
 had acquired of Roberts. Upon Blount* probably 
 fell the chief labor of seeing the book through the 
 press. It was in press throughout 1623, and had so 
 far advanced by November 8 that on that day Edward 
 Blount and Isaac Jaggard obtained formal license 
 from the Stationers' Company to publish sixteen of 
 the hitherto unprinted plays it was intended to in- 
 clude. Four other hitherto unprinted dramas for 
 which no license was sought figured in the volume, 
 namely, 1 and 2 Henry VI, King John, and The 
 Taming of the Shrew; but each of these plays was 
 based by Shakespeare on a play of like title which 
 had been published at an earlier date, and the absence 
 of a license was probably due to an ignorant miscon- 
 ception on the part either of the Stationers' officers 
 or of the editors of the volume as to the true rela- 
 tions subsisting between the old pieces and the new. 
 The only play by Shakespeare that had been previ- 
 ously published and was not included in the First 
 Folio was Pericles. 
 
 The volume consisted of nearly one thousand 
 double-column pages, and was sold at a pound a copy. 
 From the number of copies that survive it may be 
 * Members of the syndicate referred to. 
 
QUARTOS AND FOLIOS 53 
 
 estimated that the edition numbered five hundred. 
 On the title page was engraved the Droeshout por- 
 trait. Commendatory verses were supplied by Ben 
 Jonson and others. The dedication was addressed to 
 the brothers William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, the 
 Lord Chamberlain, and Philip Herbert, Earl of Mont- 
 igomery, and was signed by Shakespeare's friends and 
 fellow-actors, Heming and Condell. 
 
 There is no doubt that the whole volume was 
 printed from the acting versions in the possession of 
 the manager of the company with which Shakespeare 
 had been associated. But it is doubtful if any play 
 was printed exactly as it came from his pen. The 
 text of the First Folio is often inferior to that of 
 the pre-existent quartos. 
 
 The plays are arranged under three heads, come- 
 dies, histories, and tragedies, and each division is 
 separately paged. As a specimen of typography the 
 First Folio is not to be commended. The misprints 
 are numerous and are especially conspicuous in the 
 pagination. The sheets seem to have been worked off 
 very slowly, and corrections were made while the 
 press was working, so that copies struck off later 
 differ from the earlier copies. One mark of careless- 
 ness on the part of the compositor or of the corrector 
 for the press, which is common to all copies, is that 
 Troilus and Cressida, though in the body of the book 
 it opens the section of the tragedies, is not mentioned 
 at all in the table of contents, and the play is un- 
 paged, except on its second and third pages, which 
 bear the numbers 79 and 80. 
 
 The number of surviving copies exceeds one hun- 
 dred and eighty, of which one-third are now in Amer- 
 
54 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 ica. Only fourteen are in a perfect state, that is, with 
 the portrait printed (not inlaid) on the title page, and 
 the fly-leaf facing it, with all the pages succeeding 
 it intact and uninjured. (The fly-leaf contains Ben 
 Jonson's verses attesting the truthfulness of the por- 
 trait.) Of these, the finest and cleanest is the 
 " Daniel " copy which belonged to the late Baroness 
 Burdett-Coutts. It measures thirteen inches by eight 
 and a fourth. On March 23, 1907, the copy of the 
 First Folio formerly in the library of the late Fred- 
 erick Locker-Lampson fetched at Sotheby's £3,600 
 (about $18,000). This is the largest sum yet realized 
 at public auction. 
 
 The second, third, and fourth folios, usually re- 
 ferred to by the abbreviations, Fg, Fg, F4, appeared 
 in 1632, 1663, 1685. To all intents and purposes 
 each of these folios is a reprint of the preceding. 
 
 An accurate reprint, though not a facsimile, of the 
 First Folio has recently been issued by Crowell 
 and Co. 
 
CHAPTER V • 
 SHAKESPEARE'S VERSE 
 
 Mr. Dowden says that the highest passion of all 
 finds its expression in prose. This assertion seems 
 at first sight to be in accordance with our ideas. 
 Prose seems to be more the language of nature than 
 verse. Mr. Dowden cites some of the speeches of 
 King Lear as illustrative. Is the illustration, how- 
 ever, quite apt? If tested by Shakespeare's other 
 plays the situation does not seem to fit. Some of the 
 most intense moments of passion are phrased in verse. 
 Note the words of Hamlet, " Absent thee from felicity 
 awhile," etc. This fact is true even in King Lear. 
 Prose is used in parts of King Lear because the king 
 is going mad. His thoughts are incoherent. The very 
 essence of verse is coherence, therefore it is out of har- 
 mony with such a situation. Shakespeare, almost of 
 necessity, depended sometimes upon prose, and not 
 always prose of the most orderly sort. 
 
 Some characters in the plays are essentially un- 
 poetic and are made to speak prose; yet Enobarbus, 
 the blunt-spoken common soldier in Antony and Cleo- 
 patra, recites that most wonderful description of Cleo- 
 patra in her barge. 
 
 Frequently Shakespeare desired to imitate the lan- 
 guage of ordinary conversation, and made use of 
 prose. On the other hand, there are passages in 
 
 55 
 
56 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 which he accomplishes the same task in verse with 
 no diminution in the naturalness of effect. 
 
 Sometimes the poet seems to make use of prose 
 for no other purpose than to emphasize the contrast 
 with other passages spoken in verse : as where Hamlet 
 describes the make-up of the human frame. 
 
 The fact of the matter seems to be that no rule 
 is discoverable which uniformly applies to when 
 Shakespeare did or did not use prose or verse. My 
 belief is that he used one form or the other as the 
 spirit moved him, that is, intuitively, in whichever 
 form his thoughts naturally expressed themselves, and 
 that no rule or method of procedure occurred to him 
 in advance. He was inspired by momentary prefer- 
 ence and intuition. 
 
 Much has been written concerning the form and 
 quality of Shakespeare's verse. Blank verse was then 
 in its infancy, not yet having been fully reduced to 
 rule. To the student of metrics the whole subject 
 presents a wealth of exceptions that may well occupy 
 such an one's attention to the exclusion of more im- 
 portant matters. To the student who is interested in 
 the actual plays, rather than in the study of meter 
 for its own sake, the subject is not so intricate. In 
 fact, for our present purpose, it may be reduced to 
 a few simple statements. 
 
 Shakespeare wrote at a time when blank verse was 
 comparatively new in English poetry. It had not 
 been practised and pruned to the extent we find it 
 in Tennyson. Then, too, Shakespeare wrote blank 
 verse for people to speak, for actors who took all 
 sorts of liberties with pronunciation, and who were 
 able and often found the opportunity to fill up a gap 
 
SHAKESPEARE'S VERSE 57 
 
 with a significant gesture. Hence we may expect 
 to find it composed very loosely. 
 
 The normal line of Shakespeare's blank verse con- 
 sists of five iambic feet. The lines are unrhymed. 
 The end of a line corresponds with a pause in the 
 sense. Lines differing from this normal type are, 
 however, almost as frequent as lines composed strictly 
 in accordance with it. 
 
 The principal variations are as follows: In early 
 plays many lines are rhymed. We find that the com- 
 parative number of rhymed lines steadily decreases 
 as we follow the list of plays in chronological order. 
 In the early plays we find much doggerel and many 
 stanzas. This practice also decreased as Shakespeare 
 grew older, though songs are introduced into the 
 plays till the very end. Lines shorter and longer than 
 five feet often occur, the latter more frequently when 
 a line is divided between two speakers. Lines in 
 which there is no sense pause at the end frequently 
 occur. They are called " run-on " lines to distin- 
 guish them from " end-stopped " lines. Run-on lines 
 occur more frequently in the later plays. 
 
 There are still other frequent variations. The 
 iambic foot consists of two syllables, the first unac- 
 cented, the second accented. The order of accent may 
 be reversed in any foot, sometimes in two or more 
 feet of the same line. An unaccented syllable may 
 be added to any foot, more frequently at the end of 
 the line. Such extra syllables are much slighted in 
 pronunciation. After a pause an unaccented syllable 
 is often dropped. One should frequently imagine such 
 a gap accompanied on the stage by a pause just long 
 enough to enable the actor to continue the original 
 
58 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 rhythm when he resumes his speech. Occasionally the 
 purpose of such a break is to produce an intentional 
 jar. Sometimes lines of an altogether different form 
 are introduced for the sake of variety. 
 
 Scansion of Shakespeare's verse is often facilitated 
 by a knowledge of Elizabethan pronunciation. Space 
 can be afforded here for only a few references to the 
 more important details of this subject. 
 
 Contractions, such as th' for the, and expansions, 
 such as i-on for ion, are not necessarily indicated in the 
 text. Where they are not indicated they must be sup- 
 plied by the reader's sense of rhythm. The more 
 important rules of pronunciation are: 
 
 The loss of an unaccented syllable before a con- 
 sonant is common. 
 
 'gainst =: against, 
 'venge = avenge. 
 
 Sometimes a prefix beginning with a consonant is 
 thus lost. 
 
 ' fore = be fore. 
 
 An initial vowel is often dropped and the consonant 
 combined with the preceding word. 
 
 what 's = what is. 
 they 're = they are. 
 
 Such combinations as the following are common: 
 
 I've 1=1 have, 
 he 'th = he hath, 
 let 's = let us. 
 before 's =: before us. 
 defy 's = defy us. 
 'tis =z it is. 
 is 't = is it. 
 
SHAKESPEARE'S VERSE 59 
 
 Most of the above contractions are still in frequent 
 use; but in Shakespeare's plays we must often intro- 
 duce them even when not indicated in the printed 
 text. 
 
 The final letter is often omitted. 
 
 i' the = in the. 
 th'lad = the lad. 
 o' me = oh, me. 
 
 Many words of several syllables are contracted by 
 elision. 
 
 prison := prisn. 
 perilous = perlous. 
 heartily = heartly. 
 opening = opning. 
 prisoner = prisner. 
 reckoning = reckning. 
 Antony =z Antny. 
 ordinance = ordnance, 
 desperate = desprate. 
 temporal = tempral. 
 general =:z genral. 
 
 Words containing v and th are often slighted in 
 pronunciation, thus: 
 
 devil nz del or de'il. 
 evil = eil. 
 ever z= ere. 
 even =z ene. 
 whether t= where, 
 whither = whire. 
 hither =: here, 
 thither = thire. 
 
 On the other hand, words were often expanded in 
 pronunciation. 
 
60 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 marriage = marri-age, 
 celestial = celesti-al. 
 Christian = Christi-an. 
 valiant = vali-ant. 
 familiar z= famil-i-ar. 
 conscience = consci-ence. 
 suspicion z= suspici-on. 
 chariot = chari-ot. 
 gracious = graci-ous, 
 determined = determin-ed. 
 
 The word spirit when pronounced sprite retained 
 all the dignity of the former word, and was synony- 
 mous with it. Hamlet speaks of his father's ghost 
 as a sprite. The rhythm will guide the reader to 
 a one- or two-syllable pronunciation, whether the word 
 be spelled in the text spirit, sprite, or spright. 
 
 This is is frequently contracted into this. And 
 there are many other similar words and phrases. But 
 enough are cited for the purpose of illustration. 
 
 Many words are accented differently: access', 
 auth'orized, aspect', com'plete, cano'nized, envy', 
 pio'neer, portents', perse'vere, perse'verence, rheu'- 
 matic. Most of these words are also found with their 
 present pronunciation. 
 
 Words like fire, dear, hour, were frequently dwelled 
 upon sufficiently to make them count for two syllables. 
 The rolling of the r was a characteristic detail of 
 Elizabethan speech. 
 
 In closing this brief note on the subject of meter 
 I should call attention to the fact that not every line 
 of verse in Shakespeare can be satisfactorily scanned 
 with any degree of regularity. In many cases this 
 fact is probably due to the corrupt state of the 
 text. 
 
SHAKESPEARE'S VERSE 6l 
 
 The whole subject is well summarized thus by Mr. 
 Manly : 
 
 " In reading Shakespeare, slurs, elisions, resolutions, and 
 contractions occur and must be reckoned with. But they 
 are always found to be such as harmonize with the proper 
 recitation of the lines and not mere artificial products of 
 forcing the rhythm into a system." (Intro. Macbeth, xxxiv.) 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF PLAYS 
 
 It has not been easy to determine the dates of 
 Shakespeare's plays. In fact, there is general agree- 
 ment as to the dates of each play within a limit of 
 one or two years in most cases. Different critics, how- 
 ever, disagree oftentimes as to the exact date to 
 which this or that play is to be assigned. 
 
 The date of a play is an inference based upon many 
 facts. The evidence of early or late style is taken 
 into consideration. The dates contained in the Sta- 
 tioners' Register are often important. So are the 
 dates of the quartos. Sometimes a play refers to 
 known historical facts, to other books whose dates 
 of publication are known, or quotes from another play 
 whose date of composition is established. This kind 
 of internal evidence implies a date after which the 
 play cannot have been written. Some other piece of 
 writing may refer to the play itself. If the date of 
 this piece of writing is known it sets a date before 
 which the play must have been written. This is 
 known as external evidence. The sifting of all such 
 evidence has led to the present chronology. 
 
 The introductions to the Tudor Edition of the plays 
 recite the evidence of the dates there assigned, which 
 have been quoted in the following list: 
 
 1590-91 1 Henry VI. 
 1591-92 2 Henry VI. 
 
 62 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF PLAYS 63 
 
 1592 
 
 3 Henry VI. 
 
 1592-96 
 
 Richard III. 
 
 1594-95 
 
 King John. 
 
 1595-96 
 
 Richard II. 
 
 1597 
 
 1 Henry IV. 
 
 1597-98 
 
 2 Henry IV. 
 
 1599 
 
 Henry V. 
 
 1613 
 
 Henry VIII. 
 
 1591 
 
 Love's Labour's Lost. 
 
 1591 
 
 The Comedy of Errors. 
 
 1592 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 1594-95 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 1594-97 
 
 The Taming of the Shrew. 
 
 1596-97 
 
 The Merchant of Venice. 
 
 1598-1601 
 
 All's Well That Ends Well. 
 
 1599-1600 
 
 As You Like It. 
 
 1599 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing. 
 
 1599-1600 
 
 The Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 1601 
 
 Twelfth Night. 
 
 1601-02 
 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 
 1603-04 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 1607-08 
 
 Pericles. 
 
 1609-10 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 1610-11 
 
 The Winter's Tale. 
 
 1610-11 
 
 The Tempest. 
 
 1594 
 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 
 1594-95 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 1599 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 1602-04 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 1604 
 
 OtheUo. 
 
 1606 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 1606 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 1606-08 
 
 Timon of Athens. 
 
 1607-09 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 1608-10 
 
 Corlolanus. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 DRAMATIC STRUCTURE 
 
 Every one who reads a play realizes that much of 
 the effect produced depends upon the local color, the 
 words and phrases used, scenery and properties, sug- 
 gestions, bits of foreshadowing, cross-references, etc. 
 All such details, however, are manufactured by the 
 playwright late in the process of constructing a play. 
 They are, figuratively speaking, scattered over or 
 hung upon the skeleton of the play. A description 
 of what is meant by this skeleton involves the subject 
 of dramatic structure. In other words, the structure 
 of a drama may be compared to the framework of a 
 building on which are engrafted the decorations. 
 
 There are differences in this framework according 
 as the play is of one type or another. Let us post- 
 pone the consideration of such differences for the 
 present and consider as the type a play which is to 
 be taken seriously. Such a play need not necessarily 
 be a tragedy, though hardly an out-and-out farce. 
 
 It is necessary, however, first to consider a few 
 general details. 
 
 What is meant by dramatic.'' A drama is a story. 
 The essence of the drama is action — but all action 
 is not dramatic. Action is dramatic only when it 
 leads to more action. Yet this action need not be 
 physical action. It may be mental. Thus an argu- 
 
 64 
 
DRAMATIC STRUCTURE 65 
 
 ment which leads to. physical action is dramatic, as 
 Antony's oration over Caesar's body. Or, a discussion 
 that changes the ideas of persons in the play and thus 
 leads them to action is essentially dramatic, as the 
 soliloquy of Lady Macbeth after reading her hus- 
 band's letter. Pure passion, even inaction, may be 
 dramatic if it is made the means of leading to more 
 action. 
 
 A drama should contain a dominant idea. Because 
 one cannot lay aside a drama as one can a novel, but 
 must listen to the end at one sitting, the play must 
 be a unit. That is, there must be some one thing 
 that is begun, carried on, and brought to a conclusion 
 during the performance. This is usually called the 
 idea. 
 
 Think of the novels you have read. Can you sum 
 up each one in a single sentence.'' The Prisoner of 
 Zenda — yes; Vanity Fair — no. A good drama can 
 be thus summed up. It has a well-defined theme, 
 a topic sentence, so to speak. Thus in Macbeth: the 
 conflict between Macbeth and fate in the person of 
 Macduff in which the character of the former is grad- 
 ually depraved till it leads to his downfall. In Rich- 
 ard the Second: the overthrow of a weak, wicked 
 monarch by one whose opposite characteristics better 
 fit him to rule as king. 
 
 It is also well to remember that many rules of 
 dramatic technique depend upon the mechanical and 
 physical conditions under which the play is produced. 
 Many structural differences between the Elizabethan 
 plays and the plays of to-day are due to architectural 
 differences between the old and the new theaters. 
 The rapidity of performance allows the audience no 
 
66 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 time to stop and think, hence omissions, contradictions, 
 etc., may be tolerated in a play that would be alto- 
 gether out of place in a novel. This rapidity of 
 performance prevents one from weighing details too 
 critically; it enables the dramatist to juggle with the 
 feelings of his audience in a way utterly impossible 
 under other conditions. The tiring of the audience 
 physically, mentally, and emotionally accounts for the 
 requirement of greater brevity and more rapid action 
 as the end of the play approaches. And as the audi- 
 ence wishes to leave the playhouse fully satisfied, 
 every question raised by the play must be disposed 
 of before the curtain falls. 
 
 We have suggested what sort of material is essen- 
 tially dramatic. A mere mass of dramatic material, 
 however, does not constitute a dramatic story. The 
 story of a drama differs in one important detail from 
 what may be a good story for a novel. A dramatic 
 story must have a beginning and an end. 
 
 As these words are used with a technical signifi- 
 cance, it is necessary to explain them. Recall for a 
 moment the story of Vanity Fair. Is there any par- 
 ticular reason for beginning the story at the point 
 where Thackeray takes it up? There is none. The 
 story could just as well have been begun later; or, 
 had Thackeray so wished, he could have begun a 
 volume earlier. So, too, the story could have been 
 ended sooner, might possibly have been thereby im- 
 proved. Also, as affairs are at the end of the volume, 
 it would be possible to go right on with many more 
 events. In other words, as we look back over the 
 history of Becky Sharp we find no part ol it cut out 
 as a single piece, standing alone, for treatment here. 
 
DRAMATIC STRUCTURE 67 
 
 This story is without beginning or end in the dra- 
 matic sense. 
 
 Consider^ by way of contrast^ the story of Hamlet's 
 life, both as we have it in the play and as we have 
 it pieced out by our fancy. As our imagination roams 
 over his whole life we suddenly pause at one signifi- 
 cant event, the supernatural revelation of a crime. 
 This event begins a new era in Hamlet's life. The 
 results of it bring new forces into play. Then they 
 play themselves out. When this is done there is 
 nothing left to write about. The early history of 
 Hamlet could not be incorporated into the play with- 
 out becoming an unnecessary drag. Nor can one con- 
 ceive a sequel to Hamlet. It is this sharply defined 
 initial occurrence, and the equally sharp finality of 
 the conclusion that constitute in the dramatic sense the 
 beginning and the end. Thus, every good dramatic 
 story is capable of being isolated from its chrono- 
 logical surroundings as a whole — that is, it has a be- 
 ginning and an end. And both, so to speak, are 
 final. 
 
 Furthermore, every dramatic story involves a strug- 
 gle. Sometimes it is a struggle between ideas; but 
 more frequently between two people or between two 
 groups of people. At any rate, the idea of a struggle 
 is always present. And the presentation of this strug- 
 gle on the stage follows a regular course. The reader 
 must be sufficiently informed in regard to prelim- 
 inary events to understand what follows (the intro- 
 duction). Then comes the initial event, the begin- 
 ning, out of which the story grows (the exciting 
 force). One element of the struggle involved grad- 
 ually rises into prominent significance (the rising ac- 
 
68 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 tion) till it reaches (the turning-point), the place 
 where it begins to find the other element of the strug- 
 gle too strong to be withstood. While the balance of 
 power swings the other way (the falling action) we 
 approach the end of the play, the technical end re- 
 ferred to above (the catastrophe). 
 
 Before calling attention to some of the minor de- 
 tails concerning the presentation of this arrangement, 
 it is necessary to dwell for a moment longer on the 
 technical terms contained above in parentheses. 
 
 The peculiar nature of dramatic production entails 
 a certain way of opening the narrative. It should be 
 remembered that the audience has no control over the 
 speed of production. If, in reading a novel, one be- 
 comes confused, one can pause, re-read, turn back, 
 or ponder as deliberately as one wishes. This oppor- 
 tunity, however, is denied the playgoer. The pres- 
 entation of the play goes right on without interruption. 
 If the audience is confused, there is no time to stop 
 and straighten matters out. Hence, one of the abso- 
 lute requirements of dramatic story-telling is perfect 
 clearness from start to finish. 
 
 This requirement implies an introduction. The 
 dramatist cannot plunge into the middle of his story. 
 He must begin at the beginning, in fact, a little before 
 the beginning. No matter how sharply defined the 
 technical beginning of the play, its full comprehen- 
 sion presupposes something. Some details must be 
 known which lead up to and account for it. Further- 
 more, the audience must become acquainted with the 
 principal characters, and know something of their 
 personalities as well as of their relations to each other. 
 And the story will be much more effectively received 
 
DRAMATIC STRUCTURE 69 
 
 if the audience is put in the proper mood^ acquainted 
 from the start with the keynote of what is to follow. 
 
 It is the purpose of the introduction to furnish all 
 this material in the briefest possible space consistent 
 with clearness and completeness. 
 
 Then comes the exciting force. This is the tech- 
 nical beginning spoken of above, the initial event that 
 sets things going. It must stand out prominently, be 
 of sufficient importance of itself, and the following 
 events should grow out of it in accordance with the 
 law of cause and effect. Every plot detail that fol- 
 lows should be traceable more or less directly back 
 to this event. The exciting force excites the quiescent 
 conditions of the introduction into action. 
 
 The rising action can be disposed of in a few words. 
 It is merely the logical development of the story from 
 the appearance of the exciting force to the climax of 
 interest known as the turning-point. This scanty defi- 
 nition will seem more sufficient after reading what 
 follows descriptive of the turning-point. 
 
 As the phrase turning-point suggests, something in 
 the drama turns at this point. Let us see what it is. 
 As has been said, every dramatic story involves a 
 struggle between two forces. And this struggle is so 
 presented that at first one of the forces is dominant 
 and, throughout the rising action, seems mounting to 
 success. At the turning-point, however, we begin to 
 see that the present success is temporary and that 
 ultimately the other force will prevail. The turning- 
 point, then, is the place where the success of one 
 element of the struggle begins to find itself powerless 
 before the ultimate success of the other element of 
 the struggle. 
 
70 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 In Hamlet, for instance, the struggle is between 
 Hamlet and Claudius. Late in the first act, after the 
 introduction, the exciting force appears in the form 
 of the ghost's revelation to Hamlet. As a result, 
 Hamlet is bent on just revenge. During the rising 
 action the story develops. Hamlet formulates and puts 
 into action " The Mouse-Trap." Hamlet, however, 
 so mismanages this little device that Claudius reaps 
 an advantage. He is immediately roused into action. 
 Henceforth, throughout the falling action Claudius is 
 the aggressor, directing his heretofore quiescent 
 energy against Hamlet. The " Mouse-Trap " scene 
 where Hamlet's aggressive behavior reaches the max- 
 imum and immediately sinks before the energy of 
 Claudius, may be called the turning-point of the play. 
 
 The falling action of the second half of the play 
 corresponds to the rising action of the first half. It 
 is the logical working out of the new turn of affairs 
 that has been ushered into existence by the turning- 
 point. 
 
 The catastrophe is the end. It should correspond 
 with the end of the play, all minor details having 
 been disposed of previously; and it should also come 
 as a climax of interest. 
 
 Oftentimes the climax of an Elizabethan play is 
 followed by a brief passage that is usually omitted 
 to-day. The entrance of Fortinbras and his soldiers 
 at the end of Hamlet is such a passage. It was in- 
 serted by Shakespeare not for dramatic purposes, but 
 for mechanical. The absence of a drop curtain in 
 the theaters of that day made some such device neces- 
 sary in order to rid the stage easily of the dead 
 bodies. 
 
DRAMATIC STRUCTURE 71 
 
 The familiar diagram representing the structure 
 of a drama is given below. AB represents the intro- 
 duction. The exciting force appears towards the end 
 of this part or soon afterward. BC is the rising 
 action. C is the turning-point. CD is the falling 
 action. D is the catastrophe. The introduction and 
 the exciting force usually appear in the first act of an 
 Elizabethan play; and sometimes the rising action is 
 started. The turning-point is usually in the third 
 act. In Othello, however, it is delayed to the fourth, 
 
 a condition more nearly represented by the dotted 
 lines in the diagram. The catastrophe, as has been 
 said, occurs at the end of act V. Thus, acts II. and 
 IV. are more or less transitional. Here, if anywhere, 
 a slight lull in the interest becames tolerable. The 
 action, however, must proceed more rapidly towards 
 the end. 
 
 Many of the Elizabethan plays were first printed 
 without any indication of division into acts — a fact 
 which implies that no very great significance was at- 
 tached to the act-division. In fact, the division of a 
 play into acts was a mere imitation of the outward 
 form of Seneca's plays which furnished the earliest 
 Elizabethan models. By the time of Shakespeare 
 the. five-fold division was followed almost as a habit, 
 
72 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 hardly at all for its structural significance. In 
 Shakespeare an act is seldom more than a mere fifth 
 of the play. Beyond what is said above relative to the 
 function of each of the five acts it is impossible to go. 
 Rarely does an act of Shakespeare correspond to an 
 integral unit of structure. And when it does it seems 
 to do so by accident. 
 
 The scene, however, is more likely to be a structural 
 unit. Yet even in this case less significance seems to 
 attach to such divisions than in a modern play. Many 
 of the early play texts omit the division into scenes 
 as well as the division into acts. For all that, 
 the scene is in the majority of cases an integral 
 unit. 
 
 In dramatic parlance the word scene is used with 
 varying significance. 1. It represents what may be 
 seen, and is akin to scenery. 2. A new scene, as in 
 French plays of to-day, is marked every time the num- 
 ber of persons on the stage is increased or diminished. 
 
 3. According to Elizabethan practice a new scene is 
 indicated whenever the stage is completely cleared. 
 
 4. The word is often used to denote any portion of a 
 play that is a unit in itself — that represents fully one 
 brief step or portion in the development of the story. 
 This may include a dozen scenes if the text is printed 
 according to the French custom alluded to above. 
 
 In Elizabethan times the scene very nearly cor- 
 responded to what is mentioned last above. Yet we 
 sometimes find a text scene that includes more than 
 one such scene. 
 
 Yet, in the majority of cases, an Elizabethan scene 
 is a distinct unit, with a structure somewhat similar to 
 the play as a whole — that is, it begins quietly with an 
 
DRAMATIC STRUCTURE 73 
 
 introduction^ rises to a climax, and falls away to a 
 quiescent close. 
 
 There is one kind of scene that requires especial 
 mention. Often there is a scene that implies a con- 
 tinuation in another place or after a lapse of time. 
 If one scene followed the other immediately the effect 
 would be unsatisfactory. The audience would not 
 appreciate the gap. The insertion, however, of a 
 short, irrelevant scene diverts the attention for a mo- 
 ment, and thus emphasizes the lapsing interval, or the 
 change of place. Such division scenes are of frequent 
 occurrence in the Elizabethan drama. 
 
 Just as the above device seems to emphasize inter- 
 ruptions, so many other devices serve to preserve the 
 continuity of the parts. Thus, hints, or bits of fore- 
 shadowing of what is to come, are freely used. Often 
 the close of one scene outlines plainly what is to 
 follow in another; and the opening of one frequently 
 recapitulates what has happened earlier. 
 
 The student may encounter difficulties in applying 
 the structure outlined above to many of the plays 
 of Shakespeare. It might as well be acknowledged 
 at once that the structure of certain plays is faulty. 
 This is especially true of the history plays. In the 
 first part of the chapter on Richard the Third it is 
 pointed out that these plays belong in a class by 
 themselves. In them another interest was paramount 
 to the dramatic interest. The loose structure of 
 Henry the Sixth is more characteristic of the series 
 than the accidentally symmetrical structure of Rich- 
 ard the Second. And again, the earlier plays of 
 Shakespeare display less structural skill than the 
 plays of his maturer years. 
 
74 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 The analysis of plays composed of several distinct 
 threads often presents difficulties. In King Lear, not 
 an easily analyzed play at the best, we should expect 
 to find the structural points referred to above appear- 
 ing both in the Lear and in the Gloucester stories. 
 In The Merchant of Venice, on the other hand, the 
 different stories are so closely interwoven as to make 
 their structural separation impossible. (It is pointed 
 out in Chapter XV. that act V. of this play is structur- 
 ally unusual.) 
 
 And then again, these rules are not applied so 
 rigorously in comedy as in tragedy writing. The 
 mood in which we listen to a comedy is naturally less 
 serious, the mind is less critical, and the dramatist 
 not under so great a responsibility in regard to log- 
 ical sequence. 
 
 (It is a good example for the student to work out 
 the structure of each play studied. In the following 
 chapters hints as to the structure are given from time 
 to time.) 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 HOW TO READ A PLAY 
 
 I HAVE frequently encountered students who are 
 discouraged over the fact that a certain period of 
 time spent upon a play is not so productive of results 
 as the same amount of time spent upon the study of 
 any other form of literature. That is, a student will 
 read thirty or forty pages of a novel in an hour and 
 be able to give a pretty good account of himself in 
 the class-room. If, however, he reads a play at the 
 same rate his knowledge of it is inconsiderable. This 
 is as it should be, but few students, and too few 
 teachers, realize the situation. I would impress upon 
 the student at the outset that play reading is slow 
 in comparison with any other kind of reading. 
 
 Let us look for a moment into the actual condi- 
 tions. No one would deny that three men can do 
 more work in a given time than one man. If one 
 man would do the work of three he must take more 
 time to it. In the playhouse, three senses are at work 
 all the time: — eye, ear, and mind. With the eye 
 one sees the persons, their motions, their positions, 
 their dress, and the stage setting. By means of the 
 ear one is alert to tones of voice, inflections that often 
 give the meaning rather than the actual word, etc. 
 Mentally the audience is constantly interpreting the 
 word symbol into what it conventionally stands for. 
 
 75 
 
76 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 When, on the other hand, one reads a play in the 
 study, all impressions are received primarily through 
 the eye and the printed word. The sense of sight 
 is doing the work that in the playhouse engaged the 
 eye, the ear, and the mind. Is it to be wondered at 
 that the process takes more time? 
 
 When one reads a play one must be alert at all 
 times to supply the missing points. How easy it is 
 when reading to lose track of a character upon the 
 stage who for the time being has nothing to say. This 
 would be impossible on the stage. How easy it is to 
 recognize a character whose former entrance had been 
 announced in the text merely by a printed stage direc- 
 tion! In the playhouse we have actually seen him, 
 we remember his dress, his features, the tones of his 
 voice. If we forget his name, that is a mere baga- 
 telle. It is unnecessary to say more in order to make 
 plain the fact that when we read a play we are ac- 
 quiring only a part of the dramatic presentation. It 
 is the purpose of this chapter to suggest a few prac- 
 tical hints which will sharpen the average reader's 
 attention, thus helping him to supply those parts that 
 are inevitably present in a stage production. 
 
 In the first place, I should say, read, read, and re- 
 read. A thorough familiarity with the text is abso- 
 lutely essential. In every case the play should be 
 read through at a comfortable rate of speed before one 
 begins the actual study of details. 
 
 Make first a careful study of the dramatis personae. 
 Do not merely glance over the list. Read it carefully 
 again and again. Read it aloud so that the abbrevia- 
 tions of the speakers' names used in the text will be 
 at once familiar. Note whether the list is compara- 
 
HOW TO READ A PLAY 77 
 
 tively long or short. What is the proportion of men 
 to women? Are the characters of high or low rank? 
 Ask the dramatis personae every imaginable question 
 and try for an answer. 
 
 It is a good plan, before beginning the study of the 
 text proper, to turn over the pages of the play, read- 
 ing the captions of the scenes, the people present at 
 the beginning of each scene, the entrances and exits, 
 and other stage directions. One can often in this way 
 surmise the general setting of the play, which are the 
 important characters, what are inner and outer 
 scenes, etc. 
 
 Next, read the first act through, on the way per- 
 forming conscientiously several tasks. 1. Make a 
 brief written synopsis of the story part of each act. 
 2. Note what characters enter; and how soon the en- 
 tire dramatis personae have appeared. 3. Does one 
 character, or do several, stand out above others more 
 prominently? 4. What details are introduced which 
 are manifestly to inform the reader concerning the 
 part of the story which has gone before, but which 
 does not form a part of the story as actually drama- 
 tized? 5. What is the setting? 6. By what means is 
 it presented to the reader? 7. What are the char- 
 acters who are not speakers doing with themselves? 
 8. Make out frequent plans to show where the char- 
 acters should stand to the best advantage. 9- Above 
 all, try to imagine the gestures, the manner, and tone 
 of voice in which each remark is spoken. Reading 
 aloud is good practice. 10. To whom is a remark 
 addressed and how is it received? 11. Is it an inner 
 or an outer scene? 12. If the latter, try to imagine 
 the actual Elizabethan setting. To ask and answer 
 
78 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 these and similar questions is time well spent, al- 
 though it may prevent the reading of more than a 
 few pages in a given time. 
 
 Having thus acquired a fair familiarity with the 
 first act it would be well to read it over again, j ust as 
 carefully but with a new object in mind. Persons 
 take part in every dramatic story. It is the supreme 
 gift of the dramatist to delineate character. In read- 
 ing a play we have in the actual words but a small 
 portion of what the dramatist depends upon for the 
 delineation of his characters. In other words, we 
 lack, when reading the text, all that the art of acting 
 adds to the mere words. We should do our best to 
 supply the omission. 
 
 In this second reading of the first act one should 
 note every detail which serves to indicate the person- 
 ality of the characters in the play. What they say 
 may be an indication. So may what they fail to say. 
 The way in which their remarks are received by 
 others, as well as others' opinions of them will help 
 us to formulate our knowledge. As early in the read- 
 ing of the play as possible attempt to formulate the 
 personality of each character. In most Elizabethan 
 plays, and in nearly all of Shakespeare's, the chief 
 characters are pretty well drawn by the end of the 
 second act. The remainder is reiteration and amplifi- 
 cation, merely a filling out, with the plot becoming 
 more and more prominent towards the end. Occa- 
 sionally, however, as in Macbeth, a character is con- 
 tinually changing throughout the play. In such a 
 play there should be no relaxation of the continual 
 scrutiny of the character's acts and words. 
 
 As it is advisable to make a written synopsis of 
 
HOW TO READ A PLAY 79 
 
 the story, scene by scene, so it is equally advisable 
 to make frequent brief written statements of the per- 
 sonality of each character. Such written notes have 
 no permanent value, hardly even the value of a class 
 exercise. Their purpose is to order one's thoughts, 
 or, oftentimes, merely to reveal the hazy condition 
 of them, thus spurring one to the effort to clear the 
 matter up. 
 
 When one has read each of the five acts slowly and 
 carefully as indicated above, one is fairly on the road 
 to a comprehension of the play. For all that, one 
 is yet far from the end of the journey. 
 
 In reading the play again one should give general 
 consideration to several matters that have been here- 
 tofore examined in fragments. Note how much space 
 is given to the introduction relative to the rest of the 
 play. Does the story run smoothly throughout.'' 
 How many crises are there in the narrative interest.^ 
 Is the story completely finished at the end.'' Which 
 thread is left to the last.'* How and where have the 
 minor threads been disposed of.'' 
 
 Note the relative number of important characters. 
 One is often surprised to find how few characters in 
 one of Shakespeare's plays are of prime importance. 
 How are the characters grouped.'' Is there one of 
 great importance in each group .f* Is one character 
 set over against another so as to contrast with it? 
 Or is one made almost similar to another? If so, do 
 they appear together or separately? 
 
 It is not to be understood that these identical ques- 
 tions should be asked and answered in regard to every 
 play; but rather that they are illustrative of what 
 the alert student will be asking continually. The 
 
80 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 actual phrasing of an answer, either orally or on 
 paper, is so conducive to clear thinking that I consider 
 it imperative. 
 
 By this time the reader, in the case of some plays, 
 will be so familiar with the characters that further 
 study is unnecessary. In such a play as Twelfth 
 Night, the characters are so clearly and so simply 
 portrayed that one thoroughly familiar with the lines 
 of the play can hardly escape their true significance. 
 
 Other plays, however, contain characters so com- 
 plex and so enigmatical that special study from this 
 point of view is necessary. I know of no practice so 
 valuable as re-reading in succession only those scenes 
 in which the characters appear. Ponder each speech 
 carefully. At any place where the significance is not 
 fully grasped try to imagine the situation. Fancy 
 who is present, what the person would be thinking 
 about, what has recently happened to him, what is 
 he planning for the future. Under such circum- 
 stances, what would he do.'' This will frequently 
 suggest the true meaning of what he actually does do 
 and say. 
 
 It would be well to analyze the plot of each play 
 and try to imagine the Elizabeth staging, as set forth 
 in chapters devoted to these subjects. 
 
 In the following pages an effort is made not to 
 repeat more than is necessary. Thus, the Elizabethan 
 staging is discussed in detail in regard to only a few 
 plays, or parts of plays. Yet it is assumed that the 
 student will think over such matters in regard to all 
 the plays. Oftentimes the critical part of a char- 
 acter is discussed in some part of the notes on the 
 text. Though nothing further may be said, it is sup- 
 
HOW TO READ A PLAY 81 
 
 posed that the student will order his thoughts relative 
 to the presentation of the character as a whole. Above 
 all, it is well to make comparisons. If a question is 
 asked in regard to one play, try to fit it to another, 
 recall similar passages elsewhere, etc., etc. 
 
 There is a point in the study of every art where 
 mechanical application seems to reach its limit, and 
 taste and intuition begin to play their part. Just 
 here is where the rules set by an instructor fail to 
 be of use. Careful drill will sharpen one's wits, but 
 one must exercise them for one's self. Repeated ex- 
 ercise will develop one's taste, gradually creating the 
 knowledge of good and evil. A knowledge of dra- 
 matic good and evil is the only road to a sane appre- 
 ciation of Shakespeare's plays. But for guidance in 
 the last steps of the process the student must depend 
 upon himself. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 A BRIEF WORKING BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 The following is not a bibliography for the study 
 of Shakespeare ; rather a very condensed list of books 
 of use to the average school-teacher, or to the reader 
 who desires to carry his study of Shakespeare beyond 
 the limits suggested in this volume. 
 
 Editions 
 
 There are numerous school editions of individual 
 plays on the market. In this day and generation 
 there is no excuse for a poorly edited edition of one 
 of Shakespeare's plays. So far as the present writer 
 is concerned, who has examined most of these edi- 
 tions^ he is inclined to say that the imprint of a well- 
 known publisher is synonymous with accurate, 
 scholarly editorial work. This edition may involve 
 special features more attractive to the individual in- 
 structor than that one. Among them, however, I find 
 it impossible to discriminate. 
 
 The Cambridge Edition, edited by Professor Niel- 
 son, and published by The Houghton Mifflin Co., is 
 from the standpoint of editorial work and typo- 
 graphical make-up the best one-volume edition on the 
 market. 
 
 The Eversley Edition, published by the Macmillan 
 Co., in ten volumes, has but few notes (on the page, 
 
 82 
 
A BRIEF WORKING BIBLIOGRAPHY 83 
 
 however, with the text). The introductions to the 
 plays are excellent. On the whole, it is the best 
 reading edition of the plays for general use that has 
 come to my notice. 
 
 The references in the present volume are to the 
 Tudor Edition, published by The Macmillan Co., one 
 play to the volume. The edition seems to strike the 
 happy medium between under and over editing. 
 Typographical details are of the highest quality. 
 A style of binding cheaper than the standard recom- 
 mends it to those who would economize carefully in 
 the choice of a class text. Take it all in all, it is 
 the present writer's favorite edition for all such pur- 
 poses as are implied by a use of the present volume. 
 
 The Dowden Edition, published by The Bobbs- 
 Merrill Co. of Indianapolis, is very fully edited. It 
 is certainly the best edition for the advanced student 
 who is interested in the textual interpretation of the 
 plays. 
 
 Though as yet far from completion, the Variorum 
 Edition, published by Lippincott and Co., is the final 
 word in regard to the plays that have appeared. 
 They are treated both textually and critically. Its 
 expense, however, in many cases implies its use as a 
 library reference book. 
 
 Miscellaneous 
 
 Bartlett's Concordance, published by The Macmil- 
 lan Co., is the standard concordance. Its references 
 are to the Globe Edition of the plays, also published 
 by The Macmillan Co. The text, however, of this 
 one-volume edition limits it to occasional use. 
 
84 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Luce's Handbook to Shakespeare's Works (The 
 Macmillan Co.) contains in briefest space the largest 
 amount of information regarding the plays. Though 
 each play receives a brief critical treatment, the vol- 
 ume is mainly a storehouse of valuable facts. 
 
 Shakespeare's London and The Elizabethan People 
 (Henry Holt and Co.), both by the present author, 
 are an attempt to portray the social manners and 
 customs of the metropolis at the time of Shakespeare. 
 
 The standard biography is A Life of William 
 Shakespeare, by Sidney Lee, The Macmillan Co. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 RICHARD THE THIRD 
 
 I. The History Play as a Type 
 
 During the decade from 1575 to 1585 England as 
 a great national power was slowly coming to its own. 
 Even before the victory of 1588 Englishmen had 
 begun to realize their strength and to feel proud of 
 their birthright. Along with this new feeling of man- 
 hood grew up an intense national desire on the part 
 of Englishmen to know themselves and their past. 
 This desire was catered to by prose writers, as in 
 Holinshed's Chronicle, by the poets who produced 
 histories of England in verse, and by the playwrights. 
 From their hands came a long series of dramatic pro- 
 ductions whose first and foremost purpose was to 
 popularize history for the sake of instruction. These 
 history plays, then, were akin to the purpose novel 
 of to-day. At any rate, the information concerning 
 history came first in importance, dramatic quality sec- 
 ond. While criticising them from the dramatic 
 standpoint, this fact should never be lost sight of. 
 
 Shakespeare's task in producing a history play (ex- 
 cept in those cases where he revised an earlier play) 
 was little more than translating the narrative of 
 Holinshed into dramatic dialogue. In some cases the 
 original formless story, as in Henry the Sixth, re- 
 
 85 
 
86 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 suited in an equally formless play. In others^ how- 
 ever, notably in Richard the Second, the original ma- 
 terial, almost by accident, shaped itself into a sym- 
 metrical dramatic composition. 
 
 Different writers of history plays varied greatly 
 in their methods of procedure. In Greene's James the 
 Fourth the historical element is so secondary as al- 
 most to exclude this play from the class. Other 
 writers were manifestly politicians who seemed to 
 garble facts intentionally in order to effectively pre- 
 sent their own particular views. Shakespeare among 
 them all seems to be the fairest in his dealing with 
 history. He displays no particular bias; he presents 
 his source accurately in the main, only departing 
 from fact in trivial details that do not alter the tenor 
 of general truths. 
 
 It is a fact that he gives in Richard the Third a 
 picture of the king which is believed by modern his- 
 torians to be false. But it should be remembered 
 that Shakespeare gives the picture held by his own 
 generation of the last of the Plantagenets. We cannot 
 accuse the dramatist of wilfully distorting the pic- 
 ture. 
 
 On the other hand, we can find no evidence that 
 Shakespeare was an historical student in the modern 
 sense of the word. His later history plays show him 
 to be not only a clear but also a deep thinker on his- 
 torical subjects. But the plays nowhere afford the 
 least indication of the modern spirit of investigation. 
 Research was unknown to him. He did not go to 
 original sources, he did not try to discover both sides, 
 he did not try to weigh all the evidence and judge 
 impartially. He merely took what was the currently 
 
RICHARD THE THIRD 87 
 
 accepted historical account for granted. This he 
 transformed into the best dramatic terms possible. 
 
 What the history play really was is best illustrated 
 by a comparison of three plays on the same subject — 
 namely, the reign of King John. The first of the 
 three is not really a history play at all. The second 
 is a true history play, written, however, before the 
 type had passed beyond its crudest stage. The third, 
 Shakespeare's King John, is a play written but a few 
 years before the type reached its highest develop- 
 ment. 
 
 1. John Bale's King Johan, though not a true his- 
 tory play as we are now using the term, is the earliest 
 Elizabethan play whose subject-matter is drawn from 
 English history. It was probably written about 1550. 
 
 " The play opens with a speech by the king in which he 
 declares his determination to do justice. England, as a 
 widow, implores his help against the clergj^ but this con- 
 fidence is interrupted by Sedition, who is strongly clerical 
 in his sympathies. Nobility, Clergy, and Civil Order come 
 in and discuss the state of the kingdom, and Clergy makes 
 a hypocritical submission. Dissimulation and Sedition take 
 counsel and bring in Private Wealth and Usurped Power 
 to their aid. They procure the election of Stephen Langton 
 as archbishop (here we touch history) and soon after we 
 have the Pope cursing King John for his attacks on the 
 church. This closes act 1. In the second act we find the 
 clergy preparing to resist the king. . . . In a subsequent 
 scene we are shown John's submission to Pandulph, and 
 the hard terms exacted of him, but Sedition is not satisfied 
 and procures a fanatic monk to murder the king. , . . But 
 now come on Verity and Imperial Majesty. The memory 
 of the king is vindicated, and the play ends with com- 
 pliments to Queen Elizabeth." * 
 
 * Pollard: English Morality Plays. 
 
88 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 The play reminds us of the Elizabethan drama in 
 only two points. 
 
 First: The author loses no opportunity to abuse 
 the Roman Catholic clergy. In fact, the play is a 
 religious tract. Bale, the author, though educated 
 in a monastery and in holy orders, had married and 
 had preached against the celibacy of the clergy. For 
 this he was obliged to leave the country. He re- 
 turned, however, and found protection, only to be 
 driven out again at the accession of Queen Mary, but 
 to return to his native country a second time at the 
 accession of Elizabeth. His hatred of the Roman 
 church, which was due to the harsh treatment he 
 had received at its hands, is everywhere evident 
 throughout the play. In this expression of the per- 
 sonal feeling of the author regarding current 
 events the play reminds us of the Elizabethan 
 drama. 
 
 It also reminds us of the Elizabethan drama in 
 another though unimportant way: namely, it closes 
 with a flattering tribute to the queen. This custom, 
 which was frequently practised in Shakespeare's day, 
 has in this play already found its birth. 
 
 In general, however, the play of King Johan is 
 altogether unlike the Elizabethan drama. In the first 
 place, it is written in a rough, halting meter which is 
 hard to read and harder to listen to. The lines are 
 arranged in long, jingling couplets that for the most 
 part rhyme two and two. It differs from the Eliza- 
 bethan plays in another vital characteristic. It con- 
 tains little or no action worthy of dramatic presenta- 
 tion. It is full of long, tedious dialogues which are 
 either epic in their character, or are mere arguments 
 
RICHARD THE THIRD 89 
 
 and debates concerning the present condition of 
 England. 
 
 In other ways the play is unlike the more finished 
 drama of Shakespeare's day. It possesses no unity 
 whatever, let alone a unity of action, which implies 
 an orderly arrangement of incidents based upon the 
 law of cause and effect. There is no attempt to bind 
 the parts together by means of the ordinary dramatic 
 conventions, such as foreshadowing, cross-linking, etc. 
 It almost entirely lacks human interest, and fails ut- 
 terly to appeal to the passions of the audience, which 
 appeal is the main asset of Shakespeare and his con- 
 temporaries. But slight knowledge of history is made 
 use of; and there is displayed practically no indi- 
 viduality of character. 
 
 A mere glance at the dramatis personae reveals its 
 greatest departure from Elizabethan traditions. Of 
 the nineteen characters, only five or six represent 
 persons ; and of them, only the king has a personality 
 of his own, and that none too well defined. All the 
 others who take part are the personified abstractions 
 of the Morality plays: Clergy, Nobility, Private 
 Wealth, Treason, etc. It is this that links the play 
 hard and fast to the preceding era, notwithstanding 
 the fact that it deals with material that is distinctly 
 within the province of the history play. 
 
 This brief review of a play that is not one of those 
 we have under consideration is necessary to a clear 
 conception of the birth of the history play itself. 
 
 2. The second play of the three here considered 
 was published in 1591, though written, doubtless, 
 much earlier. In the period that elapsed between 
 Bale's King Johan and The Troublesome Reign of 
 
90 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 King John the great religious struggle had come to 
 a head. Though the play may have appeared before 
 the great emancipation of England in 1588, the coun- 
 try already knew its power, and the patriotic wave 
 was on the rise. People had become interested in the 
 history of their ancestors. For all that, none of the 
 great Elizabethan plays had appeared. The drama 
 was still crude, the rules of structure not yet formu- 
 lated. 
 
 By this time the drama had begun to fill in part 
 the place of the modern periodical and popular text- 
 book. It was akin, as has been said, to the novel of 
 purpose. And its purpose was well defined: namely 
 to instruct the people in the history of England. 
 
 The Troublesome Reign of King John, which is 
 written for the most part in blank verse, shows a 
 great advance over King Johan. It opens with a 
 scene that presents a definite point of beginning for 
 the plot. Chatillon, the French ambassador, enters 
 to King John and his court to claim the crown of 
 England for John's nephew Arthur, who is with the 
 king of France. John, of course, refuses the justice 
 of the claim. Chatillon departs, vowing war and 
 vengeance. 
 
 There follows a very clumsy scene. Robert and 
 Philip enter, each claiming to be the heir of Sir 
 Robert Falconbridge. The debate hangs on the par- 
 entage of Philip. Robert asserts that Philip is the 
 son of Richard Cceur-de-Lion. His only proof is the 
 resemblance of Philip to the former king of England. 
 King John resolves to solve the difficulty by applying 
 to Philip and to his mother. Both vehemently deny 
 his bastardy. Then, for mere form's sake, the question 
 
KICHARD THE THIRD 91 
 
 is put again. This time Philip assents just as posi- 
 tively that he is the son of the king. King John is 
 satisfied. He recognizes Philip Plantagenet, and con- 
 firms Robert as heir to Falconbridge. The only bear- 
 ing that this incident has on the play is that later 
 Philip becomes one of John's staunch henchmen. 
 
 Here we see plainly illustrated the lack of care in 
 planning one scene to prepare for the next. The law 
 of cause and effect is not followed. There is no 
 reason for Philip's denial changing into an affirma- 
 tion. No pressure is brought to bear to make him 
 change his attitude. Likewise, there is no attempt to 
 justify the king for believing Philip, who has just 
 proved himself a liar. The author must have felt 
 the crudeness, for he makes the widow of Falconbridge 
 acknowledge later that Philip is not her husband's 
 child. 
 
 Crude as this presentation is, it is far ahead of King 
 Johan. There are no personified abstractions. The 
 author starts at a definite point in the plot, and real- 
 izes the necessity of introducing all the principal 
 characters early in the play. There is shown a con- 
 siderable knowledge of the then-accepted history of 
 the time ; and the desire to present it for its own sake 
 is evident from first to last. 
 
 For instance: when the two kings meet in France 
 before Angiers much space is occupied by explaining 
 in detail the political situation, and the claim of Ar- 
 thur. Lest the audience should not take it all in 
 at once, the matter is re-explained when the king 
 summons Angiers to surrender. 
 
 The town, however, refuses to surrender. There 
 is a good deal of fighting. At last it is proposed that 
 
92 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 the Dauphin marry John's niece. This is agreed 
 upon. The two kings are reconciled. Arthur's claim 
 is merely ignored. To all intents and purposes the 
 play seems to be at an end. 
 
 For all that, the play is by no means finished. It 
 begins all over again. Just as Chatillon appeared at 
 the beginning to make trouble between John and 
 France, so Cardinal Pandulph now enters to make 
 trouble between John and Rome. He upbraids the 
 king for opposing the election of Stephen Langthon 
 to the See of Canterbury — a thread of interest for 
 which the audience is in no way prepared. John 
 continues his refusal. He is excommunicated. The 
 rest of the play is occupied with his struggle against 
 the Pope. 
 
 So far as the facts of history were then known, 
 this play popularizes with sufficient accuracy the 
 principal events of the reign of King John, but with 
 one important exception. There is no reference to 
 the signing of the Great Charter. Yet it is a true 
 history play in purpose and in subject. Its defects 
 of form are the defects of the drama of the day, 
 then in its crude infancy. 
 
 Let us now see how the master hand of Shake- 
 speare, yet in its immaturity, however, has treated the 
 same theme. 
 
 3. King John, by far the most important and dra- 
 matically the most perfect of the three plays, may 
 be discussed in relatively fewer words because it is so 
 familiar. It shows a great advance in plot construc- 
 tion and continuity of action. It begins and ends 
 sharply. Though there is no marked balance and 
 symmetry of structure, it possesses a connected and 
 
RICHARD THE THIRD 93 
 
 continuous action. One scene leads up to the next. 
 Most of the significant situations grow out of the 
 preceding. No better illustration can be cited of 
 Increased skill in this respect than the scene where 
 Falconbridge establishes his identity. In The Trou- 
 blesome Reign the whole matter is accomplished at the 
 expense of inconsistent character portrayal. In King 
 John the situation is developed naturally and con- 
 vincingly. Everything happens in accordance with 
 realistic character. One feels no dismay due to plot- 
 ridden personalities. Throughout the play historical 
 situations are sufficiently but not over-explained. As 
 a last improvement we note that the abrupt end and 
 new start in the midst of the former play has been 
 done away with. 
 
 Improvement in plot, however, does not mark the 
 main advance of this play. The difference in char- 
 acter drawing is almost immeasurable. The people 
 are realistic. Every member of the dramatis per- 
 sonae is an individual. So valuable is this quality that 
 the fact of Shakespeare's having found the plot almost 
 completely worked out for him in advance becomes 
 negligible. The play is his own creation. 
 
 To recapitulate: Shakespeare shows great advance 
 in the art of character drawing, telling a story, and 
 dramatic technique. He adds, however, no detail 
 characteristic of the type which is not to be found 
 in The Troublesome Reign. One play is as character- 
 istic of the type as the other. Shakespeare has 
 merely improved the type. 
 
94 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 II. Shakespeare's History Plays 
 
 A consideration of all of Shakespeare's plays shows 
 him to be the man of the hour. He did not originate. 
 He took what he found and bettered it. This asser- 
 tion is equally true of the history plays. What is set 
 forth above relative to King John is true of all of 
 them. The type was the vogue. Shakespeare took 
 it up. And he has given us the best of it. 
 
 Shakespeare wrote or participated in ten history 
 plays. Two are excluded from the following discus- 
 sion: King John because enough has been said of it 
 above; Henry the Eighth because it was written in 
 collaboration after a lapse of many years, and does 
 not properly belong to the present consideration. 
 
 As a matter of convenience for discussion the re- 
 maining eight plays are divided into two groups which 
 possess decidedly different characteristics. I call the 
 three parts of Henry the Sixth and Richard the Third 
 the York plays ; Richard the Second, the two parts of 
 Henry the Fourth, and Henry the Fifth the Lan- 
 caster plays. The first group was written before the 
 second and possesses marked differences.* 
 
 In the York plays we find that narrative is of the 
 first interest. It is as if Shakespeare set to work 
 on that most objective of all histories, Holinshed's 
 Chronicle, with but one task before him: namely, to 
 dramatize the story, to present the simple narrative. 
 We find little or no attention given to questioned mo- 
 tives beyond the desire to make the dramatic char- 
 
 * There is a difference of opinion as to whether or not 
 Richard the Third preceded Richard the Second. I am 
 of the opinion that it did, but the question is of minor im- 
 portance in the following discussion. 
 
RICHARD THE THIRD 95 
 
 acter plausible on the stage. We find little moraliz- 
 ing, little reflection on the great issues at stake, no 
 appreciation of the inner political significance of the 
 material dealt with. In other words, Shakespeare is 
 concerned with the outward, pictorial, and spectacu- 
 lar aspect of the facts of history, not with their inner 
 significance. 
 
 The York plays deal with a threefold theme: 1. 
 The fall of the House of Lancaster. 2. The rise of 
 the House of York. 3. The fall of the House of 
 York. Thus, in the four plays devoted to Henry the 
 Sixth and Richard the Third we find the old story of 
 the Wars of the Roses dramatized for popular in- 
 struction. 
 
 The Lancaster plays, though written later, deal 
 with an earlier period. They are Richard the Second, 
 two parts of Henry the Fourth, and Henry the Fifth. 
 In them we find that the interest in mere narrative 
 is no longer supreme. The dramatist has developed 
 a real interest in the meaning of historical events. 
 And he has infused these plays with this new spirit. 
 He reads Holinshed more critically, he is constantly 
 reading between the lines. He is fully aware of the 
 fact that the objective narrative is superficial. His- 
 tory is a matter of deeper moment than a series of 
 pictures to be enjoyed as a spectacle. There has 
 been born in his mind the attitude that gives rise to 
 modern constitutional histories rather than to picture 
 books. 
 
 The theme of this set of plays is also threefold: 
 1. Who is responsible for civil war.'' 2. The influence 
 of personal character in determining history. 3. A 
 king's responsibility to his people and to his God. 
 
96 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Though three of the history plays are considered 
 in detail later, it is not possible here to work out all 
 of the above propositions. I hope later to supple- 
 ment the present volume with chapters dealing with 
 the remaining plays of Shakespeare. For the present, 
 however, a few suggestions must suffice for the 
 omitted plays. 
 
 In the York plays we note improvement in tech- 
 nique. The four plays, to be sure, are not distinct 
 dramas, each with a symmetrical structure of its own. 
 They form, on the other hand, an almost continuous 
 story. There is little skill shown in binding the parts 
 together, or in linking various threads. The character 
 drawing is at times the crudest, in others, as in Rich- 
 ard the Third, more finished. The stage handling of 
 battle scenes improves steadily. The law of nemesis 
 is observed throughout. On the other hand, there 
 seems to be little recognition of graded punishment. 
 Death is the constant penalty. There is no account 
 taken of the inalienable rights of the commonalty. 
 The plays deal with kings and princes, peers and 
 potentates. Common people are usually introduced 
 merely for comic effect. 
 
 The Lancaster plays, on the other hand, are alto- 
 gether different. There is plenty of action. The 
 narrative is not stinted, but it is not supreme. There 
 is a steady improvement in the minor details of dra- 
 matic technique. The rights of the common people 
 are here taken into consideration, the final conclusion, 
 voiced in Henry the Fifth, being that they are su- 
 preme. The king is as worthy of punishment as the 
 commonest person in the kingdom. Thus Richard the 
 Second is not so much concerned with telling the story 
 
RICHARD THE THIRD 97 
 
 of Richard's deposition as in showing that he lost his 
 crown because he disregarded the rights of his people. 
 Again, Bolingbroke rebels against his sovereign. 
 Was that right? The ultimate success of the House 
 of Lancaster answers yes. The trials and remorse of 
 King Henry himself answer no. In other words, 
 Henry succeeded because he did what was best for 
 England; he was punished because he used question- 
 able means. 
 
 These and other questions of principle are what 
 are worked out in the Lancaster plays, culminating in 
 Henry the Fifth, Shakespeare's picture of The Happy 
 Warrior. 
 
 III. Shakespeare's Relation to Marlowe 
 
 When Shakespeare began his stage career in Lon- 
 don as a reviser of old plays, Christopher Marlowe 
 was not only at the zenith of his career but also uni- 
 versally recognized as the foremost dramatist of the 
 day. He had already inspired a set of imitators, 
 among whom we find Shakespeare. The latter had 
 imitated Lyly, or was soon to do so, in comedy. So 
 he took Marlowe as his model in history and tragedy. 
 So close is this imitation in Richard the Third that 
 occasional critics have advanced the idea that in real- 
 ity it is a play by Marlowe. 
 
 Though in one way Shakespeare is the most orig- 
 inal of poets, it cannot be denied that he was a crafty 
 imitator. It is, however, impossible ever to follow 
 his imitation far. Thus we soon find him outgrowing 
 his model. The Marlowesque character of Richard 
 the Third was followed (I think) by the character of 
 
98 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Richard the Second, conceived and portrayed from a 
 different point of view and in a different way. In 
 fact, the often referred to resemblance between Mar- 
 lowe's Edward the Second and Shakespeare's Richard 
 the Second has never appeared to me. And in a later 
 chapter I have tried to show that Richard the Second 
 really indicates Shakespeare's emancipation from the 
 Marlowe tradition. 
 
 IV. Notes on the Text 
 
 Act I., Scene i., line 1, etc. The opening soliloquy. 
 Soliloquys in Elizabethan plays were used for two 
 purposes. In the first place, the soliloquy was the 
 conventional way of expressing one's unspoken 
 thoughts. In such a case, though the audience hears 
 the words, it fancies them unspoken. The actor is 
 really supposed for the time being to be lost in silent 
 meditation. The spoken words merely constitute the 
 dramatist's device for getting the silent thoughts be- 
 fore the audience. We are not to look upon the person 
 who soliloquizes as one who is in the habit of talking 
 to himself aloud. Hence, such a soliloquy represents 
 the inmost personality of the speaker. 
 
 The soliloquy, however, is frequently used for an- 
 other purpose. All that the dramatist has to say to 
 the audience must proceed through the lips of the 
 various characters. So long as they speak for them- 
 selves there is no difficulty. On occasion, however, 
 the dramatist longs for the novelist's privilege of 
 speaking to the audience in his own person. Though 
 seldom so used to-day, the Elizabethan playwright 
 often used the soliloquy for this purpose. There are 
 
RICHARD THE THIRD 99 
 
 times when the soliloquy is not really indicative of 
 the speaker's thoughts at all, but in reality represents 
 some thought in the mind of Shakespeare which he 
 desires to convey to the audience. 
 
 The soliloquy of Lady Macbeth uttered after read- 
 ing her husband's letter is truly characteristic. On 
 the other hand, the soliloquy in which Prince Hal 
 informs the audience that he will eventually throw 
 off his trivial personality and become the great king 
 is not consistent with the character at all. It is 
 Shakespeare's hint to the audience, forestalling pos- 
 sible criticism of an adverse kind for making light of 
 the character of Henry the Fifth, 
 
 It is always necessary to bear this double use in 
 mind; and it is not always easy to determine which 
 application to make. 
 
 In the present soliloquy we have a very accurate 
 description of the character of King Richard. How- 
 ever, the sentiments expressed are hardly indicative 
 of the thoughts that would be passing in his mind. 
 Many men are given to accurate self-analysis ; but the 
 character of Richard as set forth in Henry the Sixth 
 and in this play is hardly one that would prompt such 
 a self-judgment. We are compelled to think of the 
 soliloquy as proceeding from Shakespeare rather than 
 from Richard himself. 
 
 Note also the unusual condition of a play opening 
 with a speech by the main character. 
 
 I. i. 145, etc. Does Richard's gleeful talk of his 
 own wickedness sound natural .f" or does it seem to be 
 a mere pose.'' Watch the character of Richard care- 
 fully throughout the play. Does he take himself more 
 seriously towards the end? 
 
100 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 I. i. 161, 162. Note the rhymed couplet at the 
 end. In the chapter on verse it is pointed out that 
 Shakespeare used rhyme less and less as time went 
 on. This rhyme, however, is of a peculiar nature. 
 It is introduced for the purpose of giving the actor 
 a sort of vocal flourish at the last moment to assist 
 his exit. Such rhyme-tags were used by Shakespeare 
 even after he had practically discarded the ordinary 
 use of rhyme. 
 
 I. ii. In this scene Richard meets the body of 
 Henry the Sixth mourned by his daughter, the Lady 
 Anne. She knows that both her husband and her 
 father have been murdered by Richard. She hates 
 him viciously. Richard meets her. In the course 
 of a short conversation she turns the body of the king 
 over to him willingly, and practically acknowledges 
 favorable progress in Richard's suit for her hand. 
 
 Briefly stated in this way the situation seems im- 
 possible. Even the daring Richard would hardly 
 have attempted it under ordinary circumstances. No 
 woman for whom we entertain the sympathy that we 
 have at times for Anne could have capitulated so ig- 
 nominiously. As the scene reads it is thoroughly 
 unconvincing. 
 
 Before a modern audience, the scene on the stage 
 is no more effective. To portray Anne as an un- 
 feeling doll who could do such an act naturally is 
 to sacrifice other vital moments in the presentation 
 of her character. Nor, were she such, would Richard 
 have felt the necessity of marrying her as a detail 
 in the safety of his plans. No matter how well the 
 part of Richard is acted, this scene is one to be over- 
 looked when we are searching for plausibility. 
 
RICHARD THE THIRD 101 
 
 I think, however, that to the Elizabethans the 
 scene was very different in its effect. The above 
 objections did not appear to Shakespeare's audience. 
 In other words, the situation seen through Eliza- 
 bethan eyes was thoroughly plausible. 
 
 The Elizabethans believed implicitly in a personal 
 devil. They believed that he manifested himself in 
 all sorts of ways in the ordinary daily life of the 
 people. Horatio's first impulsive thought was that 
 the apparition which beckoned Hamlet was not his 
 father's ghost but the devil in disguise. So here, 
 I think, the Elizabethans understood the victory of 
 Richard as due to the devil, not merely to his own 
 wicked personality. 
 
 In I. iii. 228 Queen Margaret calls him elfish 
 marked, and says (line 229), " Thou that wast sealed 
 in thy nativity . . . the son of hell." In the present 
 scene (ii. 45) Lady Anne remarks, " And mortal eyes 
 cannot endure the devil " ; a statement the truth of 
 which she is soon going to exemplify in her own be- 
 havior. She continues (line 46), " Avaunt, thou 
 dreadful minister of hell." And in line 67 she speaks 
 of Richard's hell-governed arm. 
 
 Later, when Richard offers Anne his sword she 
 still hates him, offers at him, but her arm is power- 
 less. In the moments that follow, her behavior is 
 exactly that of one who is bewitched. Richard him- 
 self (line 237) attributes his power, the result of 
 which is a surprise even to him, to the devil. And 
 in IV. i. 66, etc., Anne in looking back finds her own 
 behavior to be incomprehensible from any rational 
 point of view. 
 
 I think the Elizabethans considered Richard to have 
 
102 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 exercised the perfectly natural power of magic over 
 Anne. 
 
 I. iii. What is the situation of the queen's kinsfolk ? 
 and how will their situation be altered by the death 
 of Edward? 
 
 I. iv. None of the plays written in the maturer 
 period of Shakespeare's workmanship is so devoid as 
 Richard the Third of characters with whom we fully 
 sympathize. In this respect Clarence of this play 
 stands almost alone. This pathetic scene belongs to 
 him. Note how it is supplemented by the words of 
 Edward in II. i. 
 
 The death of Clarence is a mere detail in Richard's 
 plan to sweep away all impediments to the throne. 
 Being a mere detail, the space given to it in this 
 scene and in the next is out of all proportion to its 
 importance in the full development of the story. 
 Nevertheless, this scene and the next are among the 
 best scenes of the play. We could hardly spare them 
 even if their condensation improved the compactness 
 of the play as a whole. 
 
 II. i. 79. Stage direction, " they all start." Note 
 the intense dramatic effect of Richard's sudden an- 
 nouncement of the death of Clarence. Try to picture 
 the group on the stage and how each one takes the 
 news. In the first place, Richard is the guilty party. 
 He is thoroughly in command of himself. Yet, ac- 
 cording to the letter, the king, though now repentant, 
 is actually responsible. (How much good is there in 
 Edward's character?) 
 
 What of Buckingham at this point? In line 83 he 
 asks Dorset, "Look I so pale as the rest?" What 
 does this line mean? It has been suggested that he 
 
RICHARD THE THIRD 103 
 
 is one of the guilty parties and fears that he shows 
 it in his face. If so^ would he have referred to the 
 fact? "Rest" refers to the queen's kindred. Their 
 guilty looks are referred to in line 135. But they 
 are really not guilty. Is it possible that Buckingham 
 is as yet so little in with Richard's plans as not to 
 know that he lies in line 135? If so, Buckingham 
 may fear that he will be the next victim of the 
 queen's kindred, and therefore asks whether he shows 
 his fear by the paleness of his face. 
 
 Again, the passage may have no character signifi- 
 cance at all, being merely a dramatic device to call 
 attention to the others and to suggest their looks. It 
 should be remembered that a miscellaneous group of 
 actors cannot turn suddenly pale at will. There are 
 traditions that some of the great actors have been 
 able to control the color of their features, but it is 
 a rare accomplishment, not to be depended upon under 
 ordinary circumstances. Without this line, the audi- 
 ence would not notice the pale group upon the stage, 
 but with it, it is easy to imagine their appearance. 
 
 II. i. 100. Derby's request for his servants in regard 
 to a trivial matter serves to emphasize Edward's fol- 
 lowing speech concerning the similar but momentous 
 situation involving Clarence. Here is where Edward 
 appears to the best advantage in the play; and his 
 speech beginning with line 102 is one of the finest 
 passages. 
 
 II. ii. 70, etc. There is a symmetrical artificiality 
 about this passage that we miss in Shakespeare's later 
 plays. In the early years of the generation blank 
 verse was more bombastic and acting probably more 
 stilted than in later years. Lyly, too, had done more 
 
104 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 than any other dramatist to popularize word-play and 
 artificial balance both in sentence structure and in 
 the larger details of dramatic structure. (See the 
 double speeches of the ghost to Richmond and to 
 Richard later in the play, and the two orations before 
 the armies.) The artificial character of this passage 
 is probably due more to the example of Lyly than to 
 that of Marlowe, whose manner in general is so closely 
 followed in this play. 
 
 II. iii. " 2 Cit./' etc. Speeches attributed to a vague, 
 indefinite person, as Second Citizen, usually indicate 
 rumor and hearsay. That is, the ideas expressed are 
 not held by these particular citizens but by any and 
 all citizens in general. 
 
 II. iv. The lines spoken by children in Shake- 
 speare's plays should not be scrutinized too carefully 
 from the standpoint of naturalness. It was a dra- 
 matic convention of the day to represent children on 
 the stage as more precocious than we generally find 
 them in real life. Just as to-day the bright sayings 
 of youthful prodigies often suggest an adult origin. 
 
 III. ii. 22. Note that Catesby is playing a double 
 part. Though really Richard's man, he is pretending 
 to be Hastings'. The latter shows his confidence by 
 the free expression of his intentions, lines 43-45. 
 
 III. iii. This is a division scene. (See chapter 
 on Dramatic Structure.) At the end of scene ii. the 
 group of speakers is proceeding to the Tower. After 
 a short lapse of time they appear at their journey's 
 end in scene iv. If the two scenes followed each 
 other immediately the effect would be unnatural. This 
 would be less unnatural on the modern stage, for 
 there would probably be a darkening of the theater 
 
RICHARD THE THIRD 105 
 
 for a moment, a change of scene, etc., before the 
 resumption. The place of this mechanical interrup- 
 tion is taken by the conventional Elizabethan division 
 scene. 
 
 III. iv. 60. We already know that Richard will 
 play false with Hastings if Hastings does not agree 
 to his plans. Richard already knows the position of 
 Hastings when the former leaves the stage with Buck- 
 ingham. (Line 43.) Now they are returning. What 
 did they do while absent in conference ? 
 
 The scene that follows was stupidly conceived and 
 is clumsily carried out. Were the details due to the 
 suggestion of Buckingham or is Richard wholly re- 
 sponsible for the plot? Richard has already ex- 
 pressed the opinion that Buckingham is a gull. 
 Would the former have followed the latter's sugges- 
 tion as to such a clumsy device.'' If it is due to Rich- 
 ard himself, consider whether it is natural for him 
 to plan so poorly, or whether the whole thing merely 
 represents Shakespeare's inability to design a better 
 form to the matter. Again, is it possible that this 
 clumsy, ill-timed act is what first suggests to Buck- 
 ingham his future desertion from the standard of 
 Richard? He may here begin to think that such a 
 man is not a safe one to follow further. Yet Buck- 
 ingham goes still further in co-operation with Rich- 
 ard. Or did Shakespeare intentionally plan the detail 
 thus to emphasize the sweeping power of Richard's 
 personality over every one — it is not necessary for 
 him to be careful. 
 
 The above contradictory and inharmonious list of 
 suggestions is introduced partly for the purpose of 
 illustrating how necessary it is to consider all possi- 
 
106 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 ble sides of a situation before deciding just what is 
 the real effect of the passage. 
 
 III. V. 5, etc. Note how suggestive this passage 
 is of the Elizabethan manner of tragic acting. 
 
 III. V. 47. Here and elsewhere in the play the 
 Lord Mayor is a gull, a mere tool, without a mind 
 of his own, blown willingly by the wind here and 
 there. Yet there is no reason to believe that Shake- 
 speare intended any reflection on the office of the city 
 magistrate. The Lord Mayor is merely one of those 
 minor characters necessary to the development of the 
 plot. His character is not worked out with any degree 
 of care. 
 
 III. vii. 240. Richard becomes king. This is the 
 height of his desire. Almost immediately his fortunes 
 begin to decline. This may be looked upon as the 
 turning-point of the play. 
 
 The student should observe the character of Richard 
 carefully throughout the remainder of the play. 
 There is no apparent difference in his personality; 
 but Shakespeare himself seems to have undergone a 
 change. He seems to be taking the task of character 
 presentation more seriously. In the first part of the 
 play Richard seems to be playing at being wicked. 
 His jocose remarks imply a mere game. From here 
 on he is seriously wicked, in desperate straits, and 
 thinking carefully. Note also how similar many 
 points in his subsequent career are to those of Mac- 
 beth. For instance, Richard is no sooner king than 
 he begins to fear lest he shall be unable to maintain 
 his own. (See IV. ii.) 
 
 IV. ii. 5. So far Richard has waded through crime 
 in order to reach the throne. He has been wholly 
 
RICHARD THE THIRD 107 
 
 intent upon the needs of the present hour. He seems 
 to have taken no thought for the morrow. But now 
 he sees that he has only just begun. The most des- 
 perate chances are really yet before him. 
 
 IV. ii. 24. In reading below relative to the char- 
 acter of Buckingham the student should weigh this 
 passage carefully. Richard's surprise at Bucking- 
 ham's coldness is shared by the audience. So far he 
 has been such a patient tool in the king's hands that 
 his present opposition is altogether unexpected. And 
 there is no sufficient reason for it. One possible ex- 
 planation is suggested in connection with III. iv. 60. 
 Or is Buckingham shrewd enough to foresee the drift 
 of events, and is preparing to desert.'' Or is Buck- 
 ingham, bad as he is, unwilling to go quite so far} 
 
 IV. ii. 34. It hardly seems natural for the king 
 to consult a lad relative to the choice of a murderer, 
 or that the lad would have one ready at hand. 
 
 IV. iv. 425. Note the similarity of the preceding 
 passage to I. ii. There is, however, a great differ- 
 ence. Instead of with Anne, Richard is here dealing 
 with the queen, a woman of the world who is not to 
 be easily taken in by him. She has already made her 
 plans for the future. Her seeming agreement with 
 Richard is but a ruse to gain time. Line 431, how- 
 ever, shows that the king is thoroughly deceived. Is 
 the audience aware of the true situation ? 
 
 V. iii. The history play was popular as early as 
 1585; and it reaches the crest of its vogue by l600. 
 During this period we find a steady advance in the 
 staging of battle scenes from the mere crude sugges- 
 tion of the earlier plays to the elaborate setting of 
 Henry the Fifth. This play is midway in the prog- 
 
108 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 ress. The present scene may have been staged as 
 follows : 
 
 The middle stage is bare, with possibly the stock 
 drop let down at the back representing the open 
 country. Soldiers come in and pitch Richard's tent, 
 say on the right side of the stage. This must be a 
 real tent, perhaps only half a tent. At any rate, 
 Richard must enter it and be seen therein. Later 
 Richmond's tent is pitched on the opposite side of 
 the stage. These tents represent the opposing camps. 
 The distance between them must be fancied great 
 enough to embrace the intervening territory. 
 
 The ghosts subsequently appear on the upper bal- 
 cony. From one side they speak to Richard. Then 
 they move to the other and address Richmond. In 
 these few steps they must be supposed to have 
 traversed a considerable distance. Only an unim- 
 aginative audience would be disturbed by their ability 
 to speak thus in one breath to two leaders so widely 
 separated in space. 
 
 V. iii. 236. The oration to the soldiers. Formal 
 declamations were very common in Elizabethan plays. 
 (See a further discussion of the subject in the chapter 
 devoted to Henry the Fifth.) 
 
 V. The Character of Buckingham 
 
 Suggestions have been made above relative to the 
 character of Richard. On the whole, however, his 
 character is easily read, and, though it dominates the 
 play, can be understood with little or no difficulty. 
 The character of Buckingham, however, is altogether 
 different. It is not easy to understand. He does not 
 
RICHARD THE THIRD 109 
 
 seem consistent. This defect, however, is not due so 
 much to an intricate mingling of qualities as to Shake- 
 speare's carelessness and crudeness of portrayal. So 
 much attention is here given to a minor character for 
 the purpose of illustrating the precepts regarding 
 character study laid down in Chapter VIII. 
 
 After one is familiar with the text of the play it 
 is well to review consecutively the passages in which 
 a particular person appears. 
 
 I. iii. 288. Margaret addresses Buckingham as if 
 he had not yet cast in his lot with Richard; perhaps 
 he is as likely as the others to be misled but is better 
 worth appealing to than they. 
 
 I. iii. 328. Richard refers to Buckingham as a gull. 
 Attention is called below to several other disparaging 
 remarks by Richard. They all hang together pretty 
 well. But Richard's actions tell a different story. 
 He would hardly trust the secrets of his mind and 
 the execution of his dearest plans to a gull, or to 
 one whose insurrection he considered of no moment. 
 Yet he does throw Buckingham aside as if he were 
 a nonentity. 
 
 Buckingham is often made up on the stage as very 
 youthful, rather effeminate, and altogether like an 
 innocent. Is this the proper way to represent him? 
 
 II. i. 29. Edward calls him " Princely Bucking- 
 ham " and seems very intent upon winning his promise 
 of subsequent support. Hence he must be consid- 
 ered by the former king as a man of much conse- 
 quence. 
 
 II. i. 83. The significance of this line is discussed 
 above. 
 
 II. ii. 151. Richard calls Buckingham "his other 
 
no SHAKESPEARE 
 
 self " and by many other trustful and endearing 
 terms. There is the sound of hollow flattery in this 
 speech ; yet Richard so treats him, and a literal inter- 
 pretation is quite in accordance with the facts. 
 
 II. iv. 44. A messenger calls him a mighty duke, 
 and associates him on terms of equality with Glou- 
 cester, 
 
 III. i. 151-180. By these speeches we know that 
 Buckingham is the partner of all Richard's plots, 
 and certainly a much more considerable personage 
 than the trusted henchman Catesby. 
 
 III. i. 193. Buckingham is not startled by Rich- 
 ard's suggestion of chopping o& the refractory Has- 
 tings' head. He is also mercenary. He is promised 
 the Earldom of Hereford. The refusal to grant it is 
 the ostensible cause of his desertion. 
 
 III. iv. 12, 13. This is a point-blank lie to Buck- 
 ingham's credit. 
 
 III. V. 5, etc. Buckingham orates most eloquently 
 relative to his ability to play the hypocrite. And 
 later he justifies the opinion. In his dealings with 
 the mayor and citizens he is both liar and hypocrite. 
 
 IV. ii. 22. See above for a discussion of Buck- 
 ingham's behavior at this point. He has suddenly 
 become " all ice." 
 
 IV. ii. 42. Richard calls him the deep-revolving, 
 witty Buckingham. This is the only place where 
 Richard gives him credit in words for being a man 
 of parts ; yet the thoughtlessness with which he drops 
 the duke implies that the king really thought of him 
 as a gull. 
 
 IV. iii. 50. Richard considers Buckingham's rebel- 
 lion as nothing in comparison with Richmond's. 
 
RICHARD THE THIRD 111 
 
 IV. iv. 332. Richard calls him dull-brained. Com- 
 pare this with " deep-revolving " alluded to above. 
 
 On the whole, I fancy Buckingham to be a great 
 and powerful duke whose aid and support is necessary 
 to Richard. He is a hypocrite, a liar, hesitates at 
 nothing that is criminal so long as it tends to his own 
 interest. When he sees the change of fortune coming 
 he immediately deserts, but, overestimating his own 
 power, is easily borne down to the ruin he deserves. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 RICHARD THE SECOND 
 
 I. Relation to " Edward the Second " 
 
 This play is often compared to Marlowe's Edward 
 the Second, and it merits the comparison. Yet it is 
 a question in my mind whether the usual implication 
 of the comparison is correct. For to me, it is their 
 differences rather than their similarities that are 
 notable. 
 
 A rough outline of the two plots reveals similar 
 situations: that is, a weak king, one who is unworthy 
 of respect, deposed for inability, and succeeded by a 
 more kingly monarch. But the treatment of the sub- 
 ject in the two plays is altogether different. In the 
 introduction to Richard the Third it was pointed out 
 how the series of York plays were objective, follow- 
 ing Marlowe, that is, dealing with the narrative alone ; 
 and that the series of Lancaster plays were subjec- 
 tive, that is, more concerned with the inner and 
 deeper meaning of historical events. This is Shake- 
 speare's peculiarity in the latter part of the series. 
 Now Edward the Second is of the former kind. So 
 is Richard the Third, written when Shakespeare was 
 still a close follower of Marlowe and his methods. 
 But Richard the Second belongs to the latter class, 
 and is a marked departure from the Marlowe method. 
 
 m 
 
RICHARD THE SECOND 113 
 
 Nor is the characterization of the king in the Mar- 
 lowe vein. Richard the Third was, like Edward the 
 Second, essentially conceived along the lines of Tam- 
 burlaine and the Jew of Malta. Shakespeare's Rich- 
 ard the Second, however, is quite unlike these prede- 
 cessors in the drama. He is not a type, but a man, 
 well rounded out, with human qualities, and deserving 
 of human sympathies. 
 
 There are many minor differences, however, that 
 need not be referred to here. The above remarks are 
 sufficient to suggest the true situation, and the actual 
 difference. The similarity of the two plays is due 
 to the accidental resemblance of plot and is essen- 
 tially superficial. The differences are important and 
 of vital significance. 
 
 Instead of being an additional illustration of 
 Shakespeare's debt to Marlowe, I consider Richard 
 the Second as an indication of Shakespeare's breaking 
 away from early models, perhaps the first sounding 
 note of his future independence. It is the first play 
 written on his long voyage of independent travel. 
 
 II. Notes on the Text 
 
 In the following notes a little more stress is laid 
 than usual on structural points. This is due partly 
 to the fact that this is the most symmetrically con- 
 structed of the three history plays here considered; 
 and partly to the desire to illustrate promptly some 
 of the suggestions contained in Chapter VII. 
 
 The theme of the play is very clearly defined. Is 
 it right to depose an unrvorthy king? Note that Mar- 
 lowe's Edrvard the Second is the story of how an 
 
114. SHAKESPEARE 
 
 unworthy king was deposed. This play goes deeper 
 into things. Richard is an impossible king. He ap- 
 pears to much better advantage after his deposition, 
 when he earns our sympathy as a mere man. Shake- 
 speare, however, does not complete the situation 
 which he has here begun to portray till the end of 
 the series which involves both parts of Henry the 
 Fourth and Henry the Fifth. 
 
 This play is of the two-hero type of construction, 
 the most perfect example of which is Othello. Boling- 
 broke and King Richard are the two opposites. 
 Richard is the action-producing element of the first 
 half, Bolingbroke of the second. The absence of 
 Bolingbroke from the time of his banishment till his 
 triumphal return is a crudity of structure which 
 Shakespeare corrected in his later plays modeled upon 
 this style. (See Hamlet, Othello, and Macbeth. The 
 last, however, contains an equally gross violation 
 of the usual rules in the portions that relate to Mac- 
 duff.) 
 
 The introduction to the play need not be recapitu- 
 lated here. It is brought in naturally throughout the 
 first act of the play, much of it in the second scene. 
 The technical beginning, or exciting force, is Boling- 
 broke's charge against Mowbray. It is referred to 
 at once in the opening lines; and is developed fully 
 in the first and third scenes. 
 
 In weighing the relative merits of Bolingbroke and 
 Mowbray in their controversy, and the character of 
 Bolingbroke throughout, the modern reader, especially 
 if he be an American, should bear in mind the follow- 
 ing: King Henry the Fifth was to the Elizabethans 
 their great national hero, either as statesman, general, 
 
RICHARD THE SECOND 115 
 
 or perfect man. He was a sort of English George 
 Washington and Abraham Lincoln in one. So de- 
 voted were the people to his memory that Shakespeare 
 thought it necessary to forestall adverse criticism of 
 his portrait of Prince Hal in Henry the Fourth by a 
 soliloquy which is altogether out of keeping with the 
 character of the person who speaks it. Now, as the 
 Bolingbroke of this play is the father of Henry the 
 Fifths it is easy to fancy that he appeared before an 
 Elizabethan audience familiar with his history and 
 prejudiced in his favor. Though it is suggested below 
 that neither Bolingbroke nor Mowbray appeared to 
 better advantage in the first act, it is probable that 
 Shakespeare's audience instinctively sided with 
 Bolingbroke and gave him the benefit of the doubt. 
 It is probably due to this national prejudice that 
 Shakespeare was not plainer-spoken regarding the 
 right and wrong of Henry's motives on his return to 
 England. His guilt or innocence in this respect is 
 delicately answered, but in the later plays, and then 
 only by implication. 
 
 I. i. What is King Richard like in this scene? 
 This question is of greater importance here than else- 
 where, for the character of the king is developed by a 
 method used only once in a great while by Shake- 
 speare. In fact there is no other example of such a 
 great departure from his usual method. Shake- 
 speare's usual method of developing character is to 
 open with a correct but incomplete sketch which is 
 later filled out in all its details. This is true of 
 Richard the Third, and of Hamlet, Macbeth, and 
 Othello. 
 
 Richard the Second, however, is a departure; or 
 
116 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 should we say that Shakespeare had not yet fully 
 developed his method ? In the opening scene Richard 
 appears to better advantage than elsewhere. Later 
 his weaknesses are set forth more fully. Still later 
 the wicked elements of his character appear. And, 
 last of all, the good points of his character come into 
 prominence after he has ceased to be king. 
 
 Which of the two, Bolingbroke or Mowbray, is 
 right? Is there any possibility of their both being 
 wrong? (See I. i. 25.) Does the king know which 
 is right? Do the speeches of either man ring truer 
 than those of the other? What motive could there be 
 at this time to prompt Henry to bring a false accusa- 
 tion against Mowbray? Does he later desire to have 
 Mowbray come before him to substantiate old charges 
 as if he were himself troubled with a guilty con- 
 science? The answer to the latter question depends 
 largely upon the fact as to whether Henry knew of 
 the death of Mowbray. 
 
 I. i. 100. The Duke of Gloucester's death. This 
 charge is brought up emphatically several times in 
 the play. Does it turn out to be a matter of any 
 particular importance? Does not the degree of em- 
 phasis laid upon it foreshadow greater significance 
 in the remainder of the play? Is the truth of the 
 charge ever proved or disproved? 
 
 I. ii. Structurally, this is a division scene. Note 
 also the emphasis laid again on Gloucester's death. 
 The scene contains much of the introductory matter. 
 And it serves also to introduce John of Gaunt. 
 
 Though Gaunt appears only in the early part, he 
 is one of the great characters of the play. His is a 
 splendid personality, perhaps the one man who de- 
 
RICHARD THE SECOND 117 
 
 serves no ill feeling throughout. The great national 
 awakening of the decade from 1585 to 1595 called into 
 being first a national curiosity as to England's past, 
 and then a true spirit of patriotism. The catering 
 to the demand of the people for knowledge regarding 
 the sources of these two widespread emotions brought 
 into existence the history play. In this drama^ Gaunt 
 is the embodied spirit of patriotism, a figurative kind 
 of character, almost allegorical, that finds its fullest 
 development in Henry the Fifth. 
 
 I. iii. This is one of the most important scenes of 
 the play. From a structural point of view it repre- 
 sents the completion of the exciting force. Note how 
 the subsequent events are related to this. Boling- 
 broke's charge against Mowbray brings about the 
 trial which is interrupted at the command of the king. 
 As a result he banished Bolingbroke. Resulting grief 
 and disappointment hastens the death of Bolingbroke's 
 father, John of Gaunt. The absence of Gaunt 's heir 
 prompts Richard to seize the dead duke's property. 
 As a result of this act, determination to win back his 
 own causes Bolingbroke's return before the expira- 
 tion of his period of banishment. The effort to estab- 
 lish himself as Duke of Lancaster leads him further, 
 and ends in the overthrow of Richard. 
 
 The scene also contains a very important though 
 partial presentation of the character of the king. As 
 pointed out above, Shakespeare is here, contrary to 
 his later method, developing Richard's character grad- 
 ually. Here he appears to disadvantage through his 
 weakness, but hardly as actually wicked. The char- 
 acter information is all bound up in the king's reason 
 for stopping the combat. If we turn to the original 
 
118 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 historical source we learn that Richard feared an out- 
 break from the adherents of Lancaster, and that he 
 took great precautions to police the lists. Fear lest 
 the precautions taken should prove insufficient prob- 
 ably caused him to stop the trial at the critical mo- 
 ment. And the lighter sentence on Bolingbroke, to- 
 gether with the reduction of his banishment from ten 
 years to six, is a sop to the faction of Gaunt. This 
 explanation is not emphasized in the text, though it 
 must have been in Shakespeare's mind, and he may 
 have assumed it as being taken for granted by the 
 audience. 
 
 Note the appearance of the following list of char- 
 acteristics of the king: 
 
 1. Lack of decision. — He is almost unwilling to 
 pronounce the heavy sentence against Norfolk. The 
 timid king seems to lack the courage of his convic- 
 tions. 
 
 2. Lach of personal magnetism. — We have already 
 noticed in scene i. that he has no control over Nor- 
 folk, and that he turns Bolingbroke over to his fa- 
 ther's management as if quite beyond his own influ- 
 ence. Here he also fails utterly to dominate Norfolk, 
 and gives in to Gaunt merely as a result of his un- 
 spoken behavior. 
 
 3. He does not know his own mind. — So far as 
 we know the king has acquired no new information 
 since scene i. Any reason for not permitting the trial 
 to go on existed when he arranged it at first. It is 
 possible, however, that the king proceeded in the mere 
 hope that something accidental would turn up to stop 
 it without his own decided action. 
 
 4. Insincerity. — I. iii. 125. The reason the king 
 
RICHARD THE SECOND 119 
 
 gives for stopping the combat is not the true one. If 
 it were he would have urged it at the beginning as a 
 reason for not permitting the combat to take place at 
 all. (See also I. iii. 184, where he commanded 
 Bolingbroke and Mowbray never to reconcile their 
 differences.) 
 
 5. Cowardice. — The king's reason for stopping the 
 combat is fear of the results. In those days people 
 believed in the just and righteous outcome of such a 
 trial. Physical powers had nothing to do with such a 
 result. It makes no difference whether the king knew 
 which man was right. If Mowbray won it might set 
 the dissatisfied party of Lancaster into active opposi- 
 tion against the crown. If Bolingbroke won it would 
 reflect upon the past behavior of the king's party, 
 even upon the king himself. No matter which pre- 
 vailed, the king would be in a dangerous situation. 
 
 6. Vacillating. — Note the change in Bolingbroke's 
 sentence. 
 
 7. Impracticable. — Notwithstanding the fact that 
 the king has banished both combatants he lays strict 
 commands upon them to be obeyed in absence, as if 
 he were still able to control them by a mere word. 
 They must not communicate with each other or recon- 
 cile their differences. In other words, the king ex- 
 pects them in absence, after a heavy and unjust pen- 
 alty, to show to him a loyalty that he could not 
 command at home before this act of injustice. 
 
 8. Unjust. — So far as we know there is no reason- 
 able proof that either is guilty. There is no justice 
 for either sentence. If, however, both be thought par- 
 tially guilty of misbehavior, there is no reason for 
 discrimination. And if Bolingbroke were worthy of 
 
120 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 a banishment of ten years there is no justice in re- 
 ducing it to six. 
 
 Note that in this list of qualities the first seven 
 show Richard to be a weak man, and in no way a great 
 leader. Many a good man has been weak. The sit- 
 uation is to be lamented, but it need not necessarily be 
 interpreted to his moral discredit. The eighth quality 
 of injustice is a little more defamatory. Yet it would 
 be possible to fancy that his very weakness forced 
 him into this line of action against his will; or, at 
 least, not altogether of his own aggressive initiation. 
 In other words, this scene presents the disadvanta- 
 geous qualities of the king, leaving his most vicious 
 characteristics for later presentation. 
 
 II. i. 5. It was a common superstition of the time 
 that a person about to die, on the borderland, so to 
 speak, between life and death, could see forward into 
 the life to come. Hence the words of dying men were 
 listened to with peculiar respect and often regarded 
 as prophetic. The fact that Richard pays no atten- 
 tion to his uncle's words at this time is, therefore, more 
 indicative of his character than would be the case if 
 Gaunt were not at death's door. 
 
 II. i. 17. According to York, how fully Richard 
 seems to be given up to the influence of bad advisers. 
 (See also III. ii. 130.) Do not this outbreak of the 
 king against his favorites, and the hasty, erroneous 
 judgment shown, imply very plainly that the king 
 knew their bad qualities all along? If so he deserves 
 all the more blame for the national adversity they 
 have led him into countenancing. 
 
 Note also (line 31, etc.) the patriotic description 
 of England. As already pointed out, Gaunt repre- 
 
RICHARD THE SECOND 121 
 
 sents figuratively the newly developing patriotism of 
 the Elizabethans. Gaunt, who, throughout his whole 
 life, has always subordinated the interests of his fam- 
 ily to the interests of the king, is now near death. In 
 the clearer vision of this moment he discovers that love 
 and duty to England is a greater thing than even a 
 blind devotion to the king and his interests. The king 
 himself owes this devotion to England as well as the 
 meanest subject in the land. And the upshot of it all 
 is that a king who does not feel this patriotism has no 
 right to continue being king. 
 
 II. i. 73-83. In Elizabethan times puns were not 
 necessarily considered funny. There is no hint of wit 
 or humor implied in this passage. (See a further 
 discussion of this matter in the chapter on Mac- 
 beth.) 
 
 II. i. 115, 139. Shakespeare, having shown Rich- 
 ard to fair advantage at the start, then as weak and 
 flighty, is now engaged in bringing out his most des- 
 picable characteristics. At no place in the play does 
 he appear to worse advantage than here, with his 
 brutal disrespect to the dying Gaunt, typified by the 
 two lines cited above. 
 
 Richard might have shown some grief, or, at least, 
 some outward respect, when he hears that his uncle, 
 the greatest man in England, is dead. But he shows 
 joy, rather than grief (II. i. 154), and absolutely no 
 respect (II. i. I60). 
 
 Note how in keeping with his character is this seiz- 
 ure of Gaunt's property, and how inevitably the fol- 
 lowing events grow out of the seizure as a result of 
 the law of cause and effect. This is a good example of 
 the interplay of character and plot so necessary to 
 
122 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 dramatic effect. (See the chapter on Dramatic 
 Structure.) 
 
 After the introduction and the exciting force were 
 introduced in act I. we find a sort of pause in the gen- 
 eral swing of forward motion preparatory to the great 
 events of act III. In the second act, which has been 
 spoken of as structurally transitional, we have the 
 plot advanced, a good deal of foreshadowing, the re- 
 turn of Bolingbroke prepared for, and the bad side of 
 the king's character further presented. The latter 
 detail is completed in act III., scene ii. Note that no 
 event in this act, save the death of Gaunt and the 
 seizure of his property, which comes first, is of great 
 spectacular importance. Yet all the remainder of the 
 act taken together is preparation for what is coming 
 in act III., and suggestions as to what it will be like. 
 
 The character of York should be noted carefully. 
 He is a timeserver, one who wishes to be on the safe 
 side from selfish motives. Yet he is not altogether 
 bad. He is usually faithful enough for the time be- 
 ing, and often shows better impulses, though seldom 
 able to live up to them. On the whole York fails to 
 win our sympathy or admiration. 
 
 II. i. 163. It means a good deal for such a man 
 to express himself as out of patience with the behavior 
 of the king. Evidently it is the first time York has 
 ever expressed himself thus. See the startled excla- 
 mation of the king, lines l69, 186. Note York's re- 
 marks to the king relative to the unjust treatment of 
 Bolingbroke, and what will follow such a course of 
 action; and compare these sentiments with what he 
 says to Bolingbroke in II. iii. In this latter scene 
 York is still a king's man. 
 
RICHARD THE SECOND 123 
 
 II. i. 211. When the king reiterates his determina- 
 tion to seize the property of Gaunt^ York replies^ "I'll 
 not be by the while." Thus quickly does his better 
 impulse to opposition wear itself out, lest like treat- 
 ment be accorded to him. (See line 151.) 
 
 II. i. 246, etc. The noblemen give a long list of 
 Richard's misdeeds, many of them amounting to 
 crimes. (See line 277, etc.) In their conversation the 
 nobles say nothing of Bolingbroke's return to claim 
 his own rights. On the other hand, line 292, it is very 
 plain that their opposition is directed against the king. 
 They deny this later. We should, however, take their 
 denial, II. iii. 148, for no more than it is worth. 
 
 II. ii. 98-122. York here is much excited and 
 muddled. His helplessness, however, is not so much 
 due to lack of ability as to a lack of knowledge as to 
 what it is best for him to do for himself in the long 
 run. He acknowledges weighty ties both to the king 
 and to Bolingbroke. It would be worth a good deal to 
 him at this moment to know which side to espouse. 
 He elects the king's, but changes as soon as a sight of 
 the formidable following and backing of Bolingbroke 
 convinces him of his error. 
 
 II. iii. 71. Bolingbroke asserts that he came to 
 England only to reclaim his confiscated rights as Duke 
 of Lancaster. It is interesting to determine whether 
 he is here telling the truth. There can be no doubt 
 but that the nobles rally to his support intending in 
 their own minds to make him king. And it is barely 
 possible that they have deceived Bolingbroke in this 
 respect, and are trusting to the general drift of cir- 
 cumstances to embolden him to the seizure of the 
 crown. As a matter of fact, Shakespeare leaves the 
 
124 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 honesty or dishonesty of Bolingbroke's original mo- 
 tives an open question. 
 
 II. iii. 88. York calls Bolingbroke a traitor. Com- 
 pare with York's sentiments formerly spoken to the 
 king, II. i. Does the use of the word traitor imply 
 that York believes that Bolingbroke is in reality fight- 
 ing for the crown? If so, what light does it shed on 
 the character significance of York's desertion from the 
 king's party? 
 
 II. iii. 113-171. Bolingbroke insists that he has 
 come to England only to claim his own rights as Lan- 
 caster. Northumberland and the others support him 
 in this assertion. York offers no objection save in 
 line 152. Does he mean by " I see the issue of these 
 arms," to say " Your intentions at this moment may be 
 honest enough, but I see where this opposition will 
 eventually lead you " ? 
 
 Note, however, at the end of this passage, Boling- 
 broke's determination to attack Bushy, Bagot, and 
 Green. Is this an act in the pursuit of his private 
 interests? And in III. i. does he not order their ex- 
 ecution as dictatorially as if he were already king? or 
 counting confidently on becoming king? 
 
 We are now rapidly approaching the structural 
 turning-point of the play — the point at which by ab- 
 dication Richard gives place to Bolingbroke. 
 
 III. ii. The function of this scene is mainly to 
 justify Bolingbroke's seizure of the crown. This jus- 
 tification is to be found mainly in the king's utter help- 
 lessness in an emergency. He has had every oppor- 
 tunity in the past. Now that the time and opportunity 
 to do something has come his mismanagement of 
 affairs has rendered him altogether incapable. Why 
 
RICHARD THE SECOND 125 
 
 should not a better man take the reins of government 
 in hand? The answer to this question implies the 
 total effect of the scene. 
 
 The wild and enthusiastic joy of the king when he 
 sets foot on English ground does not redound much to 
 his credit. One feels that there is a superficial senti- 
 mentality about the expression of such sentiments 
 from the man who had loved England so little that he 
 has brought it to the point of ruin through his selfish- 
 ness and wickedness. The declamation is mere hol- 
 low insincerity. The exhibition of outward feeling 
 here expressed is in no way in keeping with Richard's 
 past actions. He has done his best to bring disaster 
 upon England and to render it untenable, both for him 
 and for others. 
 
 Even his own people condemn him. Carlisle and 
 Aumerle consider him amiss in his dilatory dealing 
 with Bolingbroke, line 33. Again, Aumerle comments 
 on his cowardly pallor, line 75, and finds it necessary 
 to remind the king that he is a king, line 82. A little 
 later when Richard is wholly given up to his mourn- 
 ful wailing, Carlisle, his devoted friend, utters what 
 is the strongest charge of inability brought against 
 the king in the whole play: namely, " Wise men ne'er 
 sit and wail their woes, But presently prevent the 
 ways to wail." 
 
 III. ii. 97. The king apparently jumps to the con- 
 clusion that Bolingbroke is in reality aiming at the 
 crown. 
 
 During all this scene the king appears to the 
 greatest disadvantage. He is up and down in spirits, 
 speaking grandiloquently at one moment when danger 
 seems distant; utterly collapsing the next when it ap- 
 
126 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 pears more near at hand. Not once, but several times, 
 does he experience this transition from boastful hope 
 to pallid fear. At the end we realize that he is in- 
 capable of offering any material opposition. All his 
 strength lay in the wicked favorites who have been 
 executed or in those lukewarm adherents who have 
 deserted him. Bolingbroke has nothing more to fear. 
 After this scene the result is a foregone conclusion. 
 
 III. iii. The complicated situation of this scene 
 requires careful analysis. The king, having given up, 
 practically in hiding, believes the end is near and that 
 the all-powerful Bolingbroke has come to seize the 
 crown. York, who has lately deserted the king, holds 
 practically the same belief. Northumberland and the 
 other peers are determined that Bolingbroke shall 
 ascend the throne. However, they do not yet know the 
 absolute weakness of the king. Hence they are not 
 quite ready to come out into the open. So they pre- 
 tend to support Bolingbroke only in his position of 
 claiming his rights as the Duke of Lancaster. Boling- 
 broke's position, on the other hand, is not quite so 
 clear. He may be at one with the barons, or he may 
 be honestly desirous of regaining his own rights and 
 no more. 
 
 At any rate, the move they have decided upon is to 
 lay the claim for the full restoration of Bolingbroke, 
 offering to disband their army if this is granted. They 
 probably expected Richard to refuse point-blank. 
 Their next move would be to depose Richard for this 
 further act of injustice, and then proclaim Henry 
 king. 
 
 But in a moment the king suddenly upsets all their 
 plans. He agrees without the least hesitation to all 
 
RICHARD THE SECOND 127 
 
 terms. Bolingbroke's apparently honest expression 
 of satisfaction rather than of dismay may imply his 
 innocence, or it may merely imply good acting. To 
 use a slang phrase, the king has called their bluff. 
 They need time to devise a way out of the situation. 
 
 Note, however, that the king himself considers them 
 all insincere. He believes that he has really given up 
 his crown, that he accompanies them to London in 
 actual fact as a prisoner. In the next scene the 
 gardener not only takes this view but tells us that the 
 king is generally considered to be deposed. And in 
 the scene next following Richard is called upon to 
 acknowledge publicly what is assumed as already to 
 have taken place. 
 
 So I should consider this scene as equivalent to the 
 virtual abdication of the king, and place the structural 
 turning-point here. 
 
 Notice how promptly in the next act Shakespeare 
 begins to solicit our sympathy for the deposed mon- 
 arch. None of his good points appears till he is 
 robbed of the position and the power which served to 
 bring out only the worst elements of his character. 
 
 Structurally the fourth and fifth acts are less sym- 
 metrical than the first three. The first 106 lines con- 
 stitute an absolutely irrelevant scene. From 106 to 
 160 attention is taken up with the tirade from Carlisle 
 that results in nothing save his subsequent qualified 
 forgiveness by Bolingbroke. And the rest of the 
 act is given up to a pitiful example of harsh treat- 
 ment of the downfallen ruler which serves, however, 
 to rouse the sympathy of the audience for him, but 
 which has no plot significance. And most of the fifth 
 act is taken up with a comedy diversion. 
 
128 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 It is well to note that in several cases Shake- 
 speare's plays end more weakly than they begin. 
 
 IV. i. 1-106. See a former note relative to the 
 frequent reference to Gloucester's death. The point is 
 made very emphatic here. And nothing comes of it. 
 Even the dilemma of Aumerle has nothing to do with 
 the dilemma he finds himself in in the fifth act. The 
 passage is dead weight to the progress of the play. 
 Possibly it was meant to contrast Henry's behavior 
 with Richard's in a similar situation at the opening of 
 the play. But the effect, from this point of view, is 
 wasted, for Henry immediately drops the whole mat- 
 ter. The day of trial, referred to in line 106, never 
 comes. 
 
 IV. i. 107-161. Carlisle's brilliant speech on be- 
 half of the king results only in his arrest for high 
 treason by Northumberland, and his subsequent for- 
 giveness by Bolingbroke. 
 
 Nowhere else has Shakespeare treated a character 
 as he has treated the character of Richard. The 
 dramatist has begun with an attractive glimpse, then 
 the character of the king was gradually debased till 
 our sympathy is entirely with his enemies. Then 
 Richard is slowly but surely raised in our estimation. 
 This latter phase is developed by the use of pathos. 
 
 The requisition that Richard announce publicly all 
 the details of his downfall, even to the point of ex- 
 patiating on his own deserts and praising his enemies, 
 is certainly carrying the matter too far, now that 
 Henry has gained all that he wants. Even he is at 
 last shamed into bidding Northumberland to " urge it 
 no more." 
 
 The next act opens with the queen upon the stage. 
 
RICHARD THE SECOND 129 
 
 Her meeting with the king and their tender parting 
 brings tears to the eyes of those who a moment before 
 were willing to cry " Down with Richard." Our in- 
 dignation is justly roused when we are told, V. ii., 
 that the populace on the day of coronation " threw 
 dust and rubbish on King Richard's head." There is 
 no more pathetic touch in the play than Richard's 
 injured pride at the news that Roan Barbary was 
 proud to be beneath his new master. 
 
 V. V. 1-66. This wild rush of poetical but dis- 
 connected fancies, almost incoherent at times, repre- 
 sents the result of Richard's constant and lonely 
 brooding over his change of fortune. It represents 
 a mind on the very point of collapse. To a man in 
 such a state we can render nothing but sympathy. 
 Then he suddenly rises to a display of energy that 
 would have made him a better king had it been rightly 
 directed from the start. First one attendant and then 
 another falls before his fierce onslaught. And, at our 
 last view of Richard, we feel, with Exton, that he died 
 " as full of valor as of royal blood." 
 
 The structural end of this play comes where it 
 should come, at the end. It is the entrance of Exton 
 with the coffin speaking the termination of the tale, 
 " Great king, within this coffin I present thy buried 
 fear." It is said above that before the end of the play 
 all loose threads, etc., should be gathered up and dis- 
 posed of. The opening lines of V. iii. are a reference 
 to the escapades of Prince Hal, and serve to bind this 
 play to Henry the Fourth. So also does the pro- 
 jected pilgrimage to the Holy Land, mentioned at the 
 close. For Henry the Fourth opens with an ex- 
 planation as to why this pilgrimage was not made. 
 
130 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 In other words, these two details serve to link the play 
 to the next in the series rather than to end it sharply 
 and with finality. 
 
 III. The Character op Bolingbroke 
 
 It is hoped that in a subsequent edition of this 
 volume room will be found for a treatment of both 
 parts of Henry the Fourth, as they assist materi- 
 ally in understanding the character of Bolingbroke. 
 It has been pointed out above that the interesting de- 
 tail of Henry's character is in connection with the 
 motives that actuated his return to England. Was he 
 guilty of designs upon the crown from the very start, 
 or was he forced upon the throne by the drift of cir- 
 cumstances? Shakespeare has left the question with- 
 out an answer in Richard the Second. I think, 
 however, that a careful consideration of the four plays 
 of the series enables us to determine Shakespeare's 
 position. In brief, it seems to be as follows : 
 
 Bolingbroke, in absence, was aware of the bad con- 
 ditions at home, saw that the time was ripe for a ris- 
 ing against the crown, and awaited only a pretext that 
 would permit him to place himself promptly in the 
 limelight. This pretext came in the seizure of his 
 rights and properties as Duke of Lancaster. 
 
 Consider for a moment the significance of the char- 
 acter of Gaunt as outlined earlier in the chapter. So 
 long as only personal interests were at stake he did 
 what seemed right, he remained subservient to the 
 king. But when the good of England was at stake 
 he turned against his monarch. This is Shakespeare's 
 position as .well as Gaunt's. 
 
jaiCHARD THE SECOND ISl 
 
 Now apply this to the situation of Bolingbroke. So 
 far as he is actuated by selfish motives he is doing 
 wrong and deserves punishment. But he was a good 
 king and did well for England, and for this he de- 
 serves reward. 
 
 Shakespeare always observed the principle of nem- 
 esis with subtile justice. And he has applied it here 
 with consummate skill. Henry is punished by remorse 
 over the way in which Exton has misinterpreted his 
 chance remark about the king,* by the inability to 
 clear his conscience by a pilgrimage, by the rebellion 
 of the north, and by the behavior of his unthrifty 
 son. On the other hand, he is rewarded by eventual 
 success, by peace and plenty brought to England dur- 
 ing his administration, and, eventually, by the triumph 
 of his house in the magnificent career of his son, 
 Henry the Fifth. 
 
 IV. The Comedy Element 
 
 In the above notes on the text of the play the sec- 
 ond and third scenes of act V. have been passed over 
 almost without comment. If I am right, their proper 
 interpretation has often been neglected. They fur- 
 nish, in fact, the comedy element of the play. 
 
 Shakespeare's plays of this period are largely ex- 
 perimental. The age demanded a large admixture of 
 the comedy element with the tragic. Shakespeare ex- 
 perimented as to the best place to put it. In Rich- 
 ard the Third it is practically omitted. In Henry 
 the Fourth two stories, one serious, the other comic, 
 
 * It is interesting to note that this remorse is not hinted 
 at in the chronicles. It is Shakespeare's addition. 
 
132 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 are told, almost independently, and introduced in al- 
 ternate scenes. In Henry the Fifth an effort is 
 made to weave the comedy into the body of the story 
 as an integral part of it. In Richard the Second, 
 however, Shakespeare adopted still a different device. 
 He waited till the serious part of the play was, to all 
 intents and purposes, ended; then introduced a plenti- 
 ful supply of comic diversion all at once. 
 
 In my classes I have frequently met students who, 
 on a superficial examination, have failed to recognize 
 the farcical nature of these two scenes. Hence a 
 brief suggestion may not be out of place. 
 
 York, throughout the play, has been a timeserver. 
 In these two scenes he is drawn as a caricature of 
 himself. It is the willing reed bent by a sort of re- 
 ductio-ad-absurdum method to the extreme limit. The 
 very nature of what is coming is foretold, for the last 
 line of act IV. promises us " a plot shall show us all 
 a merry day." There is something ridiculous in the 
 air of carelessness of an arch-conspirator who goes 
 about with his bond exposed to view. 
 
 After the discovery we must imagine York storming 
 about, " roaring as gently as any sucking dove " and 
 completely overacting the part. Then appears the 
 equally impetuous duchess, with the great conspir- 
 ator standing by, doing nothing but twiddle his thumbs 
 while his parents wrangle. And at regular recurring 
 intervals comes York's imperious slogan, " Bring me 
 my boots." 
 
 One who could manage to escape the humor of the 
 next scene could easily fail to see its possibilities. 
 The great Henry is placid in the face of danger. 
 York, Aumerle, and the duchess are all on their knees 
 
RICHARD THE SECOND 13S 
 
 before him. Both the elders are a bit too stifif in their 
 knees to rise easily. So York continues to clamor for 
 the conviction of the son who has already been for- 
 given ; the duchess for his pardon, not knowing that he 
 has been forgiven even before her entrance. 
 
 Through melodramatic overacting all this is made 
 delightfully laughable. Throughout this play and 
 both parts of Henry the Fourth the king is painted 
 as a grim, stern potentate, quite unlike Prince Hal or 
 Henry the Fifth. Yet even Bolingbroke is overcome 
 by the humorous situation and exclaims, line 79^ 
 " Our scene is altered from a serious thing." 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 HENRY THE FIFTH 
 
 I. Relation to Other Plays 
 
 There is a difference of opinion as to whether the 
 four Lancaster plays, Richard the Second, the first 
 and second parts of Henry the Fourth, and Henry the 
 Fifth, should be considered separately or together. It 
 has already been pointed out how the closing lines of 
 Richard the Second link the play to Henry the 
 Fourth. Both parts of the latter play are quite con- 
 tinuous. There are, however, reasons for looking upon 
 Henry the Fifth as a separate venture, not as a con- 
 tinuation of the series. 
 
 Both Richard the Second and Henry the Fifth dif- 
 fer structurally from Henry the Fourth. Hence no 
 structural unity in the series is to be discovered. 
 
 Richard the Second and Henry the Fourth conform 
 to the description of a history play given in Chapter 
 X. That is, they aim primarily at a dramatization 
 of the chronicle in such a manner as to enlighten the 
 audience regarding the historical events of the period 
 under consideration. Now Henry the Fifth does not 
 do this. It is little more than a spectacular dramati- 
 zation of the Battle of Agincourt. 
 
 Furthermore, the first three plays mentioned above 
 are thoroughly dramatic, full of action and interre- 
 134 
 
HENRY THE FIFTH 135 
 
 lation o£ parts. Henry the Fifth, on the other hand, 
 is much more epic in character, frequently delayed by 
 long patriotic declamations, and requires a chorus be- 
 fore each act, a detail not appearing elsewhere among 
 the plays of Shakespeare. 
 
 These differences are sufficient to support the con- 
 tention that Henry the Fifth, in spite of its position 
 in the historical sequence, is an entirely independent 
 play. And to these facts may be added another of 
 even greater significance. 
 
 Consider what the absence of Falstaff means. At 
 the close of the second part of Henry the Fourth 
 Shakespeare tells us that he already has the play of 
 Henry the Fifth under consideration. He further 
 tells us specifically that Falstaff is to be a character 
 in it. And the implication is that the fat knight will 
 be as important in the new play as he was in the old. 
 
 Shakespeare postponed the writing of Henry the 
 Fifth long enough to produce the Merry Wives of 
 Windsor. Then he wrote the play under consideration 
 according to a plan, and of a tone, that precludes the 
 presence of Falstaff. Evidently, in the interim, 
 Shakespeare's conception of the play as a continuation 
 of the series had undergone such a change that he 
 could not keep the promise formerly made at the 
 conclusion of Henry the Fourth. 
 
 The play also bears a special relation to Shake- 
 speare's whole career. His early work was imitative. 
 His middle work independent but experimental. This 
 period and the next begins with Henry the Fifth. 
 There follows the period of maturity in which he pro- 
 duced the great tragedies. In other words, Henry 
 the Fifth looks back upon the history plays and for- 
 
1S6 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 ward upon the tragedies. The sources of caany of the 
 tragedies are to be found in Holinshed, whence came 
 the material for the history plays. 
 
 Now the history plays, as pointed out above, aimed 
 to instruct. The facts — that is, the plot — must be in 
 accordance with a ready found account and, if need be, 
 take precedence over a better arrangement from the 
 dramatic point of view. As Shakespeare matured, this 
 limitation became more and more irksome. When he 
 gave up history-play writing he gave up this limita- 
 tion. He would henceforth be at liberty to change, 
 rearrange, omit, or invent at will. This change in 
 procedure is equivalent to an assertion of his com- 
 plete independence of models, the beginning of the 
 full development of his own individual personality. 
 
 Henry the Fifth I consider to be the first play 
 produced in accordance with this change of method 
 and purpose. 
 
 Later, as another difference between this play and 
 the other three, will be pointed out the irreconcilable 
 inconsistency between the character of Prince Hal 
 and that of Henry the Fifth. 
 
 II. The Conception op the Play 
 
 So far as we know, Shakespeare did not stop writ- 
 ing history plays because the field had been covered. 
 Nor was it because the demand for them was waning 
 — witness his own popularity as a producer of this 
 kind of play. It was rather because, as has already 
 been pointed out, the type demanded a close adher- 
 ence to facts already laid down. This condition ham- 
 
HENRY THE FIFTH 137 
 
 pered his maturing genius^ his developing dramatic 
 powers began to demand a wider scope. 
 
 The generally experimental nature of the history 
 plays is not always clearly enough recognized. Shake- 
 speare appears in the three parts of Henry the Sixth 
 merely as a reviser and polisher-up. In Richard the 
 Third he is a follower of Marlowe. With Richard the 
 Second he asserted his independence of Marlowe, but 
 not of the history play as a type. The accidental 
 plot symmetry of this play is due to the exceptionally 
 dramatic nature of the original account. In Henry 
 the Fourth the dramatist tried the experiment of the 
 double plot, which, rather than adding to his prestige 
 as a writer of history plays, made him famous as a 
 comedy writer. 
 
 By this time, Shakespeare, as suggested above, must 
 have decided to give up the writing of history plays. 
 Of the four plays which constitute his notable contri- 
 bution to the type, the first presents the picture of a 
 weak and worthless king. Shakespeare resolved to 
 say good-by to the type in a play presenting just the 
 opposite kind of ruler. 
 
 The nature of the chronicle play and his experi- 
 ments with it showed Shakespeare that dramatic unity 
 was not the chief quality of the type. He therefore 
 resolved to treat the whole thing in a new way. The 
 new play was to be epic rather than dramatic (an ex- 
 periment, however, which he did not repeat). He 
 would sing the glory of his country. To do this he 
 chose one man and one event. 
 
 Henry the Fifth was chosen not because he came 
 after Henry the Fourth, whose reign had just been 
 dramatized, but because of the peculiar attitude of 
 
138 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 the Elizabethans towards him and Agincourt. Henry 
 the Fifth was their great national hero ; and Agincourt 
 was to them what Waterloo is to modern Englishmen, 
 or Gettysburg to Americans. 
 
 Shakespeare's conception of the play is twofold. 
 It involves the treatment of an ideal king, and also the 
 glory of England. In the plan adopted, Henry be- 
 comes partly allegorical. At times he is a man, at 
 other times he is England, Thus in I. ii. 275, etc., he 
 is boasting to France as England. From 279 on he is 
 speaking modestly to his own people as a man and 
 their king. 
 
 Throughout the play it is necessary to bear in mind 
 its twofold significance. It is constantly alternating 
 between realism and allegory. 
 
 III. Notes on the Text 
 
 The Elizabethan dramatists made frequent use of 
 the prologue, though its use was by no means uni- 
 versal. Shakespeare resorted to it sparingly; and in 
 no other play inserted a prologue or chorus before 
 every act. 
 
 The prologue was put to a number of uses. Some- 
 times it served merely as an introductory speech re- 
 questing the favor and patience of the audience. 
 Again it would explain the special occasion for the 
 production of the play. Thus some plays have a pro- 
 logue for public presentation and another for pro- 
 duction at the court. Again, the prologue was used 
 to apologize for the inadequacy of the stage effects at 
 the command of the presenters. Ben Jonson used it 
 frequently to air his precepts regarding stagecraft 
 
HENRY THE FIFTH 1S9 
 
 and literary criticism. But perhaps the most common 
 use of the prologue was to forecast the substance of 
 the play or to give a synopsis of the parts omitted in 
 the actual presentation. Several of these functions 
 are illustrated by the choruses of this play. Their 
 special significance, however, is discussed in a later 
 section of this chapter. 
 
 Act I. Prologue. The Globe, Shakespeare's the- 
 ater, was round, hence the allusion to it as a cockpit 
 and a wooden O. The companies in that day were 
 probably much smaller than theatrical troupes to-day, 
 hence an army would be represented by a very limited 
 number of actors. So this prologue is usually cited 
 by critics as an apology for the crude and limited 
 resources at Shakespeare's command for the presenta- 
 tion of stage effects. 
 
 I am inclined, however, to take a different view of 
 the matter. Consider for a moment the actual con- 
 ditions. The date of no other play of Shakespeare is 
 generally accepted within such narrow limits as that 
 of Henry the Fifth. If produced in the spring of 
 1599, as is generally supposed, the Globe playhouse 
 was still too new for its novelty to have worn off. 
 Shakespeare's company was the leading troupe of 
 London, and the Globe the finest, most up-to-date the- 
 ater. With such resources at his command is it 
 likely that Shakespeare would take a humble and 
 apologetic attitude, rather than one of ostentatious 
 pride ? 
 
 I think that there are two significations to this pro- 
 logue. As pointed out in the section devoted to the 
 Elizabethan staging of the play, it may be that a spe- 
 cial effort is made to produce a great spectacular 
 
140 SHAKESPEAEE 
 
 effect as unusual on the London stage of that day 
 as the play itself. In such a situation the opening 
 apology, soon to be put at naught, would be merely a 
 bit of rhetorical irony. 
 
 The other significance of the prologue may be 
 phrased something like this: " Here we are, the best 
 troupe in London, with the best playhouse in town, 
 making a special effort to do credit to our new theater 
 and to our theme. But the theme is so great that 
 even our resources are utterly and absolutely inad- 
 equate to do justice to our subject." In other words, 
 granted the unusual resources at command, every 
 word of disparagement is a word enhancing the glory 
 of Henry the Fifth. 
 
 I. 1. 24. Canterbury is here referring to the early 
 life of the king, fully set forth in the two parts of 
 Henry the Fourth. 
 
 I. i. 38. Note this list of the characteristics and ac- 
 complishments of the king. 
 
 I. i. 64-69- It is later pointed out that Prince 
 Hal is a different sort of man from the king. 
 Henry the Fifth is not merely a reformed Prince 
 Hal. The ordinary way of accounting for the change 
 by those who see no difficulty in reconciling the differ- 
 ence, is a familiar, every-day occurrence known to 
 every one. Yet Ely and Canterbury discuss the 
 change and give its explanation up as inexplicable. 
 In their opinion it can only be explained as the re- 
 sult of a miracle. Remembering, as already pointed 
 out, Shakespeare's change of conception regarding 
 the play as a whole, is not this passage equivalent to 
 a direct hint from him to expect a different person- 
 ality in the king? 
 
HENRY THE FIFTH 141 
 
 I, ii. 33, etc. This long and tedious exposition of 
 the Salic law is a passage illustrative of the instruc- 
 tional element of the history play. The conception of 
 Henry the Fifth, as set forth above need not imply 
 that Shakespeare broke away once and for all from 
 every detail of the history-play type. It merely im- 
 plies the peculiar qualities of the type have given 
 place to something else. We even find reminiscences 
 of the history-play habit very marked in Julius 
 Coesar. 
 
 Note how much of this scene is essentially undra- 
 matic. It is largely a patriotic recitation of the great 
 deeds England has done and will do again. 
 
 II. i. Nym, Bardolph, Pistol, and Hostess were 
 familiar to Elizabethan audiences as characters of 
 Henry the Fourth. 
 
 II. ii. Note the undramatic quality of this whole 
 scene. Nothing has led up to it. It produces no after 
 effect, no new step in the action. It is a mere episode 
 in Henry's journey to France. 
 
 It may be asked. Why is so much space given up to 
 it.'' The answer is. To help portray the character of 
 the king. Character description, so far as it is neces- 
 sary to explain or account for action, is dramatic. But 
 such disproportionate attention to the point here is the 
 justification for calling the scene essentially undra- 
 matic. One reason why the play is so undramatic as 
 a whole is that it is a character sketch presented on a 
 large scale rather than a character protrayal by a con- 
 tinuous action produced in accordance with the law of 
 cause and effect. 
 
 1. The scene contrasts the duplicity of the traitors 
 with the honesty of the king. 
 
142 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 2. Henry's leniency is shown in his dealing with 
 the condemned soldier. 
 
 3. It illustrates the king's watchfulness, which has 
 resulted in the discovery of the conspiracy. 
 
 4. It shows his just discrimination in forgiving 
 the soldier and in punishing the conspirators to the 
 full. 
 
 5. Henry's sorrowful pity for Lord Scroop re- 
 minds us of Lincoln's sympathy for his erring brothers 
 of the South. 
 
 6. The contrition of the conspirators is a tribute 
 to Henry's greatness of character. 
 
 7. Henry continues his journey absolutely undis- 
 turbed by such a momentous danger. 
 
 II. iv. 48, etc. Note throughout the play the con- 
 trast between Shakespeare's contempt of the French 
 and the praise of Englishmen often put into the 
 mouths of Frenchmen. 
 
 III. i. This is one of the finest declamations of the 
 play. Inasmuch as it incites the soldiers to hearty 
 action in the battle it may be looked upon as the only 
 one of these well-known declamatory passages which 
 is truly dramatic. 
 
 III. iv. This scene is translated in the Tudor Edi- 
 tion of Shakespeare's Henry the Fifth. The trans- 
 lation, however, is unnecessary to a comprehension of 
 the effect. In fact, a literal knowledge of its meaning 
 in a way destroys its purpose. The Elizabethans 
 probably understood France no better than did King 
 Henry himself. When Shakespeare wrote this scene 
 he knew very well that the Globe audience would 
 understand no more than the general drift, and that 
 they would not clamor for an interlinear translation. 
 
HENRY THE FIFTH 143 
 
 The active, energetic pantomime of the two French- 
 women together with the strange words made it as 
 funny to the Elizabethans as a similar scene in a 
 French cafe is to an American to-day who knows 
 French only through his Baedeker handbook. 
 
 III. vii. The purpose of this scene is to contrast 
 the frivolous, over-confident behavior of the French- 
 men before the battle, with the sober. God-fearing 
 preparation of Henry's army, 
 
 IV. i. 309-322. Note the bearing of this passage 
 on the question raised in the discussion of Richard the 
 Second, namely, the initial guilt of Bolingbroke's ac- 
 quisition of the crown. 
 
 IV. Declamations and Choruses 
 
 The Elizabethan generation greatly loved declama- 
 tions. Declamatory exhibitions and contests similar 
 to modern oratorical contests and debates were popu- 
 lar. The drama, which was gradually superseding 
 most forms of indoor entertainments, catered to this 
 demand. It may almost be said that the drama with- 
 out some sort of appeal to the declamatory instinct 
 was exceptional. Irrelevant declamations were often 
 introduced, much as popular songs are introduced 
 into plays to-day. Shakespeare resorted to irrelevant, 
 or, rather, to undramatic declamations at all periods 
 of his career; but in no play so extensively as in 
 Henry the Fifth. 
 
 A list of the more important declamations is as 
 follows. If read over consecutively one will notice 
 how little they have to do with the dramatic quality 
 of the play. 
 
144 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 I. ii. 183, etc. Canterbury's long oration about the 
 state of man. 
 
 II. ii. 79. Henry, as outraged justice, reproves 
 the traitors. 
 
 III. i. The only spectacular dramatic declamation 
 of the play which has truly dramatic significance. 
 
 IV. i. 154. Note Henry's reply to Williams. It 
 will help to explain Shakespeare's idea of a perfect 
 king. 
 
 IV. i. 247. This splendid declamation is usually 
 referred to as the " Sham of Ceremony " passage. 
 Nowhere does Shakespeare reach a higher pitch in his 
 poetry. 
 
 IV. iii. 118. Henry's reply to Westmoreland about 
 Saint Crispin's Day. 
 
 V. ii. 23. Burgundy's long speech about the 
 peace. 
 
 These declamations are nearly all epic or descrip- 
 tive, and, except III. i., lead to no particular dramatic 
 action, as is the case after Antony's speech in Julius 
 Ccesar. This, like III. i. above, had direct dramatic 
 significance. Except the choruses they seldom possess 
 any value except that which attaches to pleasant dec- 
 lamation. 
 
 The use of the chorus is not characteristic of Shake- 
 speare. It is interesting to raise the question as to 
 why Shakespeare used the chorus here and nowhere 
 else. In other words. What part do they play in 
 Henry the Fifth? 
 
 Recall what is said above regarding prologues. One 
 is instantly reminded of three points: 
 
 1. They serve slightly to apologize for the poverty 
 of stage effects. This is especially true of the chorus 
 
HENRY THE FIFTH 145 
 
 to act v., last five lines. (See the discussion above of 
 the special significance of the chorus to act I.) 
 
 2. They serve to explain missing details and to 
 bridge gaps. 
 
 3. All that is said above of declamations applies to 
 them. 
 
 Yet it must be acknowledged that neither nor all 
 of these uses accounts for the undue emphasis implied 
 by their use. 
 
 A closer study reveals three other and far more 
 significant qualities. 
 
 1. At the risk of repetition, note carefully the 
 character of the first chorus. The tone of apology is 
 not so much for the poverty of the Elizabethan stage 
 as that any stage is inadequate to the presentation of 
 so vast a theme. It enhances the value of the theme, 
 and its magnitude, as employed in the conception of 
 the whole play. 
 
 2. The very nature of the theme demands con- 
 tinuity. Now, continuity was not a quality of the 
 Elizabethan drama. To-day, the most fitting selec- 
 tions of music for the orchestral intermissions would 
 be patriotic airs between acts. The chorus takes the 
 place of the modern but usually irrelevant musical in- 
 terruption. 
 
 3. King Henry is the all and be-all of this play. 
 His chief characteristic is modesty. A modest man 
 cannot boast to advantage of the greatness for which 
 he stands as a symbol. Yet the carrying out of the 
 theme requires much of this kind of eulogy of the 
 king. Most of it is put into the mouth of the chorus. 
 In fact, it constitutes their principal value. They say 
 what cannot well be said by others: — 1. The theme is 
 
146 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 too vast. 2. Eulogy of Henry. 3. Magnificent spec- 
 tacle of Henry and his army, 4. Eulogy of Henry. 
 5. Eulogy of Henry expressed by the clamorous pub- 
 lic joy at his home-coming. 
 
 V. The Character of Prince Hal and of 
 King Henry 
 
 Many attempts have been made to make the change 
 of character from Prince Hal to Henry the Fifth 
 seem consistent. To my mind this is an impossible 
 task. The serious side of Prince Hal is perfunctory 
 and conventional — a mere bow on the part of Shake- 
 speare to the contemporary feeling towards Henry 
 the Fifth, The real character of the prince is to be 
 found in the Falstaff scenes. 
 
 Most writers have tried to reconcile the two char- 
 acters on the ground that the change is ethical. If 
 this were all, they might have saved themselves the 
 trouble. Every day we see about us sudden and com- 
 plete reformation of morals. If this were the only 
 characteristic of the change we should accept it as a 
 mere fact and require no further explanation. 
 
 That this, however, is not the character of the 
 change, is implied by the fact that Shakespeare essays 
 an explanation but (through the mouth of Canter- 
 bury) gives it up, and falls back upon a miracle as 
 the cause. 
 
 The change is one of intellect and temperament, not 
 of morals, 
 
 Canterbury dwells upon the king's intellectual 
 powers, a quality never displayed by Prince Hal. 
 Henry's reasoning in divinity would have been 
 
HENRY THE FIFTH 147 
 
 doubted by Falstaff. Hal showed no love of state- 
 craft, nor power to grasp it. Canterbury goes on to 
 tell us that knowledge of war, familiarity and con- 
 viction regarding a theory of life, were impossible to 
 the prince but characteristic of the king. Consider- 
 ing his past career it is impossible to imagine him 
 possessed of even the rudiments of such things. 
 
 Indeed, between the intellect of Prince Hal and 
 the intellect of the king there is an impassable gulf. 
 But there is a greater 'ifference even than this. It 
 is to be found in their relative sense of humor. Hal 
 is full of humor, quick-witted. Henry, on the other 
 hand, has a stolid, well-balanced mind, but no sense 
 of humor. Imagine Prince Hal in the glove episode, 
 or wooing Katharine in a foreign tongue, and com- 
 pare with the behavior of King Henry. It is not that 
 Henry suppresses his boisterous humor. He never 
 had any. It is not a question of more or less of this 
 or that. He is portrayed as an altogether different 
 man. 
 
 VI. The Character op the King 
 
 On the whole the character of the king is so evi- 
 dently and so simply set forth that one need call at- 
 tention only to the principal points. 
 
 His simplicity of character is remarkable, amount- 
 ing almost to naivete. Though he is plain and out- 
 spoken, and on terms of familiarity with his soldiers 
 he always preserves his dignity. He ardently loves 
 right and hates wrong. He is a good warrior and 
 carefully solicitous as to the welfare of his soldiers. 
 His persistency is of the bulldog type. He is modest 
 
148 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 in triumph, and evinces a wholesome reverence, and 
 the fear of God is inbred in his whole nature. 
 
 Perhaps his most prominent characteristic is the 
 latter. At the close of Canterbury's harangue Henry 
 expresses his fear of God and his faith in Englishmen, 
 who in reality derive their only strength from the Al- 
 mighty. He believes in the mediaeval superstition 
 which preserves a sincere faith in penance. After the 
 Battle of Agincourt he insists that all the credit and 
 glory belong to God alone. 
 
 His homely modesty is shown in many ways. 
 Throughout he is boastful only to France, and that 
 when he is speaking rather as personified England 
 than as a man. But he is humble always to his own 
 people. He generously enlarges the soldier who rails 
 against him, excuses the fellow's conduct, and advises 
 mercy. Thus the king ever shows a desire to forgive 
 all injuries directed against himself. " Touching our 
 person," he says, " we seek no revenge." But he is 
 sternly just in regard to injuries against the state. 
 He claims no higher title than to be called a soldier. 
 Throughout we see his desire to put himself in the 
 position of his subjects ; and he has the power to do so. 
 
 The following suggests his intellectual difference 
 from Prince Hal. Like Caesar's Brutus he believes in 
 the efficacy of reasons, and requires a full explanation 
 of the Salic law, which he thoughtfully considers be- 
 fore acting. He evinces an instant recognition of the 
 stragetic importance of Scotland. Note the skill with 
 which he moralizes on the ingratitude of traitors ; and 
 note also " the sham of ceremony passage " in which 
 he dwells in a masterly manner on a very trite idea. 
 Note also how he goes to the heart of the matter in 
 
HENRY THE FIFTH 149 
 
 the passage beginning " So if a son that is by his 
 father sent." How quickly he is able to see the 
 justice of Williams' argument! 
 
 His lack of the sense of humor is referred to above 
 and need not be emphasized here. 
 
 Take it all in all, Henry is the plain, simple, sym- 
 pathetic man who as a king displays the same qualities 
 in a larger field and on a grander scale. But the qual- 
 ities do not alter. Modesty and humility increase in 
 proportion to his exalted position. He is drawn both 
 as a man and as a personification. As a personifica- 
 tion of the perfect king he represents all good, manly 
 qualities turned in a true Christian spirit wholly to 
 the service of his people. 
 
 VII. Elizabethan Stage Conditions 
 
 The student should refer to Chapter III. before ex- 
 amining the following notes regarding the Elizabethan 
 staging of the play. 
 
 In the first place, consider the following list of 
 scenes. The stage directions are taken from the 
 Tudor, not the original edition. 
 
 Prologue — Chorus 1 
 
 I. i. London, Ante-chamber, Palace ... 2 
 
 I. 11. The Presence Chamber 2 
 
 Prologue 1 
 
 II. 1. London, a street 3 
 
 II. 11. Southampton, Council chamber ... 2 
 
 II. 111. London, before a tavern .... 3 
 
 II. iv. France, the King's palace .... 2 
 
 Prologue 1 
 
 III. i. France, before Harfleur .... 4 
 
 III. 11. The same 4 
 
150 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 III. iii. The same, before the gates .... 4 
 
 III. iv. The French king's palace .... 2 
 
 III. V. The same 2 
 
 III. vi. The English camp in Picardy ... 1 
 
 III. vii. The French camp near Agincourt . . 1 
 Prologue 1 
 
 IV. i. The English camp at Agincourt ... 5 
 
 IV. ii. The French camp 5 
 
 IV. ii. The French camp 5 
 
 IV. iv. The field of battle 5 
 
 IV. V. Another part of the field .... 5 
 
 IV. vi. Another part of the field .... 5 
 
 IV. vii. Another part of the field .... 5 
 
 IV. iii. The English camp 5 
 
 Prologue 1 
 
 V. i. The English camp 5 
 
 V. ii. France, a royal palace 1 
 
 Epilogue 1 
 
 No modern presentation of the play could very 
 well afford to provide for twenty-nine changes of 
 scene. The task of the stage manager would be to 
 reduce this number as far as possible. The same task 
 appeared before the stage manager in Elizabethan 
 times. Let us apply our knowledge of the stage con- 
 ditions of that time and see what could have been 
 done with the situation. 
 
 At the beginning of the play the transverse cur- 
 tains would be drawn between the columns supporting 
 the heavens. At the moment of the third sounding of 
 the bugle the curtains would be parted and the pro- 
 logue appear. This would happen at the beginning 
 of each act; and also at the end of the play there are 
 two scenes where this arrangement could be conven- 
 iently used. Let us call this setting 1. 
 
 Doubtless every theater possessed the necessary 
 
HENRY THE FIFTH 151 
 
 paraphernalia for setting up a stock interior before 
 the play began. This would doubtless be pressed into 
 service ; in the background a drop representing panel- 
 ing. What is perhaps more likely is that the back of 
 the stage was so decorated that in its normal condition 
 it represented and looked much like the interior of a 
 room. Then any trifling change of properties would 
 easily suggest " another room." The illusion, how- 
 ever, would depend much upon movable properties 
 in the form of furniture and hangings. Any one who 
 has had anything to do with staging amateur theatri- 
 cals knows that it is a comparatively simple task to 
 make a perfectly satisfactory representation of a room 
 without resorting to much scenery or carpentry. Let 
 us call this interior setting 2. 
 
 After speaking the prologue the traverse is with- 
 drawn disclosing the interior. Ely and Canterbury 
 enter. During their conversation they get well in 
 front of the traverse and to one side. At the end of 
 the scene, at the words " Then go we in, to know his 
 embassy," they turn and start towards the king and 
 his followers, who are just entering. Ely and Can- 
 terbury slip out to re-enter a moment later. This 
 brief change of position, together with the words cited 
 above, would be sufficient to suggest that they had 
 passed from the ante-chamber to the presence cham- 
 ber. 
 
 Next to an interior I fancy that the most usual 
 possession of a theater in the way of scenic material 
 was a painted cloth representing a street. This would 
 be let down from a roller not far behind the tra- 
 verse. Call it setting 3. 
 
 To return: at the end of scene ii. the traverse is 
 
152 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 again drawn. While the prologue is speaking, the 
 street scene alluded to above is let down. At the end 
 of the prologue the traverse is drawn. Act II., 
 scene i., is performed before the street drop. It is 
 then raised, disclosing the original interior used for 
 scene ii. Though it is the same interior used in act 
 I., the prologue emphatically says that it represents 
 a room at Southampton. Then the street drop is again 
 let down for scene iii. and raised for scene iv. Pos- 
 sibly a few articles of French furniture have been in- 
 troduced slightly to alter the general appearance of 
 things. The drawing the traverse marks the end 
 of the act. 
 
 Trivial as they may seem, the next three scenes, 
 virtually, however, but one scene, are difficult to ac- 
 count for. It is hardly possible that they were acted 
 on the inner stage, for this would require the re- 
 moval of the interior setting. This is hardly likely, as 
 this set is needed again. The upper gallery might be 
 pressed into service. They might have been acted 
 before the traverse, as the prologue. Or another 
 painted cloth may have been let down representing 
 some sort of general landscape. Let us accept the 
 latter suggestion for a moment and call it setting 4. 
 At the end we return to 2 for two scenes. Then the 
 traverse is drawn. The next two scenes could easily 
 be spoken before the traverse. 
 
 These two scenes, together with the chorus, give 
 plenty of time for any change of scenery on the inner 
 stage. The interior, which is not needed again, is 
 taken away, and preparations made for the great spec- 
 tacular scene of the play. My interpretation of the 
 first chorus, the newness of the Globe playhouse, and 
 
HENRY THE FIFTH 153 
 
 the theatrical prestige Shakespeare's company was 
 bound to maintain^ leads me to infer — I admit that it 
 is an inference — that at this point a special effort 
 was made to produce a grand spectacular result. 
 I can see no reason to believe that the Eliza- 
 bethans never made capital out of something dra- 
 matically new. Note also that the scene suggested 
 below is practically in continuous use till the end of 
 the play. 
 
 In the earlier production of Elizabethan plays a 
 multiple setting was frequently resorted to. In this 
 method of presentation one portion of the stage repre- 
 sented one locality, another part another, etc. The 
 position of the actors on the stage determined the lo- 
 cation of the scene, all being visible to the audience 
 all the time. 
 
 Let us see how Shakespeare's manager could have 
 carried out this idea in designing a single scene on a 
 large spectacular scale that would practically furnish 
 the stage for the remainder of the play. 
 
 Imagine a painted cloth let down at the back on 
 which is represented the open country of France, 
 with numerous tents on either side, disappearing grad- 
 ually in the diminishing distance. These are the 
 camps of the two armies. On one side of the stage 
 proper are several tents and groups of soldiers. Flags 
 etc., indicate that they are English. Entrance from 
 that side indicates an entrance from the English camp. 
 Action on that side takes place in the English camp. 
 A similar representation of the French camp is ar- 
 ranged on the other side of the stage. The space be- 
 tween represents the general battleground between 
 the two camps. Call this setting 5. 
 
154 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 At the end of V. i. the traverse is drawn. V. ii. 
 and the epilogue are spoken before it. 
 
 The question naturally arises as to the reliability of 
 this suggested setting. To those who require docu- 
 mentary evidence for every detail accepted regarding 
 Elizabethan stagecraft it will not appeal. But to 
 those who possess a flavor of imagination I suggest 
 the following: 
 
 1. Every theater must have possessed something 
 in the way of stage paraphernalia. 
 
 2. The mode of presentation suggested above re- 
 quires two painted cloths, the usual representation of 
 an interior, the use of the traverse, and one spec- 
 tacular scene designed to bear out the newly aug- 
 mented reputation of the company's theater. 
 
 3. Of the two settings of the inner stage, one 
 remains undisturbed during the first half of the play. 
 Then it is removed and the other put into place, in 
 turn remaining undisturbed throughout the remainder 
 of the play. 
 
 4. Any one to-day who has any skill in the adapta- 
 tion of a crudely constructed stage could do this and 
 more with only amateur help at his command. Is it 
 possible that the ingenious Elizabethans did not do 
 as much? My only feeling is that I have underesti- 
 mated the scenic attractiveness of the Elizabethan 
 production of Henry the Fifth. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 ROMEO AND JULIET 
 
 I. Introductory 
 
 In the Tudor Edition of this play the editor dis- 
 cusses the date of its origin, finally assigning it 
 tentatively, or timidly, perhaps, to 1594 or 1595. 
 Many critics, however, believe that the present text of 
 the play is the result of a revision of an earlier version 
 much of which still remains. In connection with this 
 point of view two dates are thought of, one earlier and 
 the other later than that suggested above. 
 
 At any rate, parts of the play closely resemble in 
 style the known early efforts of Shakespeare ; and the 
 stylistic qualities of other parts more nearly resemble 
 the poet's style of a later date. 
 
 There are several other points to be considered. 
 Though a beautiful love story it does not conform to 
 the rules of dramatic tragedy. This may be due to the 
 fact that it is an early play, written before Shake- 
 speare acquired that technical skill which character- 
 izes his later work. In the following notes another 
 possibility is hinted at; namely, that the play was 
 originally written as a tragi-comedy and at a later 
 date hastily reconstructed into a tragedy. 
 
 It will also be noticed that in many of the parts of 
 the play which show evidences of early style, Romeo is 
 155 
 
156 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 trivial and not over-manly in his behavior ; and in the 
 parts whose style resembles that of a later date Romeo 
 is a far worthier lover of a heroine like Juliet. I 
 venture as a mere suggestion that in the revision of the 
 play the character of Juliet was completely rewritten. 
 This necessitated the rewriting of many of the Romeo 
 parts but permitted others to remain unchanged. 
 
 II. Notes on the Text 
 
 Act I. Prologue. This is a sonnet, a characteristic 
 of Shakespeare's early style in which he resorted to 
 many forms of verse and stanzas. Note, however, 
 that the Elizabethans seldom made use of the familiar 
 rhyme-scheme of the sonnet. The sonnet prologue 
 appears again before the second act. But there are no 
 more prologues to the play. 
 
 I. i. The first 70 lines of this scene are merely low 
 comedy. Such continuous word-play is characteristic 
 of Shakespeare's early style. Find other similar pas- 
 sages throughout the play. 
 
 I. i. 72. Enter Tybalt. Though Ben Jonson fre- 
 quently named characters after their personal qual- 
 ities, Shakespeare soon gave up the practice. Tybalt 
 means tom-cat; Benvolio, good- fellow or peacemaker; 
 Mercutio, one of a mercurial disposition. 
 
 I. i. 90, etc. Earlier blank verse was more con- 
 ventional, more sing-song, fuller of pauses at the end 
 of the line than later blank verse. Compare this pas- 
 sage, written in the earlier style, with the blank 
 verse of the balcony scene. Find other passages that 
 illustrate both the earlier and the later forms of verse. 
 
 I. i. 121, 122. Repetition of words and phrases is 
 
ROMEO AND JULIET 157 
 
 resorted to oftener in this play than in any other. 
 Find illustrations throughout. They occur from first 
 to last, but usually in passages that have other ear- 
 marks of early style. 
 
 I. i. 177. Note that Romeo is much of a punster in 
 those scenes which are written in the earlier style. 
 This quality disappears in the more serious portrayal 
 of the hero. 
 
 I. i. 182, etc. This coupling of opposites, heavy 
 lightness, cold fire, etc., is another early trait. 
 
 By the end of this scene we learn that Romeo is al- 
 ready suffering from the effects of unrequited love. 
 We are told by critics that this is the most likely con- 
 dition as a preliminary to love at first sight, and that 
 Shakespeare here displays his keen knowledge of 
 human nature. However, he overlooked the situation 
 in regard to Juliet, who fell in love with equal celerity. 
 It is just barely possible that Shakespeare introduced 
 this detail of Romeo's past merely because it was in 
 the original version of the story, and also afforded an 
 excellent opportunity for getting started. 
 
 I. ii. Compare Capulet's attitude towards Juliet, 
 as displayed in his conversation with Paris early in 
 this scene, with his actual behavior later. How is 
 the contrast to be explained.'' Is he insincere at 
 either time? 
 
 I. iii. Juliet is said by the nurse to be fourteen 
 years of age. Even after making due allowance for 
 the earlier maturity of southern girls in olden times 
 Juliet seems to be more than fourteen years old. This 
 allusion is probably a remnant of the earlier version. 
 In the revision, Shakespeare must have had in mind a 
 woman, not a girl. 
 
158 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 I. iv. 2. Apology in this line, Cupid in line 4, with- 
 out-book prologue in line 7, etc., are references to 
 masking, a popular form of Elizabethan entertain- 
 ment. 
 
 I, iv. 53. This fairy speech by Mercutio may be 
 looked upon as one of the formal declamations so 
 popular in Elizabethan times. Though beautiful 
 poetry it has no dramatic significance. 
 
 I. iv. 106-113. Evidences or indications of a tragic 
 conclusion are very scarce in the first four acts of 
 the play. Most of these few are like the passage 
 cited above; that is, they could have easily been in- 
 serted bodily at the time of revision. The tragic ele- 
 ment of this play is accidental, not ingrained. 
 
 II. i. In the setting on the Elizabethan stage some 
 provision must have been made by which the audi- 
 ence could see both Benvolio and Mercutio on one 
 side, and Romeo on the other. Yet Romeo, who was 
 near enough to hear what the others said, was invisi- 
 ble to them. 
 
 II. ii. 1. The antecedent of " he " is " Mercutio." 
 The line refers to his jesting of a previous scene. 
 
 II. i. This so-called " balcony scene " is not only 
 one of the most beautifully poetic passages of the 
 play but of all English literature. The sentiment 
 is deep and rings true, without the least approach 
 to sentimentality. It is sufficient, one might almost 
 say, to wipe out of existence all memory of the crude 
 touches and inconsistent details that appear else- 
 where. 
 
 But there is more to the balcony scene than just 
 this. Heretofore, love-scenes and love-making on the 
 Elizabethan stage had been conventional and senti- 
 
ROMEO AND JULIET 159 
 
 mental to a high degree. No such genuine passage 
 as this had appeared before the advent of Romeo and 
 Juliet. It is easy to imagine, perhaps it would be 
 more truthful to say it is difficult to imagine, the en- 
 thusiasm of the contemporary audience at the first 
 reception of this brilliant scene, which, as after events 
 showed, was but an earnest of what was to come. 
 
 II. ii. 63. Recall the deadly feud between the two 
 families. Do not overlook the nerve it required on 
 the part of Romeo to make this dangerous entry into 
 the garden of his family enemies. Later he appears 
 as a nerveless, puling nonentity whom even the nurse 
 compares to a foolish woman. This scene is written 
 in Shakespeare's later style. III. iii. is written in 
 his earlier style. 
 
 II. iii. Friar Laurence is a purely conventional 
 character. It is not necessary to study his personality 
 analytically or to take too seriously his copy-book 
 phrases of philosophy. 
 
 II. iii. 90. Note that Friar Laurence agrees to 
 marry Romeo and Juliet because he thinks that it 
 will bring about a reconciliation between the two fam- 
 ilies. Perhaps this reconciliation was intended to 
 come about in the earlier version of the play. There 
 are other evidences of it that will be later pointed 
 out. The actual conclusion of the present play shows 
 that it could easily have been accomplished. 
 
 II. iv. 222. " The dog's name." That is a growl, 
 the R in Romeo. In Elizabethan pronunciation it 
 was common to roll the r. 
 
 III. i. 65. Note the peaceful rejoinder of Romeo. 
 The audience understands the ironical significance of 
 his remarks. But none of the others possess this 
 
160 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 clue. What ought to be the effect upon his com- 
 panions of Romeo's peaceful demeanor? Ought they 
 not all to be surprised, and his partisans chagrined? 
 Yet Mercutio is the only one who shows such emo- 
 tion. Is there any indication in this reception of his 
 attitude that this is the kind of behavior to expect 
 from Romeo? 
 
 III. i. 127. Compare Romeo's behavior here with 
 his behavior earlier in the scene, in the balcony scene, 
 and in the friar's cell. 
 
 III. ii. The opening speech of Juliet certainly 
 emanates from a woman older than fourteen. And 
 the smooth pliability of the blank verse is similar to 
 the style of Shakespeare's verse of a date later than 
 that usually assigned to the first draft of the play. 
 
 III. ii. 45-50. Note the repetition of I, ay, eye, all 
 pronounced alike. Note throughout the play the 
 numerous examples of excessive repetition. 
 
 III. ii. 73. Is it natural for Juliet to turn so sud- 
 denly against Romeo? What recalls Juliet's loyalty? 
 (See line 90.) 
 
 III. iii. Note the repetition of banished and ban- 
 ishment. 
 
 Romeo's behavior in this scene gives no evidence 
 of the nerve that first led him into Capulet's orchard, 
 or inspired him in the fight with Tybalt. The friar 
 upbraids him for his weakness, and even the nurse 
 upbraids him for his pusillanimity. 
 
 III. iii. 108. Stage direction. Imagine the situation 
 of the play at this point. The nurse is the typical 
 comic character throughout. There is an element of 
 the ludicrous in her attempt to stop Romeo from stab- 
 bing himself. One can in this situation hardly be 
 
ROMEO AND JULIET l6l 
 
 seriously affected by Romeo's anguish. In his rant- 
 ing behavior he out-nurses the nurse herself. The 
 two of them together would be able to make a capital 
 comic scene. 
 
 On the other hand, this vein is quite inconsistent 
 with the tone and tenor of a serious tragedy. Is the 
 true explanation to be found in Shakespeare's inabil- 
 ity to portray Romeo here to the same excellent stand- 
 ard reached in some other parts of the play ? 
 
 There is a third suggestion that is worth a mo- 
 ment's consideration. Mercutio and Tybalt, it is true, 
 have both been killed. Yet they are minor char- 
 acters who, though attractive, have not been suffi- 
 ciently prominent to thoroughly grip our sympathy. 
 Their deaths, Romeo's banishment, and the situation 
 of Juliet constitute just the sort of complication char- 
 acteristic of a tragi-comedy. Were the earlier play of 
 this type, just here is where the resolution would be 
 likely to begin. That it is expected seems to be very 
 plainly hinted at in lines 150-155. And what more 
 likely than the insertion of a scene in a lighter vein 
 just at the turning-point! 
 
 The play preserves all the characteristics of a 
 tragi-comedy until the middle of the last act. Later, 
 allusion will be made to the sudden and artless manner 
 by which it is wrested into the path of a tragic con- 
 clusion. 
 
 III. V. Contrast the general tone of the scene with 
 that of III. iii. Is it similar or different? Is the 
 opening similar to the rest in this respect ? 
 
 On the whole I find this a very puzzling scene. In 
 the first place, look at it seriously for a moment as 
 a step in the serious development of a tragedy. Ju- 
 
162 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 liet is secretly married to the banished Romeo. Her 
 parents wish to force her into a marriage which can 
 be prevented only by the disclosure of her secret. 
 Now, is this situation as essentially tragic as usually 
 represented? In the first place, Romeo is now out 
 of the Capulet reach. No harm can come to him by 
 the disclosure. And Juliet could hardly be subjected 
 to worse treatment than is threatened by her father 
 for crossing his will. Furthermore, in case she will 
 not marry Paris she is to be turned into the streets 
 and left to her own devices. What more could she 
 desire with a husband waiting, and a willing friar, 
 for a go-between, who is confident that it will all turn 
 out well in the end ! In other words, the high-spirited 
 Juliet could have acknowledged her lover without 
 injuring him, with hardly a risk of making her own 
 situation worse than it would be if she persisted in 
 her refusal to marry Paris without making a full 
 acknowledgment, and the possibility of righting the 
 whole situation in the end. And in addition, the recon- 
 ciliation at the end of the play is due wholly to the 
 fact that the parents discovered that the two were 
 lovers and married. The situation in all of its details 
 is certainly not to the credit of Shakespeare's powers 
 of invention if we consider it seriously! nor does it 
 show any of the skill displayed by him a few years 
 later as naturally as if it were second nature. How- 
 ever, it must be remembered, on the other hand, that 
 a few years makes a great difference, and this play 
 was written before the culmination of Shakespeare's 
 preparatory period. 
 
 On the other hand, suppose this to be a scene left 
 over from^ or a part of, an original tragi-comedy. 
 
ROMEO AND JULIET 163 
 
 From the former scene the audience has learned 
 through the words of the friar that a reconciliation 
 is not unlikely to take place when the truth is known. 
 With this cue the audience is prepared to take pleas- 
 antly details which are but complications on the sur- 
 face. The earlier part of the scene contains several 
 remarks from Juliet that have a double meaning. 
 Their wrong interpretation by Lady Capulet must 
 have caused a smile, to say the least. Then comes 
 Capulet, who, through his overexertion in the matter 
 of abuse becomes almost comic. And last, the ridicu- 
 lously impossible solution of the whole matter sug- 
 gested by the nurse. And the scene ends by Juliet's 
 promise to return to Friar Laurence, the one who 
 formerly gave the pointed intimation that the play 
 would end happily. As a scene of this intent it is 
 much better conceived and carried out than as a tragic 
 scene. 
 
 Though I do not wish to insist on the inference here 
 suggested relative to the character of the early draft, 
 I should like to point out that parts, like this scene, 
 indicate on the part of the writer greater skill in the 
 lighter vein than in the tragic vein; and that it was 
 not till years later that Shakespeare excelled in the 
 writing of tragedies. The question remains, if such 
 were the original draft, why did Shakespeare change 
 it. Perhaps the play was a failure. It must have 
 been both written and rewritten during Shakespeare's 
 period of experimentation. Perhaps he was just ex- 
 perimenting with tragedy, which he had not attempted 
 since his passable but not excellent Titus Andronicus. 
 And the carelessness of the revision is quite consistent 
 with his methods displayed in his earlier plays. 
 
164 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 IV. iii. The apparent comedy outcome is carried 
 on in this scene. The friar suggests a perfectly feasi- 
 ble plan which will solve the present difficulty, de- 
 pendent only upon Juliet's will and courage to carry 
 it out. She has both, and departs in good spirits. 
 By all customary standards the preparation and fore- 
 shadowing of the scene can suggest to the audience 
 nothing but a happy resolution at the end. 
 
 IV. iii. 10. Note that Capulet's stormy scene and 
 Juliet's refusal to marry Paris has caused no inter- 
 ruption in Capulet's plans for the wedding. 
 
 IV. iii. 14. There has been nothing said or done 
 to arouse on the part of the audience any distrust of 
 the friar. Nor has anything occurred to justify such 
 a thought in the mind of Juliet. Her present thoughts 
 are due entirely to the exigencies of the present mo- 
 ment. The audience would certainly share her fears 
 and terrors, for it is a courageous and mysterious act 
 she is about to perform. But the sympathy of the 
 audience would be tempered by the certainty that her 
 fears were groundless. 
 
 As the act closes, everything seems to be carrying 
 out the friar's plot to a satisfactory conclusion. There 
 is as yet no sign of the coming tragedy. 
 
 At the opening of act V. we find that Romeo hears 
 the news of Juliet's death before he gets the friar's 
 letter explaining that it is a sham. Trouble may 
 come of this, but the audience does not expect it: — 
 for two reasons: 1. The passage is preceded by a bit 
 of happy foreshadowing. 2. Romeo postpones killing 
 himself out of misery till he gets to Juliet's grave. 
 There is every chance for him to be disillusioned at 
 this point. This looks very like a device to make his 
 
ROMEO AND JULIET 165 
 
 happiness the more complete as it is the more un- 
 expected. 
 
 There are two conditions universally acknowledged 
 as necessary to a tragic development of the plot: — 1. 
 The story and its development should be incapable 
 from the beginning of straying from the path that 
 leads to a tragic conclusion. 2. That the tragic end- 
 ing should depend upon events related to each other 
 by the law of cause and effect. If the story is 
 plotted in defiance of either of these rules it lacks 
 excellence to just that extent. 
 
 V. ii. 4. Here we find the first step or detail of the 
 tragic conclusion. The fact that so much of this play 
 could be discussed as above, as if it were a tragi- 
 comedy, is a gross violation of rule 1. 
 
 The failure of the friar's letter to reach its destina- 
 tion is an equally gross violation of rule 2. In the 
 first place, the miscarriage of the letter is due to the 
 merest accident. Why did not Brother John deliver 
 the letter at once instead of getting himself quar- 
 antined on the way? If one explains this on the 
 ground that friars had to travel in pairs, and that 
 Brother John perforce had to find a companion, and 
 was as likely as not to pick up one with a contagious 
 disease, matters are not much bettered. Why did 
 Laurence send John at all? The letter by all indi- 
 cations should have gone by Balthasar. At III. iii. 
 170 the friar, when sending Romeo to Mantua, says 
 that he will use Balthasar to carry letters to Romeo. 
 And when Balthasar enters (V. i. 11) Romeo is sur- 
 prised that his man does not bring a letter from Friar 
 Laurence. 
 
 In other words, in order to bring about a tragic 
 
166 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 conclusion, Shakespeare made the friar drop his cus- 
 tomary channel of communication, which would inevi- 
 tably have prevented the final catastrophe, and select 
 another messenger, which device by the merest acci- 
 dent turns a good comedy ending into a poor tragic 
 end. 
 
 As I said above, it is a mere inference, a mere 
 guess, that the first draft of this play was in reality 
 a tragi-comedy, converted by a hasty revision into 
 a tragedy. Whether this is true or not is a matter of 
 no considerable importance. I have used this idea 
 merely to illustrate the fact that four acts of Romeo 
 and Juliet constitute part of a splendid tragi-comedy, 
 light-hearted, joyous in spite of the early deaths of 
 Tybalt and Mercutio. The eflfect of the play with 
 its beautiful poetry would have been, had the end pre- 
 pared for been written, as delightfully pleasant as 
 Cymbeline or The Tempest. But if, from the nature 
 of its end, we are compelled to examine it as a tragedy, 
 we find its structure bad, the invention poor, and in 
 no way deserving to rank with the great series of 
 tragedies that began with Julius Coesar. 
 
 Scene iii. contains the tragic conclusion. In this 
 scene the audience experiences three painful and un- 
 expected shocks. 
 
 1. The audience, it seems to me, is fully prepared 
 by numerous hints for a happy conclusion, the reso- 
 lution which does not come. With the example of a 
 fake drug administered to Juliet, and a knowledge 
 that Friar John is on his way to the tomb, or soon 
 will be, and that Juliet is about to awake — all this 
 taken together renders the actual death of Romeo like 
 a bolt out of a clear sky. 
 
ROMEO AND JULIET 167 
 
 2. The second shock is due to the death of Juliet, 
 emphasized by the fact that she overslept herself by 
 just a moment, and that the friar was also late by 
 just a moment. Had Romeo been subjected to any 
 little delay, accidental in nature, such as seems to 
 have overtaken all the others, the day v^ould still have 
 been saved. 
 
 3. The third shock is the fact that Friar Lau- 
 rence's prophecy of a peaceable reconciliation (HI. 
 iii. 151) was true, but delayed till after the death of 
 Romeo and Juliet. What after all reconciled the two 
 houses of Capulet and Montague.'' It was not the 
 murder of Paris, nor the death of the lovers, nor 
 even the command of the prince which had been inef- 
 fective before, but a knowledge of the fact that Romeo 
 and Juliet loved each other, and were man and wife. 
 
 Does it not seem as if the final result would have 
 come about had Juliet courageously disclosed her mar- 
 riage when Paris was first urged upon her ? 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 
 
 I. Introduction 
 
 In the selection of plays for this volume I have 
 been guided by the student and his needs. There are 
 some teachers and students as well who believe that 
 every word Shakespeare wrote or uttered was in- 
 spired, that his mere ejaculation of Tweedledum is 
 capable of subtile psychological analysis. The Taming 
 of the Shrem as a play was, easy as it is to read now, 
 still easier to the Elizabethans; but it is easily mis- 
 understood to-day. The play has been misconstrued 
 both by critics and by actors. So I shall suggest with 
 the utmost brevity a few points explanatory of the 
 text; and then explain the real significance of the play, 
 which with such facility escapes the attention of a 
 modern reader unused to Elizabethan conditions. 
 
 II. Notes on the Text 
 
 Title. — Only female hawks were used in hunting. 
 They were proverbially cross, perverse, and stubborn, 
 that is, curst. The word " taming " in the title refers 
 to the process of training the shrewish hawks into a 
 condition of obedience suitable for the chase. 
 
 The induction. — This framework serves to intro- 
 duce the play. For the players who arrive in scene i. 
 168 
 
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 169 
 
 are supposed to perform The Taming of the Shrew 
 for the benefit of Sly. In scene ii. he appears aloft, 
 that is, in the upper balcony above the stage. From 
 this vantage point he views the start of the play, and 
 makes some comments at the end of scene i. Later, 
 however, he simply drops out of consideration by dis- 
 appearance. This fact implies that the cutting off 
 of the upper balcony from the view of the audience 
 by means of a curtain or some similar device was pos- 
 sible. Otherwise there would be the need of some 
 outward means of ridding the stage of Sly. 
 
 I. i. This scene and the next introduce the ele- 
 ments of a somewhat complicated plot. Most students 
 find it difficult at first reading to avoid some con- 
 fusion. Note how rapidly, almost simultaneously, the 
 threads of the story are introduced; and compare 
 with The Merchant of Venice, where the threads of 
 the story are introduced gradually, one at a time. 
 However, on the stage, where one is assisted by the 
 eye, the confusion encountered in reading the early 
 part of the play nearly disappears. 
 
 It will be a help to the student to analyze the 
 plot carefully. See the chapter on The Tempest for 
 an example. 
 
 In anticipation of the third section of this chapter: 
 — one should not take the character of Katharine or 
 of Petruchio seriously. Their actions should not be 
 analyzed. No human beings ever acted like this. At 
 any rate, no Elizabethan would have looked at them 
 from this point of view, or have been distressed by 
 the unnatural excesses of their behavior. 
 
 II. i. 278. See the note on the title relative to the 
 word taming. 
 
170 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 IV. i. 191-210. This passage is full of the tech- 
 nical allusions to the process of training a hawk for 
 the chase. In the first place, there was but one thing 
 to be done to a wild hawk, namely, to break her 
 wilful spirit; but there were many ways in which it 
 could be done. One was to keep her hungry to the 
 verge of starvation, tantalizing her with the sight of 
 food. This is one of the methods resorted to at a 
 later time by Petruchio. Another common mode of 
 training was to keep the hawk awake till exhausted 
 for want of sleep. The Elizabethan word for waking 
 was watching. The word is used in this sense in the 
 passage cited above — he will watch (keep her awake) 
 as we watch these kites. The word is similarly used 
 in Othello, where Desdemona says, " I'll watch him 
 tame." She means that she will keep Othello awake, 
 give him no peace, till he is more tractable. Another 
 even more cruel procedure consisted in sewing up 
 the eyelids of the hawk for a time. This was called 
 seeling. It suggested the line in Othello, 
 
 "To seel her father's eyes up close as oak." 
 
 This kind of cruelty can almost be forgiven as some- 
 times a necessary step in the training of a falcon; 
 but it is painful to record that seeling was sometimes 
 performed by Elizabethans on harmless doves for the 
 mere sport of witnessing their frantic and helpless 
 efforts in misery. We are told in Sidney's Arcadia, 
 " Now she brought them to see a seeled dove, who, 
 the blinder she was, the higher she strove to reach." 
 We have, however, not exhausted the allusions to 
 falconry in Petruchio's speech. " I have a way to man 
 
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 171 
 
 my haggard/' he says. " To man " was the technical 
 term for gaining the mastery. An unmanned, that is, 
 an untrained hawk, was called a haggard. 
 
 "If I do prove her haggard, 
 Though that her jesses were my dear heart strings, 
 I'd whistle her off and let her down the wind 
 To prey at fortune." 
 
 Thus, in his suspicious moment, Othello compares 
 his wife to a haggard hawk. Oftentimes a hawk that 
 had not been properly trained would turn aside while 
 in pursuit of prey in order to follow something else. 
 This turning aside of a haggard was called checking, 
 and is referred to in Marmion's motto, " Who checks 
 at me to death is dight." And in the words of Viola: 
 
 " To do that well craves a kind of wit: 
 He must observe their moods on whom he jests, 
 The quality of the persons and the time. 
 And, like the haggard, check at every feather 
 That comes before his eye." 
 
 Until the hawk had learned to fly properly at the 
 game she was constantly reclaimed, that is, drawn 
 back by a long string after she had been started. 
 The falcons were cared for and trained by the fal- 
 coner and his assistants, the falconer's boys. When 
 the falcon was injured in the hunt it was the fal- 
 coner who proceeded to imp the wing. This process 
 of mending required the broken wing to be carefully 
 trimmed, and the feather of another bird matched to 
 the broken one. The hawk, when not following the 
 game, was kept covered by a hood that completely 
 blinded her. This headdress was made of silk or of 
 leather, often exceedingly dainty and ornamental. It 
 
172 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 bore upon its top a tuft of feathers by which it could 
 be easily and quickly removed when it was desirable 
 to start the falcon after game. 
 
 It is interesting to note how closely Petruchio in 
 this speech has outlined the process of taming, not 
 a wife, but a hawk, and how closely he follows out the 
 suggestion in practice. 
 
 Note how this process is carried out. In IV. iii. 
 3, etc., Katharine alludes to the fact that she is being 
 famished. In the conversation that follows, Grumio, 
 evidently at the command of his master, is tantalizing 
 Katharine with the idea of delicious food just as an 
 untrained hawk was tantalized. And Petruchio con- 
 tinues the idea by sending away the food just as 
 Katharine is about to eat it. The same tantalizing 
 methods are kept up in the dealings with the tailor, 
 the haberdasher, etc. 
 
 Such treatment of a hawk was kept up till the 
 hawk was absolutely tractable. So IV. v. portrays 
 Katharine as entirely docile. In other words, The 
 Taming of the Shrew is complete, and there remains 
 nothing but to give an exhibition of the effect at the 
 end of the play. 
 
 III. The Significance of the Play 
 
 In section one I suggested that, but for one point, 
 this play is so easy to read as to render its study al- 
 most unnecessary. And in the few notes above I 
 have referred practically to only such points as refer 
 to this one point. 
 
 It is a mistake to take the play seriously, to fancy 
 that Petruchio has developed a scheme by which a 
 
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 173 
 
 cross woman may be brought into a docile state of 
 obedience. Neither his method nor the results are at 
 all to be desired in this world. And he who goes at 
 the play from this point of view, who tries to imagine 
 such characters, and to justify the acts of Petruchio 
 and the results as exemplified by the final behavior 
 of Katharine is but laying himself open to ridicule. 
 
 In reality Shakespeare is telling a sort of fairy 
 story. His audience were as familiar with all the 
 details of falconry as we are with the details of foot- 
 ball or of baseball. He knew that his people would 
 catch the cue from the very title. They would under- 
 stand that there was here a mere translation into 
 facetious human terms of the process of training a 
 hawk. One who is altogether unfamiliar with the 
 game of chess misses the delightful adventures of Alice 
 with the White Knight. So one who is unfamiliar 
 with the game of falconry misses the whole point of 
 The Taming of the Shrew. Petruchio and Katharine 
 are not human beings; they are the falconer and his 
 haggard hawk. In a fairy-story way they represent 
 the process of training that was so familiar to all 
 the Elizabethans in the audience. It was far from 
 them, or from Shakespeare's conception — this analysis 
 of the principal characters from the human stand- 
 point. One would as soon present a medical ex- 
 planation of the crooked gait of Alice's White Knight. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 I. Notes on the Text 
 
 Read the play rapidly, noting in a general way the 
 complicated story, and the interlinking of the threads 
 of the plot. Also the supplementary nature of the 
 fifth act. Make an outline scene by scene of the nar- 
 rative. 
 
 Read the play again more carefully, performing 
 such tasks as are suggested in Chapter VIII. Also 
 attend to the following points in the text. 
 
 At the opening of the play Antonio appears de- 
 pressed in spirits without a knowledge of why or 
 wherefore. This is a literary device used in order 
 to strike at the outset the tone of the story of Antonio, 
 which is serious almost to the point of tragedy, but 
 not beyond the possibility of a happy ending. An- 
 tonio is unaware of the cause of his depression, be- 
 cause nothing has really happened to account for it. 
 This absence of a cause suggests that the result will 
 not be so serious in the end. Shakespeare is careful 
 to keep the attention of the audience forward towards 
 later developments. Lest the audience should infer 
 too serious an outcome, the light-heartedness of 
 Antonio's companions serves as a corrective, at the 
 same time leading up to the delightfully care-free 
 174 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 175 
 
 beginning of the Portia story in scene ii. Her thread 
 of the story is all joyous. The audience must be far 
 from the serious suggestion at the beginning. Note 
 that both scenes begin with similar expressions. 
 Portia is also weary of the world, but her body is 
 not little. The whole speech is belied by her manner 
 of acting, hence the heightened contrast with the 
 words of Antonio, who is sincere. 
 
 Try to place the best positions on the stage for 
 those who enter throughout the act. 
 
 In scene i. Salarino speaks much more than Salanio. 
 Is this relative importance kept up throughout the 
 play.'' Which part requires the better actor? 
 
 At the entrance of Antonio's friends their names 
 are all mentioned. This serves to introduce them to 
 the audience. How frequently is this device used? 
 Is it used more in the earlier parts of the play? 
 
 Notice the long speech of Gratiano beginning, " Let 
 me play the fool." It serves to describe his char- 
 acter. It is also a defense of frivolity. This passage 
 needs some accounting for. It would hardly be con- 
 sidered dramatic unless Gratiano's character is im- 
 portant enough to demand it. Is it? But there is 
 a more important use for it. It is a formal piece of 
 declamation. The Elizabethans were very fond of 
 declamations to be spoken from the front of the stage 
 irrespective of their lack of dramatic significance — 
 speeches with which we associate The Seven Ages 
 of Man, The Death of Ophelia, Cleopatra's Barge, 
 etc. (See the chapter on Henry the Fifth.) 
 
 Note how much the remainder of the scene con- 
 tains that is useful in subsequent portions of the play : 
 1. The beginning of the story to raise money; 2. The 
 
176 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 character of Bassanio; 3. The friendship of Bassanio 
 and Antonio; 4. Description of Portia. 
 
 In scene ii. we are introduced to Portia and Nerissa. 
 The parts should be taken by actresses of very dif- 
 ferent personalities. Why.'' What hints are con- 
 tained in the text that would help one to cast these 
 parts ? 
 
 This scene is illustrative of a kind of passage that 
 has to a great extent lost its interest to people of our 
 day and generation. Many of the remarks of Portia 
 are allusions better understood then than now. Many 
 of the most popular Elizabethan horses were of Ne- 
 apolitan breed; hence there is point in comparing the 
 Neapolitan prince to a colt. The satires of the time 
 abound in slurs upon the Elizabethan habit of aping 
 French customs, and Falconbridge is ridiculed there- 
 for. Indeed, the aptness of such hits must have 
 made this scene very sparkling to the Elizabethan 
 wits. 
 
 From this point on, try to keep the Antonio story 
 and the Portia story separate. As the play goes on, 
 several new threads appear. The difficulty of keep- 
 ing them separate will suggest how skilfully they are 
 interwoven. 
 
 Shylock is the great character of the play. His 
 first appearance shows him to be covetous, untruthful, 
 and an usurer. For all that, he is very different from 
 the other great Elizabethan picture of a Jew con- 
 tained in Marlowe's Jew of Malta. A comparison of 
 the two plays shows the latter to be a repulsive mon- 
 ster of cruelty and wickedness. Shylock, on the other 
 hand, is a human being from whom our sympathies are 
 not wholly alienated. Later in the play, though we 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 177 
 
 blame we also pity him. It seems as if Shakespeare 
 were trying to make out the best case he could for the 
 Jew in a time when public sympathy was all against 
 the race. 
 
 With very few exceptions, Shakespeare first pre- 
 sents a bold outline sketch of a character. As the 
 play goes on, this first sketch is filled out and com- 
 pleted, but the character does not change. Macbeth 
 is one of the exceptions. Is Shylock? 
 
 It would be well at this point to read in succession 
 all the scenes in which Shylock appears. Question 
 the motive of each act. Formulate your estimate of 
 his character at the end of the first act, at the end of 
 the third, at the end of the play. Note carefully 
 whether the character changes, and also whether your 
 feeling towards him changes. 
 
 In II. i. we have another glimpse of Portia's room. 
 Note how gradually and how carefully Shakespeare 
 is leading up to the culmination of the casket story. 
 This breaking the story into bits enhances the fa- 
 miliarity of the audience, gives opportunity to intro- 
 duce the other characters, and the remaining threads 
 of the story. 
 
 In modern presentation some of the casket scenes 
 are thrown together and abridged. Does this imply 
 that Shakespeare's account is too long drawn out? 
 Has the Elizabethan love of declamation anything to 
 do with the question .'' 
 
 II. ii. To the average reader this scene is anything 
 but amusing, though it is delightfully funny on the 
 stage. In fact, the amusement depends almost wholly 
 on the stage business introduced. It is well to remem- 
 ber that oftentimes the text of the play is the smallest 
 
178 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 part of the actual presentation. And Shakespeare 
 wrote always with the actual presentation in his mind, 
 as all successful dramatists do. Many so-called dif- 
 ficult passages are easily made clear by the attempt 
 actually to imagine the stage picture. 
 
 II. ii. 157. Stage direction. "To his followers." 
 When did Leonardo and the others come upon the 
 stage? What have they been doing in the meantime? 
 
 Except for the allusions to the coming dinner, the 
 first 175 lines of this scene are wholly a comedy 
 diversion. They serve no purpose in the plot, nor 
 do they add to our knowledge of the important char- 
 acters. Does one often find in Shakespeare so long 
 a passage with no dramatic value? Such passages 
 were in common use with the other Elizabethan dram- 
 atists. They are not so common to-day. 
 
 Beginning with line 183 is another picture of Gra- 
 tiano, but it is not altogether like the first, it supple- 
 ments it. Note what was said above relative to Shake- 
 speare's method of drawing character. Richard II 
 is an exception to this method, but not in the same 
 way as Macbeth. 
 
 II. ii. 198, etc. Should Gratiano act as if he were 
 speaking seriously or in mockery? The student can 
 answer this question by taking into consideration: 1. 
 Bassanio's next lines. How does he take it ? 2. Why 
 does Gratiano want to go? 3. How serious is his 
 intention ? 4. Would one behavior or another be more 
 likely to gain Bassanio's permission? 5. How does 
 he actually behave himself when he gets to Belmont? 
 
 With scene iii. we have the beginning of another 
 thread of the story, which must be thought of both 
 by itself and as a part of the whole. Like the story 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 179 
 
 of the caskets, the story of Lorenzo and Jessica is 
 introduced piecemeal. One advantage of this method 
 is that it produces the effect of passing time. 
 
 II. iv. What does this scene add to the play? Note 
 the minor plot details; also the touches that add to 
 the character of Jessica. On the Elizabethan stage 
 the change of scene was probably not indicated except 
 by the momentary clearing of the stage. Doubtless 
 the characters of scene iii. went off one side of the 
 stage to be followed immediately by another set enter- 
 ing opposite. 
 
 II. vi. There were no women among the Eliza- 
 bethan actors. Their parts were taken by boys young 
 enough to have unbroken voices. Though they were 
 thoroughly trained professionally they were still boys. 
 Their immaturity accounts for the absence of com- 
 plex characters among the women of Shakespeare's 
 plays. (Cleopatra and Lady Macbeth are two possi- 
 ble exceptions.) 
 
 It is easy to imagine how much more at home a 
 boy on the stage would be in his own clothes. Hence 
 the frequent disguising of the heroine in male attire. 
 How often does Shakespeare make use of this device ? 
 
 Note that the scene ends with a suggestion regard- 
 ing the journey to Belmont — and the next scene opens 
 at Belmont, Such little connective touches add much 
 to the impression of continuity throughout the play. 
 
 II. viii. This is a very important scene. It tells 
 the outcome of what happened in scene vi. It adds 
 a few touches to Shylock's character. It serves as 
 a division scene between the one before and the one 
 after, both laid in Portia's room. Such division scenes 
 were very common in the Elizabethan drama. If 
 
180 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 they served no other purpose they could be omitted 
 in modern presentation, their place being taken by 
 a momentary drop of the curtain. But Shakespeare, 
 almost alone among Elizabethan play-writers, seldom 
 failed to make them serve other purposes as vrell. 
 He was very economical of space. 
 
 Note also that the lovers are grouped with those 
 in whom Antonio is interested, so their flight serves 
 to whet Shylock's enmity against Antonio. This is 
 an added motive for his malignity. And there imme- 
 diately follows a hint as to the possibility of financial 
 disaster before Antonio, which will give Shylock his 
 chance. 
 
 II. ix. The gold and silver caskets are now dis- 
 posed of, leaving only one for Bassanio to choose. 
 So we are prepared for the outcome in advance. He 
 cannot choose wrong. Shakespeare always takes his 
 audience fully into his confidence. This is in contrast 
 to the practice of his great contemporary Jonson. 
 
 Though Portia says nothing during Bassanio's 
 speech, she is the most important figure on the stage. 
 The audience should be watching her. Where is she.'' 
 What does she do? Does she act as if she knew the 
 outcome.^ Should the other persons on the stage be 
 watching her or Bassanio? Or should one be watch- 
 ing her and the others Bassanio? Which one, and 
 why? 
 
 III. ii. As the structure of a comedy is looser 
 than that of a tragedy, it is not always possible to 
 discover all the structural points in a comedy that we 
 expect to find in a tragedy. However, this scene may 
 be looked upon as the turning-point. It marks the 
 culmination of Bassanio's successful suit. Almost at 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 181 
 
 the same moment comes the news of the distressing 
 turn in Antonio's fortune. Henceforth the success of 
 Bassanio is made the means of relieving Antonio. 
 
 Recall the allusions to lapsing time in the preceding 
 scene. Bassanio seems very impatient to make his 
 choice and to be done with it. Does not this imply 
 that but little time has elapsed.'' Is Bassanio a mere 
 fortune-hunter.'' Do we at any time feel as if he 
 were not good enough for Portia.'' Or has he changed 
 from a fortune-hunter to a true lover since he came 
 to Belmont.'' In such a case, however, would he not 
 have been impatient from the first? and prone to 
 delay later? just the reverse of what he does. 
 
 IV. i. Note that Shylock has done nothing illegal. 
 He is a hard man, but the case is with him. Has 
 Antonio's haughty behavior justified the Jew's hatred? 
 Antonio has shoAvn no wisdom in allowing himself to 
 fall into such a trap. Had Shakespeare been trying 
 to illustrate the proverb, " Pride goeth before de- 
 struction," could he have done better? 
 
 Note also how the scene, like a play in miniature, 
 rises to a climax and falls away. Shylock steadily 
 grows more confident till Portia's fanciful inter- 
 pretation of the bond. Then, by degrees, he is 
 crushed more and more almost to the point of anni- 
 hilation. 
 
 Shylock claimed his bond justly. The Christians 
 outwit him by a quibble, then rob him. Is there not 
 a good deal to be said on Shylock's side? Is he any 
 more devilish than his enemies? Do they not really 
 kill him? If a Jew were holding Christian practice 
 up to ridicule, would he write differently? We are 
 glad of Antonio's escape, but are we proud of the 
 
182 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 method? Did Shakespeare mean to produce the im- 
 pression implied by the above questions? 
 
 A play usually advances in rapidity towards the 
 end. In the fifth act of this play there is a great 
 cessation in the action. In 125 lines nothing happens 
 except the arrival of Portia and Nerissa. The ring 
 episode is started as a new interest after the play 
 is practically finished. (Compare with the fifth act 
 of The Midsummer Night's Dream and Canto 6 of 
 Scott's The Lay of the Last Minstrel.) By trifling 
 alterations, mainly omissions, this play could be re- 
 duced to four acts. This is probably an attempt to 
 make the jig an integral part of the play. 
 
 The fifth act, however, is interesting from another 
 point of view, to be discussed in connection with the 
 Elizabethan staging of the play. 
 
 II. The Plot 
 
 Make an analysis of the plot, employing the fol- 
 lowing suggestions: 
 
 1. How many different threads to the story? 
 
 2. Note how difficult it is to tell any thread with- 
 out telling parts of the others. 
 
 3. Note how they are interwoven. 
 
 4. Does each story have a separate climax, or do 
 they come to a climax together? 
 
 5. Note the order in which the stories are intro- 
 duced, and the order in which they are disposed of. 
 Has this order anything to do with their relative im- 
 portance ? 
 
 6. Is there anything that could be omitted ? 
 
 7. Would you suggest any change in the arrange- 
 ment of the scenes? 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 183 
 
 III. The Characters 
 
 It is supposed that the student has been following 
 through his study the suggestions contained in Chap- 
 ter VIII. In paying especial attention to character, 
 it is well to read through in succession the scenes in 
 which the characters appear. 
 
 Formulate your impressions of Shylock, Antonio, 
 Bassanio, and Portia. 
 
 IV. The Elizabethan Staging of the Play 
 
 The notes on the Elizabethan staging of this play 
 are fuller than elsewhere in the present volume in 
 order to serve as an example to the student who 
 should consider each play from this point of view. 
 
 Below is a list of the stage settings as derived from 
 the Tudor Edition of the play. 
 
 1. Venice, a street. I. i.; II. ii. ; II. iv. ; II. viii. ; 
 III. i.; III. iii.; IV. ii. 
 
 2. Room in Portia's house. I. ii. ; II. i. ; II. vii. ; 
 II. ix.; III. ii.; III. iv. 
 
 3. Venice, a public place. I. iii. 
 
 4. A room in Shy lock's house. II. iii. 
 
 5. Before Shylock's house. II. v. ; II. vi. 
 
 6. Portia's garden. III. v. 
 
 7. Venice, a courtroom. IV. i. 
 
 8. Avenue to Portia's house. V. i. 
 
 The probable average duration of an Elizabethan 
 performance was two hours and a half, a period of 
 time that does not allow much time for intermissions 
 or scene shifting. At any rate, it is hardly conceiva- 
 ble that the Elizabethans allowed for eight different 
 
184 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 scenes, or for the frequent tearing down of one scene 
 and replacing it after another had been used as is 
 implied by the above list. 
 
 Let us examine it. Note that seven scenes occur 
 on a street in Venice and six in a room in Portia's 
 house. The other scenes are used but once. (II. v. 
 and II. vi. were probably acted as one continuous 
 scene.) 
 
 Examine the list further. S, a public place, might 
 be the same as 1, a street. This street might also 
 contain Shy lock's house, 5. Notice the list with these 
 slight alterations made. 
 
 1. Venice, a street. I. i. ; I. iii. ; II. ii. ; II. iv. ; 
 II. v.; II. vi.; II. viii.; III. i.; III. iii.; IV. ii. 
 
 2. A room in Portia's house. I. ii. ; II. i. ; II. iii.; 
 II. vii.; II. ix.; III. iv. 
 
 3. Portia's garden. III. v. 
 
 4. A courtroom. IV. i. 
 
 5. Avenue to Portia's house. V. i. 
 
 Notice that the setting for the first three acts 
 (except III. V.) alternates between a Venetian street 
 and a room in Portia's house, and that neither of 
 them is used again. Glance over the scenes enu- 
 merated above, and it will be seen that all of those on 
 the street could be easily acted in a smaller space than 
 the others, and with less paraphernalia in the way 
 of properties, etc. We may suppose them a series 
 of outer scenes, and the Portia house scenes to be 
 the inner scenes. So it would be easy to provide 
 practically for the first three acts of the play by 
 means of one interior setting and one or more painted 
 cloths let down from rollers overhead. 
 
 Let us fancy the setting of the room in Portia's 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 185 
 
 house. There would be all the necessary properties 
 in the way of furniture, etc., placed upon the middle 
 stage. At the beginning of the play the table upon 
 which rest the caskets would probably be on the inner 
 stage concealed from the audience by a curtain, to 
 be drawn in the casket scenes. Doubtless there were 
 painted cloths at the back, representing the walls of an 
 interior, a stock set which it may be supposed was 
 already in the possession of the playhouse. All this 
 material could be in place before the play began, and 
 not materially disturbed till the end of the third act. 
 Most of it, however, would be concealed from the 
 audience by the drawn curtains between the posts 
 supporting the heavens. 
 
 At the beginning of the play these curtains are 
 drawn apart, showing a painted cloth that has been 
 let down in front of the articles that furnish the 
 material. This cloth would represent a street for 
 the street scenes, and a house to serve as Shylock's 
 house, probably to one side, so that the balcony above 
 could be used as the second story of this house. At 
 the end of the scene the cloth is rolled up, dis- 
 closing Portia's room. At the end of the next scene 
 it is dropped for I. iii., raised for I. iv., and so on. 
 Note that up to this point one painted cloth on a roller 
 and the stock furnishing for an interior have provided 
 for all the scenes. 
 
 It would be well for the student to go through the 
 play looking for every suggestion both in stage direc- 
 tions and in the lines themselves that will help make 
 out a list of the properties needed. This, however, 
 is merely an exercise for practice. It should be 
 remembered that many of the stage directions have 
 
186 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 been introduced by modern editors. If the student 
 wishes to include only such items as are mentioned in 
 contemporary texts he should consult the " First Folio 
 Edition/' Crowell & Co. 
 
 A second painted cloth representing a garden could 
 now be let down for III. v. This would doubtless 
 already be in possession of the company that had 
 produced Romeo and Juliet. While the scene is being 
 acted a slight rearrangement of properties would con- 
 vert Portia's room into a courtroom. When the 
 painted cloth is raised the audience would see the 
 court of justice, a seat for the duke, tables, etc., and 
 a portion of the audience on either side of the stage, 
 dressed in clothes similar to those worn by most of 
 the actors. This portion of the audience would eke 
 out the handful of spectators witnessing the trial. 
 
 At the end of the scene the original painted cloth 
 is let down, and the preparations made for act V. 
 As the last scene of act IV. is very brief, there may 
 have been a short intermission here, for the next 
 scene may well have been the great scene of the play. 
 In fact, act V. affords plenty of scope for the fancy 
 to rove. 
 
 As I read through the succession of Shakespeare's 
 plays I find that a few stock sets and half a dozen 
 drops will furnish the stage effects of most of them. 
 Every now and then, however, I am driven to the 
 conclusion that some play demands an extensive new 
 setting, just such as would to-day be advertised under 
 the heading of extensive and elaborate scenery. The 
 camp scenes of Henry the Fifth are an example. It 
 is my feeling, a mere inference, I confess, that the 
 playhouse owners of that day frequently made an 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 187 
 
 effort to produce some new effect which could be in- 
 troduced to enliven a play that was staged for the most 
 part with scenery already in possession of the com- 
 pany. In the present case I have suggested that 
 four acts of this play could easily and effectively 
 have been staged by material already in posses- 
 sion of the house. And I imagine that the special 
 efforts were put upon the setting for the last 
 act. 
 
 I shall not attempt to describe it. That would be 
 a mere exercise of invention as to what could be done 
 with the resources we know the Elizabethans had at 
 their command. What I wish to call attention to is 
 this: the scene is so much more effective when acted 
 upon a stage that can be darkened^ that I believe the 
 Elizabethans would do so if they could. No other 
 act in Shakespeare affords so many indications that 
 the scene was acted upon a partially darkened stage. 
 I wish to point out these facts and then show how 
 the Elizabethans could have accomplished the effect 
 readily with the resources at their command. 
 
 Let us consider the situation in detail. The scene 
 is before Portia's palace at night. There are many 
 places in Shakespeare's plays where a descriptive 
 passage seems to serve the purpose of suggesting sur- 
 roundings not visible to the audience. There is no 
 contradicting the fact that such suggestions may be 
 serviceable, and were frequently made use of, and 
 that an audience could take advantage of them to 
 supply the absence of a tangible setting. On the 
 other hand, if such suggestions be carried to the 
 extreme, they defeat their own end. A suggestion 
 must be lightly touched, not driven in with a sledge- 
 
188 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 hammer. Nothing would be easier or more disastrous 
 than to overdo the matter of suggestion. 
 
 Now what is the situation in this regard of the 
 last act.'' The fact that it is night is referred to no 
 less than thirteen times. Is not this a little too em- 
 phatic for mere suggestion? Would not the constant 
 repetition seem ridiculous rather than suggestive? 
 But this is not all. The presence of a visible moon 
 and stars is referred to six times. Of even greater 
 significance are some of the situations. Stephano 
 enters, but is not recognized till he tells who he is. 
 Launcelot enters. Several phrases are spoken before 
 the persons on the stage can properly locate each 
 other. Portia and Nerissa appear. They neither see 
 the others on the stage nor are seen by them. Portia 
 is at last recognized by her voice. 
 
 Even after granting a vivid imagination to Eliza- 
 bethan audiences, far more vivid than ours in dra- 
 matic affairs, I cannot help but feel that this scene 
 would not carry itself on a fully lighted stage such 
 as we imagine in connection with a daylight perform- 
 ance. Though it is but an inference, it seems a 
 justifiable one, that during this scene the Elizabethan 
 stage was actually darkened. 
 
 Two points add somewhat to the plausibility of the 
 suggestion. If the playhouse and the stage were 
 flooded with daylight fewer references and slight 
 alterations would add to the effect of mere suggestion, 
 were that all that was desired. The fact that Shake- 
 speare, who by this time was a master of stagecraft, 
 took a different course, implies different conditions. 
 
 Second. It would be easy to darken the stage. The 
 distance across the top of the playhouse was not too 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 189 
 
 great to be easily spanned by wires, or ropes. Canvas 
 could be easily drawn backward and forth upon such 
 cables and manipulated as easily as the shades which 
 control the light in a modern photographic studio. 
 Could the inventive Elizabethans have failed to resort 
 to such an easy and inexpensive means of adding 
 effectiveness to many scenes that seem to have been 
 written to take advantage of a darkened stage? 
 
 The stage could also have been darkened in an- 
 other way. The middle stage was shadowed by the 
 heavens. It would have been easy to draw curtains 
 from the supporting posts to the rear of the stage 
 upon either side. This would have materially lessened 
 the amount of light falling upon the middle stage. 
 The inner stage would have appeared almost like a 
 cave for darkness. And the contrast would have been 
 increased inasmuch as the audience would then have 
 been in the full light. The total effect would be that 
 of one in the full light looking into a cavern. 
 
 It might be suggested that this method would cut 
 off the view of that part of the audience seated upon 
 the stage itself. But not necessarily. If the side 
 curtains did not come to within four feet of the stage 
 floor seated spectators could look under them, and 
 the curtains would have been equally effective. The 
 spectators themselves would fill the gap made by the 
 shortened drapery, 
 
 (As an example, let the student search for other 
 examples throughout the plays that seem to cry out 
 for a darkened stage. Note also the slightly different 
 method of working out the setting of scenes as sug- 
 gested in the chapter on Henry the Fifth.) 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 JULIUS CMSAR 
 
 Notes on the Text 
 
 One who assumes that an Elizabethan play is 
 named after the principal personage is easily led into 
 error regarding Julius Ccesar. It is a fact that the 
 Elizabethans did not consider it necessary to follow 
 the practice of closely relating the title of a play to 
 the subject-matter. Shakespeare evidently considered 
 it a matter of no importance to give a play an irrele- 
 vant title, or a title that suggested a minor part: — 
 for instance, Twelfth Night, As You Like It, The 
 Merchant of Venice, Cymheline, etc. This play, in 
 reality, is the play of Brutus. 
 
 Structurally, the play appears more symmetrical 
 when viewed from the standpoint of Brutus. Like 
 Hamlet, it is a study of the disastrous results of a 
 man's attempt to perform a task for which he is 
 wholly incompetent. Brutus at the beginning is inno- 
 cent but disturbed in mind. He is won over to the 
 conspirators largely because he considers them to be 
 as high-minded in their motives as himself. He then 
 attempts the impossible task of running a political 
 conspiracy on moral principles. Because he does not 
 understand the wicked passions and motives of the 
 men he has to deal with, he makes one blunder after 
 190 
 
JULIUS C^SAR 191 
 
 another, till he brings ruin upon himself and his 
 followers. 
 
 In this plot design Brutus is opposed to imperial- 
 ism, to the office of Caesar, represented in the play 
 by three persons: Julius Caesar, Antony, and Oc- 
 tavius. The first of the three is, therefore, not to 
 be thought of in any way as the most important char- 
 acter of the play. 
 
 The theme of this play is identical with that of 
 Hamlet. There is, however, this important difference 
 between the two plays. In Hamlet the working out 
 of the idea is the dominating element. Everything 
 is made subservient to it. In Ccesar this is but partly 
 true. Shakespeare had just emerged from his his- 
 tory-writing period. The habit was still strong upon 
 him. Habits are difficult things to drop, and we find 
 in places that the mere dramatization of Plutarch's 
 story seems to take the precedence. For all that, the 
 play illustrates a considerable progress on the part 
 of Shakespeare along the road of dramatic independ- 
 ence. 
 
 I. i. This scene shows primarily that there is al- 
 ready in existence a considerable party opposed to 
 Caesar. Perhaps this party was secretly incited by 
 Cassius. Is there anything in the play to confirm 
 or disprove this notion.'' Brutus may have known of 
 it. It may have been the existence of this faction that 
 set him to thinking along new lines. But at the open- 
 ing of the play he is still uninfluenced by it. His ac- 
 tions are due wholly to his own reasoning out of the 
 situation. 
 
 This scene also implies that important use is 
 eventually to be made out of the Roman mob. The 
 
192 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 behavior of the mob, however, need not be taken 
 to represent Shakespeare's conception of the common 
 people and their characteristics. Compare with Henry 
 the Sixth, where such persons are introduced wholly 
 for comic effect; and with Henry the Fifth, where 
 the commonalty is the chief justification for the ex- 
 istence of a king, as well as his mainstay and sup- 
 port. Note also the characteristics of the common peo- 
 ple in Coriolanus. If one of these plays represents 
 the personal feelings of Shakespeare more than an- 
 other I fancy that it is Henry the Fifth. 
 
 I. i. 69- Is this fact referred to again in the play? 
 
 I. ii. Examine this scene carefully. Note all the 
 references to the character of Csesar and to his phys- 
 ical personality. Note how many of them are unat- 
 tractive and uncomplimentary. Later, supplement 
 this list with material drawn from the remainder of 
 the play. We find Caesar superstitious, pompous, 
 vain, and boastful. How is this unfavorable view of 
 Caesar to be accounted for? Does Shakespeare mean 
 to imply that the position of Caesar, that is, imperial- 
 ism, is independent of the particular man who for 
 the moment represents it? That because he is 
 Caesar he can carry these defects as if they were no 
 load to speak of? 
 
 I. ii. 29. Note how Brutus and Antony are con- 
 trasted from the very beginning of the play. 
 
 I. ii. 46. It must be remembered that at the mo- 
 ment Cassius approached Brutus the latter was, as 
 we learn later, much disturbed over the very matter 
 that Cassius has come to broach. 
 
 I. ii. 79' Brutus says, " I do fear the people choose 
 Caesar for their king." He here uses the word fear in 
 
JULIUS C^SAR 193 
 
 the same loose way in which we now use it colloquially 
 in such expressions as " I fear it will rain to-morrow," 
 Cassius, however, pretending to understand Brutus to 
 mean the word in its literal sense, so uses it himself, 
 thus forcing Brutus into an acknowledgment which 
 he did not intend to make. This quick-witted atten- 
 tion to details is very characteristic of Cassius. Find 
 other illustrations in the play of his quick and keen 
 observation of details. 
 
 I. ii. 1 62-1 75. Though Brutus has already been 
 thinking along the very lines suggested to him by 
 Cassius, he is cautious and unwilling to act without 
 sufficient thought. Cassius realizes that it will be 
 difficult to win the support of Brutus. But Cassius 
 also knows that if Brutus is once won over he will 
 became a staunch adherent. This slow reasoning to 
 a permanent conclusion is the prime characteristic of 
 Brutus. 
 
 I. ii. 200-212. This passage is a very accurate 
 estimate of the character of Cassius. Does it in real- 
 ity emanate from Shakespeare or from Caesar? Con- 
 sider the character of Caesar throughout the play. If 
 he knew all this, and believes all he says to Antony 
 about Cassius, would he be likely to take no precau- 
 tions to protect himself.^ 
 
 Notice also how this scene suggests the importance 
 of Cassius in relation to Caesar. 
 
 I. ii. 267. Casca refers to Caesar's doublet. In 
 Elizabethan times there was practically no serious at- 
 tempt at costuming as we now understand the word. 
 It is true that one of the largest expenses of the 
 Elizabethan actors was for clothes. But the clothes 
 they wore were Elizabethan clothes, not costumes 
 
194 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 representative of the parts enacted. A warrior wore 
 armor, but Elizabethan not Roman armor. Caesar 
 here wears an Elizabethan doublet, not a Roman 
 garment. 
 
 I. ii. 312, etc. (See the remarks concerning so- 
 liloquies in the chapter on Richard the Third.) This 
 soliloquy is accurate so far as the character of Brutus 
 is concerned. It is also quite in keeping with the 
 character of Cassius. It calls attention to the " hon- 
 orable metal " of Brutus, but hints that he is gullible 
 and easily deceived. It suggests in line 315 the pit- 
 fall into which Brutus eventually falls. It also im- 
 plies the crafty nature of Cassius, a rather low view 
 of human kind (3l6) and that he is a trifle vain (319). 
 It shows him, here as elsewhere, a good judge of 
 men and utterly unscrupulous. Find other examples 
 in the play of these characteristics of Cassius. 
 
 I. iii. The Elizabethans believed in the widespread 
 superstition which held that abnormal physical con- 
 ditions, especially great storms, preceded or accom- 
 panied great crimes. Therefore, the effect of 
 such a tremendous display of omens and portents 
 is to enhance the magnitude of the crime that fol- 
 lows. 
 
 With this fact in mind, one feels that the scene, 
 acted in the broad daylight, would be almost ridicu- 
 lous. See elsewhere the discussion of a darkened 
 stage in Elizabethan times and the method of accom- 
 plishing it in the contemporary theater. 
 
 Note how cleverly Cassius sounds Casca and wins 
 him to his side. We may imagine this typical, not as 
 a single occurrence, but as an example of how Cas- 
 sius is working upon all the likely people with whom 
 
JULIUS C^SAR 195 
 
 he comes in contact. His success here also fore- 
 shadows his future success with Brutus. 
 
 II. i. 10-34. This passage is a genuine soliloquy. 
 It shows Brutus in the act of making up his mind. 
 He is the apostle of reason. That is the character- 
 istic which made him one of the conspirators^ and it 
 is also the characteristic which eventually brings about 
 his downfall. Is this assertion supported by the re- 
 mainder of the play? Or should we say that Brutus 
 is a poor reasoner, and that that is what brings about 
 his final ruin? 
 
 Brutus reads the paper that is thrown in at his 
 window. The audience has already been informed 
 about this paper. How does Brutus take it? Does 
 the way in which it influences him show whether he 
 is or is not a practical man of the world? How do 
 we usually feel towards people who act as the result 
 of, or are influenced by, anonymous communications? 
 
 II. i. 61. Note how seriously Brutus is taking the 
 matter. He does not cast in his lot with the con- 
 spirators heedlessly. If he makes a mistake it is 
 because he is unable to judge the situation more ac- 
 curately. 
 
 II. i. 90. Cassius is a very skilful flatterer. Ob- 
 serve how often he gives evidence of this character- 
 istic. 
 
 II. i. 101-111. No importance attaches to this 
 scrap of conversation. It is merely put in to occupy 
 the time while Brutus and Cassius are whispering. 
 It would be very awkward for the other actors on 
 the stage to be doing nothing for a moment or two. 
 
 II. i. 114. Why does not Brutus want them to take 
 an oath? 1. What he says is quite true of himself. 
 
196 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 2. Is it true of the others? 3. Should he have 
 thought it true of all the others, or should he have 
 known better? 4. Does the situation not show that 
 Brutus is unacquainted with the general run of men? 
 In other words, that he is not a practical man of the 
 world ? 
 
 Note also that this first act of Brutus after he has 
 decided to join the conspirators is to object to one of 
 their plans. This happens several times in the play. 
 As a rule we find that the opposition of Brutus is due 
 to high-mindedness, but, as a rule, it is ill-timed. 
 
 II. i. 150. Again, in regard to Cicero, Brutus 
 raises an objection to what all the other conspirators 
 seem agreed upon. They have very earnestly desired 
 the co-operation of Brutus ; and the ready way in 
 which Cassius permits himself to be overruled by his 
 new recruit shows the advantage he hoped would be 
 derived from the accession of Brutus to the ranks of 
 the conspirators. Yet Cassius must have begun to 
 repent very soon. In fact, his misjudging the char- 
 acter and the advantage of Brutus is the blunder that 
 in the end wrecks the conspiracy. 
 
 Note that generally throughout Shakespeare's 
 plays the men who deserve punishment bring it upon 
 themselves. 
 
 II. i. 162, etc. Still again Brutus opposes the sug- 
 gestion of Cassius, — this time in regard to their at- 
 titude toward Antony. This is the third time Brutus 
 has manifested his opposition. And, as events turn 
 out, it proves to be the fatal mistake. For it is An- 
 tony's permission to speak at Caesar's funeral, 
 granted by Brutus but opposed by Cassius, which 
 eventually overthrows the conspiracy. 
 
JULIUS C^SAR 197 
 
 In all this Brutus shows himself to be a poor judge 
 of present conditions. He is acting in accordance with 
 his theories. He is trying to run a conspiracy on 
 paper. He does not know what is likely to happen in 
 real life. He misjudges the behavior of the mob and 
 underestimates the power of a man who possesses a 
 persuasive tongue like Antony's. 
 
 How does the failure of Brutus to act to the best 
 practical advantage of the conspirators affect our 
 estimation of the character of Cassius ? Should he not 
 have known Brutus better.'' 
 
 II. i. 183. Cassius is not so subservient to Brutus 
 as before. He expresses some opposition himself. 
 But he has been so urgent to the other conspirators 
 regarding the advantage of Brutus' assistance that he 
 finds his hands in a way tied at the present moment. 
 
 II. i. 219. Brutus will give Ligarius reasons. The 
 key to the character of Brutus, and to his failure, is to 
 be found in the fact that he does not know that most 
 men are swayed by their passions rather than by their 
 minds. Indeed, this fact is one of the principal de- 
 tails brought out in the play. 
 
 II. i. 229. The return to Lucius for a moment, with 
 whom the scene began, serves to round up this portion 
 of the scene as a kind of unit. It is now ended and we 
 are ready for other things. 
 
 The closing portion of the scene, in which Brutus 
 talks with Portia, serves several purposes: 1. It re- 
 calls us to the every-day world about us which we left 
 at the entrance of the conspirators, much as the knock- 
 ing on the gate does in Macbeth. 2. It also empha- 
 sizes the deliberate, thoughtful way in which Brutus 
 has made up his mind. 3. It further serves to give us 
 
198 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 a little touch of the more human side of the man who 
 has just been caught up by the current of great pub- 
 lic events. Nowhere in the play does Portia rise 
 above the position of a mere minor character. 
 
 II. ii. Note how the opening conversation between 
 Caesar and Calpurnia recalls the closing situation of 
 the preceding scene, the conversation between Brutus 
 and Portia. By such little devices are the portions of 
 a play linked together and made to seem more con- 
 tinuous. 
 
 Does this scene bring out the constancy of Caesar 
 of which he boasted? — or the reverse? Do selfish 
 motives figure in Caesar's final decision to go to the 
 Senate House? 
 
 Scenes iii. and iv. were probably acted continuously 
 on the outer stage, and the time of their enactment 
 occupied in setting the scene which follows, on the 
 inner stage. 
 
 III. Scenes i. and ii. of this act, which prac- 
 tically constitute the whole act, have to all intents and 
 purposes the same setting. We may, therefore, think 
 of them as constituting a continuous scene. Note, 
 then, how much significant matter is contained in this 
 great central scene of the play. 1. There is the 
 outbreak of the conspiracy culminating in the murder 
 of Caesar. 2. Next comes the sudden rise of Antony. 
 3. The scene contains what is, to all intents and pur- 
 poses, the overthrow of the conspiracy. 4. It makes 
 very evident the fact that Brutus, after all, was the 
 real cause of failure on the part of the conspirators. 
 
 III. i. 8. Is this phrase of Caesar's a noble senti- 
 ment, or mere grandiloquence? 
 
 Note the care with which Antony is drawn aside. 
 
JULIUS C^SAR 199 
 
 Brutus formerly made light of the pretense that An- 
 tony might turn out to be an enemy with whom they 
 need seriously to reckon. But the conspirators seem 
 to have known better. 
 
 III. i. 35, etc. Caesar speaks a good deal of bom- 
 bast in this scene. Is its effect on the audience prej- 
 udicial to the character of Caesar.'' Throughout the 
 play, does Caesar act with the consistency of which he 
 brags in this scene? 
 
 III. i. 95. Note that Antony's name appears again 
 at the most critical moment of the play. 
 
 III. i. 104. Brutus acts as spokesman as if he were 
 the actual leader of the insurrection. Yet Cassius 
 has really been the heart and soul of it up to this mo- 
 ment. How important a part does Brutus think he 
 himself has played.'' 
 
 III. i. 124. The servant's speech is a masterpiece. 
 It must have been planned in every detail by the 
 clever Antony. It plays upon Brutus' weakness, it is 
 thoroughly non-committal, and every safeguard is 
 taken for eventually jumping either way. 
 
 III. i. 141. Brutus has been quickly caught by 
 Antony's bait of an opportunity to give reasons. 
 
 III. 1. 147. One of the most skilfully managed 
 passages of the play follows the entrance of Antony. 
 He is acting every moment of the time. He pretends 
 to be loyal to Caesar lest the conspirators will not 
 trust him if he seems to desert too easily. Yet he 
 wants them to believe that in the end he is to be won 
 over. Of course, at heart, he is loyal to Ceesar 
 throughout. 
 
 III. 1. 177, 178. This is an odd speech for Cas- 
 sius to make. Does he mean it.^ 
 
200 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 III. i. 205. This expression of praise required 
 splendid courage on the part of Antony, and shows his 
 far-sighted intuition. It is a true representation of his 
 feelings, but it is not a spontaneous outbreak. Every 
 detail has been planned in advance and carried out 
 with the skill of a consummate actor. His motive is to 
 make the conspirators feel that if he could be so loyal 
 to Caesar under such dangerous circumstances, just 
 so loyal will he be to them if he is once won over. 
 Antony took a great risk when he made this speech, 
 but he triumphed. 
 
 III. 1. 232. Cassius knows men far better than 
 Brutus does. He instantly sees the danger of allow- 
 ing Antony to speak, and seeks to restrain Brutus from 
 giving permission. Brutus, however, insists on having 
 his own way. And it is the result of this insistence 
 that turns the tide against him. Thus Brutus is really 
 the cause of the overthrow of the conspiracy. And 
 his cause fails because of his own unswerving devo- 
 tion to his own high motives. 
 
 III. i. 245. Brutus' belief that Antony will obey 
 his commands argues very little worldly knowledge on 
 the part of Brutus — it is almost childlike. This in- 
 cident also reflects somewhat on the character of Cas- 
 sius, who should have gauged Brutus to better advan- 
 tage before he made him the leader of the conspiracy. 
 
 III. i. 254. Up to this point the audience has not 
 been quite sure whether Antony is playing fast and 
 loose with the faction, or whether he is really med- 
 itating an advantageous desertion to its ranks. At 
 this point he throws off the mask of his acting. This 
 soliloquy represents the real Antony, and sets the 
 audience right. 
 
JULIUS CiESAR 201 
 
 Note how the sympathy of the audience swings like 
 a pendulum. Caesar's arrogance turns this sympathy 
 towards Brutus. Brutus is so easily taken in by An- 
 tony that he now loses some of the sympathy that has 
 been aroused for him as a conscientious leader. Mean- 
 time, the attention of the audience is becoming cen- 
 tered upon the rising genius of Antony. In other 
 words, the sympathy of the audience is again swinging 
 towards Caesar and the successor of Caesar. 
 
 III. i. 276. Notice here the allusion to Octavius. 
 It was Shakespeare's habit to introduce an allusion to 
 the force that is going to resolve the action at the very 
 moment at which that action reaches the height of its 
 first culmination. 
 
 III. ii. 7. Brutus is going to give the public rea- 
 sons. He is the philosopher, the exceptional man, who 
 regulates his actions entirely by his mind. He knows 
 mankind so slightly that he fancies all men like 
 himself. He cannot understand how a man can fail 
 to side with him if sufficient reasons are given for so 
 doing. 
 
 On the other hand, Antony is the man of the hour. 
 He knows that men are swayed at important moments 
 by their passions, not by their minds. He is willing 
 to risk all on a half-hour incendiary oration. 
 
 As the sequence shows he is right. The much purer, 
 higher-minded Brutus is all wrong. And so Antony 
 wins and Brutus loses because the former is familiar 
 with his tools and the latter is not. 
 
 III. ii. 78. This wonderful speech of Antony will 
 bear careful analysis. It is a masterpiece of elo- 
 quence. Its proper delivery reqmres the exercise of 
 marvelous acting ability. 
 
202 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Antony is the friend of Caesar, speaking at the 
 moment of the triumph of his enemies, at their vic- 
 tim's funeral, by their sufiferance, and before a hostile 
 crowd. It is his intention to turn that crowd against 
 the very men they are now adoring, and to win them 
 entirely to his own side. And he essays the task with- 
 out fear, and with no doubt as to the outcome. 
 
 III. ii. 87. Antony speaks of Brutus as an honor- 
 able man. There is here not the least hint of sarcasm 
 in Antony's voice. His first step towards winning the 
 crowd is to adopt their point of view and make them 
 believe that he is one of them. Later he uses the 
 same words sarcastically. In the meantime he grad- 
 ually, but very gradually, changes his tone. All the 
 while he is on the outlook for indications that the 
 crowd has begun to come to him. Perhaps the first 
 touch, the slightest touch, however, of sarcasm, ap- 
 pears in line 104. 
 
 III. ii. 112. In reality Antony pauses, not because 
 he is overcome by emotion, but in order to catch some 
 audible hint of the change of feeling on the part of 
 his hearers. He needs a cue as to how to continue. 
 He is richly rewarded by the scrap of conversation 
 which he overhears among the citizens, and begins 
 again to speak with renewed confidence. 
 
 Ill, ii. 129- The increased sarcasm of this line is 
 soon to develop into an open sneer. 
 
 III. ii. 145. Now that he is sure of success, Antony 
 begins to tease his audience with delay. 
 
 III. ii. 219. Fancy the contempt Antony puts into 
 the word, " reasons " ! 
 
 III. ii. 225. Note the splendid irony of this line 
 and in what follows. 
 
JULIUS C^SAR 203 
 
 III. ii. 265. With the exit of the citizens the con- 
 spiracy, if not over, is at least foredoomed to failure. 
 At this point one can easily fancy the outcome. From 
 here on the play consists of: — 1. The mere continua- 
 tion of the story to the end. 2. A picture of Brutus 
 in defeat. And, as often elsewhere in Shakespeare, 
 the play ends more weakly than it began. Hamlet 
 and Othello are the two most notable exceptions to 
 this reflection. 
 
 IV. i. At the opening of this scene we meet the 
 triumvirs, all of whom figure in Antony and Cleopatra. 
 The suggestion contained in line 9 is quite unworthy 
 of the Antony of the latter play. In fact, throughout 
 this scene Antony's attitude towards Lepidus is not 
 at all to his credit. It must be remembered, however, 
 that Lepidus was generally considered to be the non- 
 entity of the triumvirate. 
 
 IV. ii. Note how quickly dissension has got among 
 the conspirators. In line 19 Brutus refers to Cassius 
 as " a hot friend cooling." Is this charge true ? Is 
 it due to the fact that Cassius is well aware of the 
 blundering of Brutus.'' Does Cassius think he could 
 make better progress without Brutus? Does Brutus 
 have any idea as to what causes the present behavior 
 of Cassius? Is their reconciliation in the next scene 
 genuine ? 
 
 IV. iii. Doubtless Shakespeare thought that the 
 news of Portia's death would cause even the philo- 
 sophic Brutus to act in an unusual manner. But the 
 testy wrangling with Cassius in the early part of the 
 scene is quite unworthy of Brutus. It does not belit- 
 tle the greatness of Shakespeare to acknowledge that 
 once in a while he is at fault in the presentation of a 
 
204. SHAKESPEARE 
 
 character — especially in his earlier years, a period 
 that may be said to close with Julius Ccesar. 
 
 IV. iii. 31. Cassius here asserts that he is an abler 
 soldier than Brutus. From the standpoint of the 
 practical management of a revolution he is certainly 
 right. But note that he denies the word abler in 
 line 5Q. 
 
 IV. iii. 76. In a way Brutus is helpless and ac- 
 knowledges his dependence on Cassius for everything 
 in the way of practical details. 
 
 IV. iii. 104. Is Cassius sincere? At the opening of 
 the scene we get the impression that Cassius is trying 
 to pick a quarrel. If this speech is sincere, we must 
 attribute the change in Cassius to the effect of Brutus' 
 noble personality. 
 
 On the other hand, if it is a hollow piece of flattery 
 spoken for the purpose of mollifying Brutus we must 
 discover why Cassius, who a moment before wished to 
 quarrel, now desires a reconciliation. This is a diffi- 
 cult discovery to make. 
 
 In the latter part of this scene we have in Brutus' 
 tender consideration of Lucius one of those little 
 touches which show how much brighter Brutus shone 
 in private than in public life. 
 
 Act V. The fifth act is merely the working out of a 
 foregone conclusion. It contains practically nothing 
 but a description of the battle. It is not often that 
 the last act of one of Shakespeare's plays contains so 
 little vital material. 
 
 V. i. 45-47. Cassius prepares himself for death 
 protesting against the policy of Brutus. 
 
 V. iii. 5. The last fatal slip of the battle is set down 
 to the long list of blunders on the part of Brutus. 
 
JULIUS CiESAR 205 
 
 V. V. 68-81. Note the final estimate of the char- 
 acter of Brutus put into the mouths of Antony and 
 Octavius. 
 
 In the view of Brutus' character set forth above he 
 is conceived as one unused to public life, unskilled in 
 the very kind of work he is called upon to do. This 
 view, however, does not imply anything derogatory 
 to his character. Antony was right when he called 
 Brutus the noblest Roman of them all. 
 
 There are critics who see in all of Shakespeare's 
 plays Sunday-school morals of the conventional sort. 
 Though this view is usually obscured to me, there can 
 be no doubt about the fact that underlying each of the 
 great tragedies of Shakespeare there is some great 
 human truth. And this play is no exception. 
 
 The situation may thus be phrased: it is of one 
 who has high ideals, a noble nature, called upon to ex- 
 ecute some great task. The tools at his service are 
 such as he cannot use with justification to his own 
 conscience. Shall he use them and succeed, or shall 
 he refuse them, live up to his ideals, and fail nobly.'' 
 
 Shakespeare does not answer the question. But he 
 shows that the latter course will inevitably bring 
 worldly ruin. 
 
 It is interesting to note that the play which in- 
 volves the reappearance of so many of the characters 
 of Antony and Cleopatra, is very closely associated 
 with that play in its general idea. In the later 
 play Antony appears as a hero of gigantic propor- 
 tions. Again, throughout the play, public duty and 
 personal desire are placed in opposition. Everything, 
 so far as Antony is concerned, is sacrificed to his per- 
 sonal devotion to the Egyptian queen. In one way it 
 
206 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 is an ignoble passion^ in another it is the opposite. He 
 goes down grandly^ dragging the queen and his fol- 
 lowers with him. But our sympathy is with him to 
 the very end. Shakespeare has hardly achieved so 
 much in the case of Brutus. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 HAMLET 
 
 I. Outline of the Early History of the Play 
 
 There are, or were, several versions of the story 
 of Hamlet in Elizabethan times. In the first place, 
 there was a long prose account known as The Hystorie 
 of Hamblet. Though no longer extant, it is generally 
 supposed that a play setting forth the same story was 
 in existence as early as 1589. This is frequently re- 
 ferred to as the lost-Hamlet, and many suppose 
 it to have been written by Thomas Kyd, author of 
 The Spanish Tragedy. In l603, the year after the 
 probable appearance of Hamlet on the stage, the first 
 quarto edition of the play was published. This differs 
 in many respects from the second quarto of 1604. And 
 the text of the Folio, 1623, differs in a few respects 
 from that of the second quarto. The texts of the sec- 
 ond quarto and of the Folio are evidently but slightly 
 differing versions of the same play, and they are com- 
 bined to produce the currently accepted text of to- 
 day. 
 
 The extraordinary differences between the first and 
 the second quarto, appearing as they did from the 
 press so close together, has given rise to endless crit- 
 ical discussion. There are three possible suppositions : 
 1. The first quarto may be Kyd's supposedly lost play 
 207 
 
208 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 or a version of it. 2. It may be an earlier play of the 
 same subject by Shakespeare himself. 3. It may be a 
 pirated edition of Shakespeare's play which called into 
 existence quarto two, the true version, as a mere mat- 
 ter of financial protection. I incline to a firm belief 
 in the latter hypothesis. 
 
 I do not think that it can be Kyd's play. So far 
 as we know, there are extant but two of his plays. 
 One of them. The Spanish Tragedy, is, when judged 
 by contemporary standards, remarkable for its ex- 
 cellence. The other, Soliman and Perseda, judged by 
 the same standards is as remarkable for its lack of 
 excellence. At any rate, neither one resembles the 
 other, or shows any evidence of self -imitation. 
 
 Later I shall try to show that the resemblance be- 
 tween The Spanish Tragedy of Kyd and the Hamlet 
 of Shakespeare is so close that we are driven to the 
 conclusion that the former served as a model to the 
 latter. And the main points of this resemblance are 
 visible even in the first quarto. It does not seem to 
 me likely that Kyd would thus copy his own earlier 
 effort — for four reasons: 1. There is no confirma- 
 tory evidence of the fact. 2. The two extant plays 
 suggest diversity of work rather than close self-imi- 
 tation. 3. The copying of an earlier skeleton plot is 
 not unlike the practice of Shakespeare. 4. It is a 
 mere matter of personal taste, but to me the bad 
 points of the quarto are unworthy of Kyd, and the 
 good points more suggestive of Shakespeare than of 
 the earlier playwright. 
 
 Nor do I think the play to be an earlier play by 
 Shakespeare. Its crudeness in parts is so great that 
 it must have been written by Shakespeare, if at all. 
 
HAMLET 209 
 
 at a very early date. Yet Titus Andronicus, Shake- 
 speare's earliest tragedy, is so superior to it as to sug- 
 gest a wide difference in their dates. Yet Titus An- 
 dronicus must have been written very early in Shake- 
 speare's career. 
 
 On the other hand, the contemporary conditions of 
 literary piracy seem to account plausibly for all, or 
 practically all, of the essential differences between 
 the first and the second quarto. It was the usual 
 custom of that day to keep popular plays unpublished 
 till the temporary stage popularity had waned. Then, 
 if a further penny could be turned by publication, the 
 companies did not scruple to do so. On the other 
 hand, the crooked practices that obtained among 
 publishers prompted them to resort to all sorts of 
 underhand means in order to procure a copy of the 
 text. They would bribe the players, doubtless resort 
 to theft if necessary, or send stenographers to take 
 down the play while it was being acted. 
 
 There was no adequate system of shorthand writ- 
 ing in vogue at that time. Hence one, in taking down 
 the play, would perforce leave many gaps to be filled 
 in later from memory. As this is a student handbook, 
 I shall not go into the case thoroughly. But in my 
 opinion a close comparison of the two quartos suggests 
 that the former in the main could very easily be the 
 result of the work of such an imperfect stenographer 
 and hack-writer's attempt to take down and subse- 
 quently fill out the play as represented by the second 
 quarto. 
 
 Of course, this theory does not explain everything. 
 If it did, there would be no case left for believers in 
 the other hypothesis. And a student who would go 
 
210 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 into the case more thoroughly should study both the 
 quartos carefully and all the attendant conditions of 
 contemporary theatrical life and practice. It is suffi- 
 cient to say here that in my opinion such an examina- 
 tion not only gives to this explanation far greater 
 validity than to either of the other two, but it also 
 gives sufficient validity to it to warrant its acceptance 
 despite a few unexplained details that appear to me 
 on the whole as trifling in comparison. 
 
 If this explanation be the right one there remains 
 no difficulty in explaining the appearance of the sec- 
 ond quarto. In accordance with current practice 
 Shakespeare's company refused to publish the play. 
 A publisher got hold of the garbled copy issued from 
 the press as the first quarto. As the play, though in 
 a mutilated condition, was now on the book market the 
 theatrical company who owned the play naturally de- 
 sired to reap whatever advantage was due to publica- 
 tion. Hence they came forward promptly with the 
 true text. 
 
 11. " The Spanish Tragedy " and " Hamlet " * 
 
 The attribution of the lost play of Hamlet to 
 Thomas Kyd lends additional interest to the relations 
 between Kyd and Shakespeare. Resemblances of 
 many kinds are noticeable among the works of the two 
 writers. Such a coincidence as the following can 
 hardly be accidental: 
 
 * This note and most of what is said subsequently re- 
 garding the " Mouse-trap " have appeared in " The Sewanee 
 Review." 
 
HAMLET 211 
 
 " I had not thought that Alezandro's heart 
 Had been envenomed with such extreme hate: 
 But now I see that words have several works. 
 And there's no credit in the countenance." 
 
 —Sp. Tr., III. i. 
 
 "There's no art 
 To find the mind's construction in the face," 
 
 are the words of Duncan. It is, however, not in such 
 verbal similarities that we find a resemblance between 
 the dramatists of remarkable degree; it is rather in 
 the similarity of treatment and conception between 
 the great play of Kyd and the masterpiece of his suc- 
 cessor. 
 
 The motive of both plays is revenge, in each for a 
 murder. In Hamlet the murder is committed before 
 the beginning of the play and is revealed by super- 
 natural means. In The Spanish Tragedy the murder, 
 which forms a part of the action, is revealed by means 
 of a mysterious letter. None will forget the burst of 
 human grief that almost vanquishes Hamlet at the mo- 
 ment he hears the details of his beloved father's 
 death. Though there is no attempt to portray Hie- 
 ronimo fully as a human character of many sides, he 
 experiences sufficient grief and sorrow to cause him to 
 lose his mental balance temporarily. 
 
 I hope to show that there is reason to believe that 
 Shakespeare had The Spanish Tragedy in mind while 
 writing Hamlet and that, though he followed it as a 
 model, he improved it at many points. It is note- 
 worthy as an illustration that at the point in Hamlet, 
 corresponding with the above suggestion from Hie- 
 ronimo's behavior, Hamlet makes the speech which 
 contains the phrase " To put an antic disposition on." 
 
212 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Shakespeare, however, was, I think, too shrewd a 
 judge of human nature to imagine that Hamlet, who 
 had just been startled out of sane behavior by the 
 terrible revelation of the ghost, could in the same 
 moment, like Hieronimo, be so self-possessed as to 
 plan in a moment the ruse of assuming a future cloak 
 of madness. The " antic disposition " is doubtless a 
 reference to the " wild, whirling words " that his fel- 
 lows could not understand, the general incoherent be- 
 havior that has preceded the utterance of the line, and 
 which Hamlet fears may occur again under a similar 
 strain. 
 
 The author of the crime is revealed to Hamlet by 
 the ghost — to Hieronimo by a letter. Both persons 
 instantly suspect the trustworthiness of their informa- 
 tion. Hamlet's doubt is due to his belief in a well- 
 known Elizabethan superstition: namely, that the 
 devil possessed the power to appear in the likeness of 
 a dead person in order to tempt a living. This is a 
 doubt shared likewise by Horatio and may well bid 
 Hamlet pause till he has better proof. Hieronimo, 
 however, suspects from no cause. The detail is un- 
 motived. 
 
 However, both men suspect and both of them re- 
 solve to test the truth of the information which they 
 have received. Hamlet most carefully plans the 
 " Mouse-trap " which, though it turns out in an unex- 
 pected way, convinces him of his uncle's guilt. Hie- 
 ronimo asserts that he must take time for investiga- 
 tion, but in reality does nothing. He merely waits 
 till a second more convincing letter comes to him by 
 accident. Just why this letter should be written is not 
 quite clear. It is intended by Kyd to convey informa- 
 
HAMLET 213 
 
 tion to Heironimo, but it is intended by its writer, 
 Pedringano, to convey an appeal for relief to Lorenzo. 
 Yet the substance of the letter is that most calculated 
 to harden Lorenzo's heart. Hieronimo, who before 
 was so ready to doubt the revealing letter, accepts this 
 as true in every respect and considers his doubts as 
 completely set at rest. Both Hamlet and Hieronimo 
 are now ready to act upon their original information 
 — and both allow their revenge to be delayed till the 
 end of the play. 
 
 How can we account for this delay? The answer 
 to the former case is evident. Hamlet has planned 
 to sit quietly by till the " Mouse-trap " is finished and 
 then compare notes with Horatio on his uncle's be- 
 havior. But he is himself affected by the scene be- 
 yond the limits of endurance. By interrupting the 
 proceedings too soon, Hamlet causes the court to dis- 
 perse with the impression that Hamlet, not Claudius, 
 has made an exhibition of himself. Though Hamlet 
 is himself convinced of his uncle's guilt, he realizes 
 that he has so bungled the affair that he will be unable 
 to convince others of anything but his own inability to 
 act with reason. In the reaction of despondency he 
 allows himself to be drawn away from Denmark; but 
 the moment his spirit returns he hastens back to ac- 
 complish his revenge. 
 
 Why Hieronimo delays is not quite so evident, yet a 
 similar scene to the above appears in the correspond- 
 ing portion of The Spanish Tragedy. Immediately 
 upon the completion of his self-conviction, Hieronimo 
 resolves to appeal to the king. He has every reason to 
 believe his appeal will be successful. Yet, when he 
 comes to the point, he is so wrought up by his emotion 
 
214 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 that he cannot say what he intended to say, and at 
 last dashes off the stage hysterically mad. As in 
 Hamlet, the impression left upon the court is exactly 
 opposite to that intended by Hieronimo. In conse- 
 quence, however, Hieronimo merely remains quiescent 
 till the end of the play. He has no excuse for inac- 
 tion. When Bel-Imperia upbraids him for his delay 
 he requests her to wait and to expect great things, 
 but he offers no defense. 
 
 These two scenes cannot be dismissed without a 
 word concerning the wild behavior that occasionally 
 characterizes both Hamlet and Hieronimo. This is 
 not the place to consider in detail the question of Ham- 
 let's madness. He is certainly not insane in the sense 
 that Lear is insane; nor is he believed insane by any 
 of the shrewder intellects of the play — nor is Hieron- 
 imo. The key to their wild behavior is the same. 
 Both have exceptionally passionate natures. The rev- 
 elation of the ghost, the " Mouse-trap," and the burial 
 of Ophelia act so powerfully upon Hamlet's nature 
 that he temporarily loses self-control — control, how- 
 ever, which he immediately regains. The same is true 
 of the character of Hieronimo. 
 
 There are a few other similarities between the 
 two characters. Immediately after the failure of the 
 " Mouse-trap " during a conversation with the queen, 
 Hamlet conjures up a vision of his father come to 
 chide him for his long delay. 
 
 " Do you come," says Hamlet, " your tardy son to 
 chide. That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by 
 The important acting of your dread command.'' " Im- 
 mediately after his failure to convey his appeal to the 
 king, Hieronimo conjures up a vision of his son come 
 
HAMLET 215 
 
 to chide him for his delay. "And art thou come, Ho- 
 ratio/' says Hieronimo, " from the depth To ask for 
 justice on this upper earth, to tell thy father thou art 
 unrevenged ? " 
 
 Hamlet is spurred back to activity from the period 
 of despondency following the failure of the " Mouse- 
 trap " by the accidental sight of a company of Fortin- 
 bras's soldiers who remind him of his own unfinished 
 task of revenge. Similarly Hieronimo is spurred back 
 into action by the sight of a handkerchief dyed in his 
 son's blood which he accidentally draws from his 
 pocket. 
 
 When the end of the play is reached and the of- 
 fenders are killed, both Hamlet and Hieronimo recog- 
 nize the necessity of some public justification of their 
 actions. Hieronimo delivers his own plea. For this, 
 however, Hamlet's span of life is insufiicient. Yet he 
 dies, begging Horatio do the office for him : 
 
 " Absent thee from felicity awhile, 
 And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, 
 To tell my story." 
 
 With this close parallelism in mind is one not likely 
 to hazard the inference that Shakespeare's play bears 
 less resemblance to the lost Hamlet than to The Span- 
 ish Tragedy? 
 
 It is hard to believe that the first quarto, which in 
 all its larger and broader qualities so closely resembles 
 the second, bears any close resemblance to the play 
 by Kyd. This, if considered in the light of the above 
 list of parallels, implies an almost inconceivable de- 
 gree of self-imitation. On the other hand, one can 
 easily imagine that Shakespeare, who borrowed not 
 
216 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 only plots, but other dramatic details that proved 
 successful, would take for his model the most popular 
 tragedy of the time, and adhere to it in the main with 
 the same fidelity illustrated, for instance, in Romeo 
 and Juliet. Yet he did in Hamlet what he had already 
 done in Romeo and Juliet. He transferred the unpo- 
 etic dross of the original into the poetic ore associated 
 in our minds only with Shakespearian genius. 
 
 III. Notes on the Text 
 
 I. i. 23. Note that Horatio is introduced as skepti- 
 cal regarding the story he has heard of the ghost. 
 Yet his subsequent behavior (see I. iv. 70) shows that 
 he believes in ghosts. The convincing of the skeptic 
 Horatio contributes to the vividness and reality of the 
 situation here. (See note at the end of the chapter 
 relative to the Elizabethan staging of the play, and 
 the article of Mr. Baker therein cited. This scene was 
 probably acted on a darkened stage.) 
 
 I. i. 42. " Thou art a scholar." Critics have cited 
 the fact that an old superstition implies that a ghost 
 should be conversed with in Latin; therefore Horatio, 
 who was a scholar, was urged forward as spokesman. 
 But the critics seem to have overlooked the fact that 
 Horatio does not address the ghost in Latin when the 
 time comes to speak. In fact, there is probably no 
 allusion whatever to this superstition here. The 
 others are slightly frightened, a good deal terrified, 
 if we are to believe the account given by Horatio to 
 Hamlet later. He then says that they were almost 
 distilled to jelly by the act of fear. Horatio, however, 
 is of superior education, has boasted of his skepticism. 
 
HAMLET 217 
 
 His companions urge him forward just as a child 
 will say, " You are the biggest. You go first." 
 
 I. i. 79, etc. How easily the correlative information 
 needed as an introduction is inserted. Fortinbras, 
 though a minor figure, plays a very important part in 
 the drama. 
 
 I. i. 126-139. One must understand this passage 
 in order to read it correctly. There was a supersti- 
 tion of the time which held that a ghost, though en- 
 dowed with supernatural powers, was limited in many 
 directions. For instance, it was necessary, perhaps, 
 to address him by the proper name in order that he 
 be able to speak. This is why Hamlet (I. iv. 44), 
 says, " I'll call thee Hamlet, King, father, royal 
 Dane." We must imagine a sufficient pause after each 
 name for Hamlet to discover whether he has used the 
 right epithet. 
 
 Again, it was believed that a ghost could not speak 
 till he was addressed relative to the subject upper- 
 most in his mind. This is the superstition involved 
 in the passage cited above. The ghost refuses to 
 speak, line 129- So Horatio guesses. He asks if the 
 ghost wishes to talk regarding anything advantageous 
 to himself, Horatio. Then there is a pause. The 
 silence of the ghost shows that this is not that regard- 
 ing which he wishes to speak. Horatio tries again. 
 " Is it relative to the welfare of your country? " he 
 asks. There is another pause. This is not it. Does 
 the ghost wish to speak of hidden treasure? Con- 
 tinued silence answers no. And so the phantom dis- 
 appears. 
 
 There was still another superstition which held that 
 a ghost would remain silent unless addressed by the 
 
218 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 proper person. As the ghost has failed to answer 
 Horatio, the latter thought comes into his mind. The 
 ghost would not speak to the others. He would not 
 speak to him. Who is the person who ought to ad- 
 dress him.'' Probably his son, the younger Hamlet. 
 So they decide to ask the prince to share their watch 
 with them. 
 
 I. ii. We may look upon this as the first formal, 
 public gathering of the court since the death of the 
 king and the marriage of his widow to his brother 
 Claudius. 
 
 We are told in this scene much of the introductory 
 material, are introduced to most of the remaining char- 
 acters, Laertes is given permission to depart. He is 
 kept in mind by several touches hereafter, but does not 
 appear as an important character till act IV. 
 
 In the structure of this play we find the two-hero 
 type exemplified in its perfection by Othello. Clau- 
 dius and Hamlet are the two opposites. The char- 
 acter of the former should be scanned carefully 
 throughout the play. 
 
 I. ii. 65. This is the first line spoken by Hamlet. 
 It should be examined carefully. Its literal meaning 
 is: A little more than kin (uncle by blood, step- 
 father by marriage) and less than kind (unnatural; a 
 reference to the indecent haste with which he has mar- 
 ried his brother's widow). In the Tudor Edition this 
 line is marked " aside." Some critics do not so mark 
 it. I do not think it matters much. In either case the 
 implication is the same. Shakespeare's first line at- 
 tributed to Hamlet shows: 1. That he is out of har- 
 mony with his uncle, the present king. 2. That some- 
 thing is preying deeply on his mind. In the conver- 
 
HAMLET 219 
 
 sation that follows the king shows that he is either 
 ignorant of the former condition or that he pretends 
 to neglect it. His words^ however, the queen's, and 
 Hamlet's all emphasize the second. Something ex- 
 traordinary is preying upon his mind. It is not fully 
 accounted for by outward circumstances. It is not yet 
 fully understood even by Hamlet himself. It is only 
 cleared up later. 
 
 I. ii. 129, etc. This soliloquy shows, but not yet 
 quite fully, what is preying upon Hamlet's mind. It 
 is his mother's hasty marriage. He idolized her, and 
 her over-hasty marriage shattered his mind's image of 
 a superior woman. 
 
 I. ii. 226, etc. There is nothing impossible to 
 Hamlet about what Horatio says. Yet the former, 
 who can imagine easily the appearance of the ghost, 
 wishes to make sure. He has been told that the 
 others were terribly frightened by the appearance of 
 the apparition (I. ii. 205). So, as I said, he wishes 
 to make sure. The only significance to the rapid 
 fire of questions that follows is Hamlet's desire by 
 cross-examination to test the coherence of their story. 
 The clue to Hamlet's character throughout is justice, 
 the desire to go slow and to be sure of himself and his 
 cause. This is the first example of it. 
 
 I. ii. 256. Doubt in Elizabethan times usually 
 meant suspect. 
 
 I. iii. Note that Laertes does not take the idea of 
 Hamlet's courtship of Ophelia seriously. Yet it is 
 serious and honest. 
 
 The Elizabethans not only enjoyed but demanded a 
 fair admixture of comedy with their tragedy. In 
 some plays, as in Othello, Shakespeare ignored this de- 
 
220 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 mand. In Macbeth and in Hamlet he catered to it 
 only slightly. In the latter play the grave-diggers of 
 act V. and Polonius afford the comic element. 
 
 We must fancy Polonius as an old man who has in 
 the past been a worthy and trusted councilor. But he 
 has now passed the zenith of his intellectual career, 
 becoming a little childish. His mind is most occupied 
 over trivial matters. There is a ludicrous element in 
 this scene about his urging Laertes forward in haste 
 for the waiting ship while he simultaneously detains 
 him to hear a long-winded declamation full of copy- 
 book precepts relative to good behavior. And later 
 Polonius goes to the king with an altogether erroneous 
 interpretation of Hamlet's behavior, upon the truth 
 of which he is willing to stake his life and reputation. 
 
 Polonius takes almost the same view of Hamlet's 
 courtship of Ophelia as that taken by Laertes. Does 
 Ophelia believe what her father and brother say? 
 
 I. iv. 69-78. There was a belief in that day and 
 generation that the devil possessed the power of ap- 
 pearing to living persons in the semblance of some 
 deceased loved one. It is to this detail that Horatio 
 refers. Note how quickly he grasps the situation. 
 This apparition may be the spirit of the dead king. 
 On the other hand it may be an evil spirit come to do 
 harm to Hamlet. This doubt figures largely in what 
 follows. Hamlet has no thought of it in scene v. of 
 the first act. By the opening of act II. he has begun 
 to share Horatio's doubts. It is to test the truth of 
 the ghost's story, incidentally to discover whether it 
 is a true ghost or an evil spirit, that he plans the 
 " Mouse-trap." 
 
 I. V. 40. " Oh my prophetic soul ! My uncle ! " 
 
HAMLET 221 
 
 This exclamation has been explained as indicative of 
 the fact that Hamlet had already suspected his uncle's 
 guilt. I do not, however, find any justification for this 
 interpretation. In the first place, I conceive it to be 
 an exclamation of surprise. If, however, Hamlet has 
 not suspected his uncle, to what does he refer? 
 
 Now, Hamlet is overwhelmingly depressed in spirits 
 and he hates his uncle viciously. The excuse for the 
 low state of his spirits is to be found partly in the 
 grief due to his father's death. But, as Claudius aptly 
 remarks, strong men do not collapse under such cir- 
 cumstances ; and Hamlet knows that the king is right. 
 Furthermore, Hamlet is much distressed over his 
 mother's hasty marriage. In a way, it has shattered 
 one of his ideals of womanhood. Yet Hamlet knows 
 that under ordinary circumstances he could have borne 
 even this with a fair degree of equanimity. 
 
 And why does he hate Claudius? Partly because 
 Claudius has usurped the throne, and partly because 
 he has married the queen. Yet these motives hardly 
 justify Hamlet's extreme aversion to the king. 
 
 In other words, Claudius, the queen, and Hamlet 
 himself all feel that the extremity of his emotion is 
 not fully accounted for by the known facts. And now, 
 at the ghost's revelation, Hamlet suddenly realizes 
 that there is a reason sufficient to account for all his 
 feelings; and, inasmuch as he had had no previous 
 knowledge or suspicion of the fact, the feeling itself 
 was in a way prophetic. 
 
 The line should be read as two distinct exclama- 
 tions, not as one, as is implied by the punctuation of 
 some texts of the play. 
 
 At the end of scene iv. Hamlet departs with the 
 
222 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 ghost against Horatio's will. We must fancy that his 
 lingering companions on the ramparts of the castle 
 wait a reasonable time for his return; then decide to 
 hunt Hamlet up. They find him towards the end of 
 scene v. Hamlet has just heard the astonishing rev- 
 elation of the details of his father's murder. For a 
 moment he is completely overcome. His high-strung 
 nature is unable to retain its calm self-control. He 
 talks nonsense (the " wild and whirling words " of 
 line 133). And he acts ridiculously. He desires an 
 oath against which the others protest. However^ when 
 Hamlet holds up the cross-shaped hilt of his sword for 
 them to take oath upon they agree to his whim. Just 
 at the critical moment Hamlet changes his mind and 
 drags them off to some more likely position for the 
 oath (line 156). And still again when they are will- 
 ing to humor him with an oath he drags them to still 
 another place of vantage (line 163). 
 
 During the next few lines Hamlet begins to recover 
 his self-control. He realizes how he has been acting. 
 He recalls Horatio's fears at their last parting. He 
 knows that Horatio must be saying to himself, " This 
 is just what I expected." Yet Hamlet is greatly 
 wrought. He has no plans for the future. He has not 
 had time even to conjecture what will be the sequel to 
 all this. He has not yet decided whether or not he will 
 relate the whole affair in confidence to Horatio. But 
 there is one thing he is sure of. The present meeting 
 with the ghost has momentarily thrown him off his 
 balance. It may happen again in the future. If so, 
 he hopes his friends and companions will not betray 
 him by referring to the incidents of to-night. In 
 other words: " If at any time in the future you see me 
 
HAMLET 223 
 
 act as strangely (put an antic disposition on^ line 
 172) as you have seen me act in the last five minutes, 
 do not shrug your shoulders, look wise, and say, ' That 
 is just the way he behaved himself one night after 
 meeting his father's ghost upon the ramparts.' " 
 
 Many critics have assumed that in the excitement 
 of the moment Hamlet has found time to formulate 
 definite plans for the future which involve the as- 
 sumption of madness. They quote this line as a ref- 
 erence to the intention of assuming insanity in the 
 future as a cloak to his plans. To me, however, it is 
 perfectly clear that the exclamation does not point 
 forward, but backward to the antic behavior that has 
 just been acted out on the stage. It would at least be 
 fresh in the mind of the audience, and it is hard to con- 
 ceive how the audience would fail to connect the two. 
 
 II. i. One of the cleverest dramatic devices of the 
 play involves the prominence of Laertes in the fourth 
 act. It is needful that we do not forget him during 
 his absence throughout the first three acts. The open- 
 ing portion of this scene is largely for the purpose of 
 keeping Laertes in the mind of the audience. 
 
 II. i. 75-100. This passage should be studied in 
 connection with III. i. 90-158. One may profitably 
 return to this discussion after reading the section de- 
 voted to Hamlet's madness. The result of these two 
 meetings of Hamlet and Ophelia is: 1. Ophelia is con- 
 vinced of Hamlet's madness. 2. Polonius is confirmed 
 in his belief of Hamlet's madness. Yet Hamlet is 
 acting quite rationally. 
 
 Let us for a moment try to fancy what has been 
 passing recently in the mind of Hamlet relative to 
 Ophelia. There can be no doubt that Hamlet is hon- 
 
224 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 estly in love with her. Yet the gross-minded Laertes 
 doubts the fact. Polonius, while not taking quite so 
 low a view of the matter as that taken by his son, con- 
 siders marriage as out of the question because of the 
 social difference in rank between his daughter and the 
 prince. It is to prevent Ophelia from falling hope- 
 lessly in love that Polonius commands her to return 
 Hamlet's presents and letters and otherwise cause a 
 break in his attentions which can only result in harm. 
 Now look at this situation and its results through 
 the eyes of Hamlet. It must be remembered that he 
 has received no explanation of Ophelia's conduct. He 
 is honestly in love with her. She seemed to be so with 
 him. He was heir-apparent to the throne. His father 
 died. His uncle seized the crown. Immediately he 
 is jilted by Ophelia. And very shortly before this 
 his mother's hasty marriage has shattered his belief 
 in womanhood. What more likely than that Hamlet 
 should conceive Ophelia to be a mere fortune-hunter 
 who thrust him aside when he lost the throne? And 
 much of the pathos lies in the fact that he is so com- 
 pletely mistaken. However, under this belief he ap- 
 proaches Ophelia (II. i. 75). But he still loves her. 
 He cannot trust himself to speak, departing in dis- 
 tressed silence. On the second meeting, however 
 (III. i. 90), he speaks his mind plainly. Though there 
 is down deep in his heart left some of that former love, 
 to come to the surface violently at the scene by Ophe- 
 lia's grave in act V., Hamlet feels now only contempt 
 for the woman who could treat him as she has done. 
 Claudius, who secretly overhears the whole conver- 
 sation, sees no sign of love or affection. When Hamlet 
 tells Ophelia over and over again to go to a nunnery 
 
HAMLET 225 
 
 lie means just what he says. Penance and a monastic 
 life are necessary to purge her of her sinful nature. 
 
 II. ii. In this scene Polonius proposes his theory 
 of madness. Had Shakespeare desired the audience 
 to believe in this explanation would he have originated 
 it in the foolish mind of Polonius? or would he have 
 propounded it with so much in the way of amusing 
 accompaniment? In the conversation that follows 
 even Polonius can see some method. It is hardly 
 likely that an Elizabethan audience would fail of the 
 matter altogether. 
 
 Pursuant to the commands of the king and queen 
 given at the beginning of the scene, Rosencrantz and 
 Guildenstern here approach Hamlet to discover if 
 possible the cause of his distress. They have probably 
 been informed of the madness proposition suggested 
 by Polonius. Hamlet immediately sees through them. 
 Line 305, so shall my anticipation, etc., may be para- 
 phrased as followed: You have been sent by the king 
 and queen to worm something out of me. If I tell you 
 of my own accord you have certainly not got it out of 
 me. You may tell them so, thus befriending me and 
 saving your own conscience. 
 
 II. ii. 396, 397. There is nothing irrational about 
 this speech. Handsaw means heronshaw. The allu- 
 sion to the wind would be understood by any one fa- 
 miliar with the out-of-door sport of falconry. The 
 sentence means : I am not mad at all, but so possessed 
 of my reason that I can distinguish the trifling differ- 
 ence between a hawk and a heron in mid-air a long 
 way off.* 
 
 * A description of the point in falconry referred to here 
 is to be found in my Elizabethan People, page 117. 
 
226 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 II. ii. 361. The Elizabethan plays are full of an- 
 achronisms to which the audience of that day had no 
 objection. Notwithstanding the fact that the setting 
 of this play is Denmark of an earlier time the con- 
 versation in which the above line occurs is relative to 
 the Elizabethan companies of boy actors who for a 
 time proved such formidable rivals to the older com- 
 panies of men actors. 
 
 II. ii. 454-634. This passage is so intimately con- 
 nected with the treatment of the " Mouse-trap " that 
 it is difficult to determine which should be considered 
 first. I think, on the whole, that it is best to point out 
 the significance of each scene first, returning later to 
 point out some technical matters in relation to this 
 passage. 
 
 Note, however, this situation. At the end of act 
 I. Hamlet firmly believed in the honesty of the ghost. 
 During the interval between acts I. and II. he has be- 
 gun to share Horatio's doubts. At least, if he does not 
 share them, he is not so positive in his conviction as 
 to discard them altogether. He admits a possibility of 
 their truth. One of the keys to Hamlet's character is 
 absolute justice. He will not proceed till he knows 
 the truth. How shall he find out? He cannot tell. 
 So far he has thought much but done nothing. The 
 good acting and the declamation of the players affect 
 him powerfully. They can do as a mere matter of 
 hire and pay. But he himself has been able to do 
 nothing, notwithstanding the fact that his motive is 
 stronger than theirs by a thousand-fold. So he is 
 shamed into action, immediately planning the " Mouse- 
 trap." 
 
 This passage will be returned to in order to point 
 
HAMLET 227 
 
 out the significance of the form of verse spoken here 
 by the players and that spoken by them while enact- 
 ing the " Mouse-trap." 
 
 III. i. 53. This is the first hint that the audience 
 has received relative to the truth or the falsehood of 
 the ghost's revelation. Up to this point the audience 
 would be as doubtful as Horatio or Hamlet as to 
 whether the apparition was a true ghost or a dis- 
 honest devil. And so easily might the qualified hint 
 here given be overlooked^ Shakespeare has repeated 
 the information later with more emphasis at a most 
 critical moment (III. iii. 37). 
 
 III. i. 28-195. In this passage the king overhears 
 all. The eavesdropping device was planned when 
 Polonius camo to the king with the explanation of 
 Hamlet's behavior based upon madness. It is notable 
 that at the end of the incident the very shrewd Clau- 
 dius, instead of being convinced that Hamlet is mad, 
 is convinced of the contrary. 
 
 THE MOUSE-TRAP 
 
 At the risk of monotonous repetition I shall repeat 
 one or two of the details already mentioned. For I 
 consider this the most important passage in the 
 play. 
 
 The usual interpretation of this part of the third 
 act of Hamlet renders some of the protagonist's sub- 
 sequent actions difficult if not impossible to explain. 
 If Hamlet, as is so often supposed, was completely 
 successful in the plot by which he put his uncle's in- 
 tegrity to the test, it is hard to understand why he 
 made no immediate use of it, or why he gave himself 
 
228 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 up so easily to the diversion caused by the projected 
 journey to England. He could not have set out in 
 ignorance of his companions' character, for Hamlet 
 acknowledges to the queen that he would trust them as 
 he would adders fanged, an assertion indicative of his 
 complete distrust of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 
 Hamlet has set out upon a course of revenge, and he 
 had held back from its accomplishment for certain 
 reasons that the " Mous'S-trap " was intended to re- 
 move. If they were removed by the complete success 
 of the plot, why did he not continue as he had planned 
 in advance? He does not, however, but gently, with- 
 out opposition consents to his own removal from the 
 scene of action at the very moment which most de- 
 mands his presence, in company of men set over him 
 by his enemy the king, men whom he suspects capable 
 of foul play of the foulest kind. The suggestion that 
 Shakespeare winked at this apparent inconsistency in 
 the character of Hamlet for the purpose of ridding 
 the plot of him at the time of the reappearance of 
 Laertes is hardly worth consideration in a play that 
 shows elsewhere the most careful construction even to 
 the minutest details. In order to show that Hamlet's 
 inaction is due to the utter failure and collapse of his 
 plan to compromise the king during the performance 
 of the " Mouse-trap," it is necessary to go back for a 
 moment to the beginning of the play. 
 
 The Elizabethans as a class were implicit believers 
 in the ghost-lore of the time, and Shakespeare, in 
 relying upon a supernatural revelation, is appealing 
 to one of the strongest sympathies of his audience. 
 To them, no thought of weakness was introduced by 
 the idea that a man of Hamlet's character was swayed 
 
HAMLET 229 
 
 in his actions by the promptings of a shadowy appari- 
 tion. It was also a part of the contemporary ghost- 
 lore that a spirit had the power of becoming invisible 
 to whom it pleased, to one or more of many as the 
 case might be ; hence there is no necessity of providing 
 an explanation that assumes a difference between the 
 ghost seen by all who are present on the platform 
 at the beginning of the play and the ghost seen later 
 by Hamlet and not by the queen. 
 
 There was, however, another tradition equally be- 
 lieved at the time that introduced an element of un- 
 certainty as to the identity of the ghost: namely, that 
 the devil (for the Elizabethans believed in a personal 
 devil) had the power of appearing in the likeness of a 
 departed friend for the purpose of tempting one to a 
 crime for which he would suffer eternal punishment. 
 It should be borne in mind that this idea is not intro- 
 duced subsequently by Hamlet as an excuse for in- 
 action ; on the other hand, it not only occurs at once to 
 Horatio but also prompts him to oppose Hamlet's re- 
 tirement with the ghost to a different place alone. 
 Never till the " Mouse-trap " is over does Hamlet lose 
 hold of the idea of the danger to his soul if he re- 
 venges a crime that was never actually committed. It 
 is in order to discover by the king's behavior whether 
 the ghost of the elder Hamlet has appeared with a 
 true tale upon its lips, or whether the devil in a 
 pleasing shape has appeared with a tale of falsehood, 
 that Hamlet plans the " Mouse-trap." 
 
 Note the plan in all its details. Hamlet believes 
 that no man who had committed the crime attributed 
 to Claudius could sit through the visible reproduction 
 of that crime without displaying unusual emotion. 
 
230 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Such an exhibition on the part of the king will at 
 once settle the question of the ghost's identity, and 
 thus determine Hamlet's future line of action. Ham- 
 let, however, with the full intention of doing complete 
 justice, fears that his own bias may influence him to a 
 wrong judgment, so he imparts his plan to Horatio, 
 who is also to note what happens, and they are to 
 compare notes on the king's behavior after the play is 
 over. Note that it is Hamlet's full intention to sit 
 idly by till the play is finished before he arrives at a 
 final conclusion. 
 
 In this clever scheme Hamlet has forgotten one im- 
 portant detail. He has forgotten to think what may 
 be the effect of this scene upon himself. In the sequel 
 it turns out that Hamlet is far more deeply moved 
 than his uncle, and at last completely collapses under 
 the strain. The play proceeds. Both Hamlet and 
 Horatio watch the king like a pair of hawks. Ham- 
 let, however, is the first to give evidence that he is 
 suffering extreme emotion at the sight of what is 
 meant to be a reproduction of the murder of his 
 father. This seems to be the motive of the exclama- 
 tion " Wormwood, wormwood ! " equivalent to " Bitter 
 as gall," which is not marked as an aside in the early 
 editions. Doubtless the king is struck with the simi- 
 larity of the love-making of the actors to his own 
 situation, for he turns to Hamlet to ask whether he has 
 seen the play, and whether there is any offense in it. 
 Whatever emotion Claudius may have shown up to this 
 point, it has not taken shape in words. This anxiety 
 to know what is coming tells Hamlet beyond perad- 
 venture that he is on the road to the coveted proof. He 
 is madly joyous over this fact and impetuously 
 
HAMLET 231 
 
 makes the fatal blunder of the play. In his reply to 
 the king he, as it were, shows his hand completely. 
 
 Hamlet. No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest: no 
 offence i' the world. 
 
 King. What do you call the play? 
 
 Hamlet. The Mouse-trap. Marry, how? Tropically. 
 This play is the image of a murder done in 
 Vienna: Gonzago is the duke's name; his wife 
 Baptista: you shall see anon. 'Tis a knavish 
 piece of work: but what o' that? your 
 majesty and we have free souls, it touches 
 us not: let the galled jade wince, our withers 
 are unwrung. 
 
 The word tropically, which means figuratively, and 
 the last phrases, tell the king the whole situation. He 
 realizes that Hamlet has either discovered or sus- 
 pected the secret crime, and is now trying to entrap 
 its author. A less accomplished villain than the man 
 who could say with so much dignity at such a dan- 
 gerous moment — 
 
 "Let him go, Gertrude: do not fear our person: 
 There's such divinity doth hedge a king. 
 That treason can but peep at what it would, 
 Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes, 
 Why thou art thus incensed. Let him go, Gertrude. 
 Speak, man " 
 
 is indeed far too accomplished in self-control not to be 
 able to meet the coming shock when he is so fully 
 aware of what is expected of him. 
 
 Hamlet immediately discovers the mistake that he 
 has made when he appreciates the fact that the only 
 effect of his words is to steady the king. It is exas- 
 
232 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 peration at his own failure that causes Hamlet to 
 violate his original plan of waiting to the end in order 
 to compare notes with Horatio. It is the exasperation 
 due to a coming sense of failure, because the players 
 cannot accomplish it, that prompts Hamlet's attempt 
 to force the king into an outward display of unusual 
 emotion, by himself springing up and taking the words 
 out of the actors' mouths. 
 
 Yet, wherein lies the failure ? Has not Hamlet con- 
 vinced himself of the ghost's integrity? Remember 
 Hamlet's desire for justice. To kill Claudius in a 
 way that will appeal to the public as a murder with- 
 out setting the story in a true light is far from Ham- 
 let's plan. He desires to be an avenging judge, not 
 an implicated murderer. And thus he is bound to 
 appear if he acts upon the information derived from 
 the " Mouse-trap." 
 
 Hamlet has already won a reputation for madness 
 about the court. He has jumped up in the midst of a 
 play before the king, interrupted the players in an 
 important part of the narrative, talked fiercely to 
 the king himself; in other words, he has done much to 
 strengthen the belief in his madness. It would be 
 easy for Claudius to turn this impression to his ad- 
 vantage, as he actually does shortly afterwards. The 
 unusual situation, however, is first mentioned by 
 others. It is Ophelia who first speaks. It is Polonius 
 who first suggests that the play be given over. And 
 the king, though greatly wrought, is able to get away, 
 almost unnoticed, leaving Hamlet in undisputed pos- 
 session of the courtiers' thoughts. Almost immedi- 
 ately Rosencrantz and Guildenstern return to tell 
 Hamlet that his mother has been struck with his mad 
 
HAMLET 233 
 
 behavior, struck into " amazement and admiration." 
 And so his behavior must appear to every one who has 
 seem him at the play, except Horatio and the king. 
 
 Hamlet voices this idea in his utterance beginning, 
 " Now might I do it pat." Claudius would be sent to 
 heaven, not because killed upon his knees, which is 
 the usual interpretation, but because he would be 
 canonized in the popular mind through having lost his 
 life at the hands of a disappointed insane claimant to 
 the throne. And this view of the situation is still in 
 Hamlet's mind at the end of the play when he begs 
 Horatio to preserve his life a little longer, saying, 
 
 " O good Horatio, what a wounded name. 
 Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me!" 
 
 So Hamlet's " Mouse-trap " has not turned out as 
 he expected it. He has made a mistake that has vir- 
 tually convinced him of the truthfulness of the ghost 
 and at the same time robbed him of the power of 
 acting effectively as a result of the fact. A fit of 
 despondency ensues. He feels that he has bungled the 
 whole matter. He has once before regretted that he 
 has been chosen to set things right; now he feels as if 
 his own weakness makes the attempt utterly useless. 
 In this frame of mind he is willing to depart far 
 from Denmark, even to England, in company 
 with men whom he distrusts as " adders fanged," 
 rather than to remain where duty cries him on while 
 his futility cries impossible. But this mood is of short 
 duration. He is soon spurred into his true self again 
 at sight of the soldiers of Fortinbras. He seizes the 
 first opportunity, comes back to Denmark, is trapped 
 into a fencing match ignorantly and against his will. 
 
234. SHAKESPEARE 
 
 and kills the king only when the evidence of his own 
 poisoned cup and Laertes' dying confession leaves a 
 record that tells posterity the truth. 
 
 II. ii. 454-634. Now, for a moment, let us return 
 to this passage, and examine it jointly with a con- 
 sideration of the staging of the " Mouse-trap." The 
 difference that first catches our attention is the form 
 of the verse. Here the players speak in vigorous, stir- 
 ring blank verse. In the " Mouse-trap " they utter in 
 sing-song couplets that unaided would soon put the 
 audience asleep. Why this difference ? In this scene 
 Hamlet is thoroughly affected by the players. To 
 sympathize with him the audience must be likewise 
 affected. In other words, our attention is upon the 
 players, shifted suddenly at the end of their speech to 
 Hamlet. So they must declaim and act to the best of 
 their ability. 
 
 In the " Mouse-trap " scene, however, our attention 
 is on Claudius. Anything that diverts our attention 
 from Claudius first, later from Claudius and Hamlet, 
 will mar the scene. 
 
 Now Hamlet and Horatio should be placed as far 
 apart as possible on the stage, provided their positions 
 enable them both to watch the king to advantage. And 
 Hamlet should be so placed that the audience is not 
 likely to see him and Claudius at the same time with- 
 out an effort. For our attention, as is that of Hamlet 
 and Horatio, should be fixed upon the king and upon 
 him alone. 
 
 The players of the " Mouse-trap " are in the upper 
 balcony. If the audience looks up at them it will not 
 be able to watch easily what is going on below on the 
 
HAMLET 235 
 
 stage proper. So Shakespeare has taken every pre- 
 caution to render this diversion of eye and attention 
 unlikely. 
 
 1. After the first entrance of the players^ Hamlet 
 has outlined in a general way what the " Mouse-trap " 
 is to be about. This serves partly to allay the curi- 
 osity of the audience. 
 
 2. At the moment of presentation Shakespeare 
 makes use of a monotonous insipid verse that would 
 hardly attract attention for itself. 
 
 3. A dumb-show is introduced which enables us 
 to see the whole thing in advance. We must not im- 
 agine that Claudius received any hint from this silent 
 presentation. The dumb-show is merely a device to 
 inform the audience and to satisfy its curiosity, so 
 that attention will not be diverted to the players dur- 
 ing the critical time when we should be watching 
 Claudius. So we watch the king intently for some 
 sign of blenching, Hamlet, for the time being, should 
 be so placed on the stage as to be out of the direct 
 line of vision. 
 
 Suddenly the cry " Wormwood, wormwood ! " di- 
 verts our eyes to a new part of the stage. This is 
 the most important point of dramatic effect in the 
 whole play. We suddenly realize that we have been 
 watching the wrong man. The scene is working more 
 powerfully upon Hamlet than upon Claudius. The 
 " Mouse-trap " is closing upon the prince rather than 
 upon the king. After the revelation by the ghost 
 Hamlet grew hysterical for a few moments, that is, 
 he acted in a way that inspired the phrases " wild 
 and whirling words " and " an antic disposition." 
 Now the same situation is happening again. Hamlet 
 
236 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 feels that he is losing command of himself. And then 
 he suddenly goes to pieces, as outlined above. 
 
 The " Mouse-trap " has disclosed the whole truth to 
 Claudius. He is aware now that Hamlet possesses 
 the secret of the murder. And Claudius, who well 
 knows Hamlet to be a man of prompt action, knows 
 also that he will strike fearlessly. Claudius can fore- 
 see protection only in striking back first. This he 
 determines to do. He plans the trip to England with 
 secret instructions to put Hamlet out of the way. 
 
 III. iii. 36. Note that, but for one slight and dis- 
 guised allusion, this is the first full open information 
 which the audience receives that Claudius is guilty. 
 And the insertion of this material here implies that 
 the behavior of Claudius at the " Mouse-trap " was not 
 such as to attract the attention of one who was not 
 made alert by knowing what to look for. In fact, 
 Horatio nowhere expresses himself as positive of the 
 king's guilt. And I think that Hamlet himself is 
 convinced more by the effect of Claudius' tremendous 
 effort not to betray himself than by any outward 
 action of moment. 
 
 III. iv. 24. Hamlet kills Polonius under the im- 
 pression that it is the king who is behind the arras. 
 
 During the following conversation Hamlet con- 
 vinces himself that the queen has had no part in or 
 knowledge of the murder of her husband. 
 
 It has already been suggested that in the fit of 
 desperation due to his bungling management of the 
 " Mouse-trap," Hamlet simply gives up, permitting 
 himself to be drawn away to England without opposi- 
 tion. But moods seldom are of long duration. Hamlet 
 soon comes to himself again. With startling energy he 
 
HAMLET 237 
 
 grasps the first opportunity to come back to work out 
 his revenge. 
 
 In the structural scheme of this play there are 
 " two mighty opposites/' Hamlet, and Claudius. 
 Hamlet is the motive power in the first half. It is 
 he who receives the information from the ghost, he 
 meditates revenge, he engages the players, he plans 
 and carries out the " Mouse-trap." The latter may be 
 considered the turning-point of the drama. Hence- 
 forth it is Claudius who furnishes the motive power. 
 He meditates revenge also. He plans the English 
 trip. He mollifies Laertes. He plans the duel and 
 prepares the poisoned cup. 
 
 Act IV. One should not fail to recognize the great 
 dramatic skill displayed in the management of the 
 material contained in this act. During most of the 
 act Hamlet, the principal actor of the play, is absent. 
 It would be a difficult task to prevent a let-down in the 
 interest under such circumstances, to prevent the im- 
 pression of an interruption during the progress of the 
 act. Yet Hamlet must be away in order to bring 
 about the climax. 
 
 Shakespeare has managed the difficulty by skilfully 
 relating the character of Laertes to that of Hamlet. 
 Note the similarity of situation. Laertes appears. 
 His father has been murdered. He does not know all 
 the details, but he is bent on revenge. And so we 
 may say that in many respects his situation is like 
 Hamlet's. At any rate there is enough to suggest 
 Hamlet and his story even while we are listening to 
 the story of Laertes. And this helps us to keep Ham- 
 let in mind while he is really absent. 
 
 Furthermore, the character of Laertes is in many 
 
238 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 respects the exact opposite to Hamlet's. Laertes 
 goes headlong without sufficiently making sure of his 
 ground. He will act first and consider later, just the 
 opposite of Hamlet's mode of procedure. Laertes is 
 prompt to act, to take whatever turns up and use it to 
 his advantage without stopping to think of the conse- 
 quences. But in Claudius he has found a shrewder 
 man than himself, one who is able to pull the wool 
 over his eyes. Instead of similarity Shakespeare is 
 here making use of contrast. Laertes is in more ways 
 than one contrasted with Hamlet. The more we 
 analyze the characters of the two men the more firmly 
 convinced we feel that if Hamlet had had Laertes' 
 characteristics combined with his own he would have 
 made a better success; or, had Laertes the character- 
 istics of Hamlet combined with his own he would have 
 succeeded. In other words, as we contemplate Laertes 
 and his career we are constantly thinking of how it 
 would be if Hamlet had gone about it in this way, or 
 how Hamlet would have acted under such circum- 
 stances, or how different this is from the way in 
 which Hamlet acted, etc., etc. In other words, Ham- 
 let is kept vividly in our minds all through the act, 
 notwithstanding the fact that he is not present during 
 the greater part of it. 
 
 The usual reader and critic of Hamlet fails to at- 
 tach the proper significance to the character of the 
 king. To be sure, he is not made so prominent as 
 Hamlet. On the other hand, he is not such an insig- 
 nificant figure as is implied by the popular proverb, 
 " Hamlet with Hamlet left out." Hamlet speaks of 
 himself and the king as two mighty opposites. The 
 phrase is apt. The king is a formidable antagonist. 
 
HAMLET 239 
 
 one of keen intellect and ripe judgment. And the 
 more we study his behavior the more thoroughly we 
 understand how carefully Shakespeare has worked 
 out every detail of his character. 
 
 IV. iii. 4. Claudius cites the love of the common 
 people as a reason for not taking an open course 
 against Hamlet. Note in the conduct of Laertes how 
 helpful this resource might have been to Hamlet had 
 he availed himself of it. 
 
 IV. iv. The Fortinbras thread of the story, though 
 very slender and inconspicuous, has, however, a very 
 important mission to fulfil. In the opening scenes 
 of the play it helps to give an opportunity for the 
 insertion of some of the correlative material of 
 the introduction. Here its value is a little greater. 
 Hamlet is on his way to England while still under 
 the sway of the fit of despondency that followed the 
 failure of the " Mouse-trap." Here, however, he sees 
 a group of common people willing to fight to the last 
 moment, lay down their lives if need be, fighting for 
 a mere point of honor rather than for a mere plot 
 of ground that has no intrinsic value. Hamlet falls 
 to self-comparison. As a result of this he is spurred 
 back to his earlier mood and swiftly emerges from 
 the despondency that has lately overtaken him. 
 
 And, again, in the last act, Fortinbras and his army 
 appear. Their value at the end is merely mechanical. 
 There are several dead bodies on the stage. There 
 was no drop curtain in those days, so far as we know, 
 by which this closing scene could be immediately 
 screened from the audience. Shakespeare cleverly 
 disposes of the dead bodies by introducing Fortinbras 
 and his army. His soldiers convert their shields into 
 
240 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 stretchers, thrust their spears through the rings in 
 the sides, and walk off with the corpses to the stately 
 strains of a funeral march. Critics have been known 
 to object to these last lines of Hamlet on the score 
 that the play is already finished, and that they there- 
 fore constitute an anti-climax. To be sure, the play 
 is actually finished. In a modern presentation the 
 curtain could very easily be dropped and the closing 
 passage effectively omitted. But, to the Elizabethans, 
 this clever device for overcoming one of the stage dif- 
 ficulties at the end must have appealed as an element 
 of merit. 
 
 IV. v. 121, etc. Note the calm, dignified behavior 
 of the king. There is not an atom of fear in his 
 make-up. He is thoroughly self-possessed. This is 
 another instance of his firm behavior very like that 
 which followed the presentation of the " Mouse-trap " 
 where he showed such marvelous self-control. The 
 king displays his skill in managing Laertes in the 
 conversation that follows. 
 
 IV. vi. 12. From the letter received by Horatio 
 we learn what has happened to Hamlet after his meet- 
 ing with the army of Fortinbras. How much more 
 smoothly the story proceeds with this information 
 conveyed in this way than would have been the case 
 had a scene been written in which the events regard- 
 ing the pirate attack had been actually dramatized ! 
 Furthermore, it would have interrupted the general 
 effect of Laertes as a contrast to Hamlet, as sug- 
 gested above. Note that this letter shows that Ham- 
 let was quick to act when he was convinced that action 
 was the proper thing. If one were to make out a list 
 of all the places in the play where Hamlet evinces 
 
HAMLET 241 
 
 the power of sudden action there would be little like- 
 lihood of believing even for a moment that the key 
 to his character is inaction and procrastination. 
 
 IV. vii. The fact that in this scene Laertes is hand 
 and glove with Claudius is a vivid testimonial of the 
 latter's cleverness in dealing with the hot-headed 
 young man. 
 
 IV. vii. 65. Claudius has already murdered his 
 brother in a secret manner so skilfully planned that 
 it was suspected by no one till revealed to Hamlet by 
 supernatural means. In the suggestion here he is 
 merely falling back upon the weapon with which he 
 is most familiar, 
 
 IV. vii. 143. The Italians were very skilful in ad- 
 ministering poison, and invented many ingenious ways 
 for its conveyance. In fact, secret poisoning was 
 called, in England, the Italian crime. And English- 
 men abhorred it as the worst. To murder a man in 
 cold blood with a sword was to them a less heinous 
 crime than to murder a man by poison. Hence there 
 is point in portraying Laertes as a man who not only 
 would resort to such means but who would also actu- 
 ally carry the means with him habitually against a 
 chance opportunity to use it. At this point, or, rather, 
 before this point, there would be a little danger of too 
 great sympathy on the part of the audience for 
 Laertes, whose father has been murdered and whose 
 sister has gone mad. But this attributing to him of 
 a facility in the practice of the Italian crime robs 
 him immediately of all such sympathy at the very 
 moment when our feelings should surge back in favor 
 of Hamlet. 
 
 V. i. More than once I have called attention to 
 
242 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 the fact that the Elizabethans often interjected into 
 their plays passages that referred to contemporary 
 conditions, even though the play had a foreign and 
 ancient setting. Part of the dialogue of this scene 
 between the grave-diggers has reference to a contem- 
 porary lawsuit that was quite familiar to the Eliza- 
 bethan audience. Not all the references are now 
 understood, but it is quite generally admitted that this 
 is a comic scene much more palatable to a contem- 
 porary audience than to one of to-day. 
 
 V. i. 280. Notwithstanding what was said above 
 relative to Hamlet's two meetings with Ophelia, we 
 must imagine that his affection was too deep-rooted 
 to be entirely canceled. Hamlet is here upset by the 
 hollowness of Laertes' shallow sentiments. Remorse, 
 too, for Ophelia's death may have been born on the 
 instant, for the rites and ceremonies indicated that 
 this was the funeral of a suicide even before anything 
 was said. The situation so works upon Hamlet that 
 for the third time in the play he suffers a momentary 
 loss of self-control. It is while in this state of mind 
 that he leaps into the grave to grapple with Laertes. 
 
 V. ii. The last scene is a mere carrying to a 
 conclusion of the narrative of the end. Hamlet has 
 fully recovered himself. He fights an honorable 
 match and is as innocent of Laertes' death as of the 
 fact that Laertes is plotting foully against his life. 
 But when the truth is told him he instantly realizes 
 that the king is back of it all. This is the situation 
 Hamlet has been working towards since the beginning 
 of the play. He has cornered the king at last hot- 
 handed in crime. The poisoned sword and the cup 
 of deadly drink are damning evidence. Hamlet does 
 
HAMLET 243 
 
 not hesitate to act a moment. And his last words 
 to Horatio imply that one need but tell his story now 
 with the circumstances at hand to convince posterity 
 that his act was an act of judgment, not a murder. 
 And this will put Claudius in the light he deserves. 
 
 (The entrance of Fortinbras at the end of the play 
 has been commented on above.) 
 
 IV. Stage Setting 
 
 Until comparatively recent times the idea prevailed 
 that the Elizabethan plays were acted upon a bare 
 and structureless stage practically devoid of all scenic 
 effect save that produced by the use of simple prop- 
 erties. By degrees this idea has vanished before a 
 mass of inference so plausible as to be considered to 
 all intents and purposes equivalent to proof. There is 
 danger, however, of going too far in the opposite 
 direction, of permitting the fancy to build a picture 
 which is heightened beyond the limits due to justifia- 
 ble inference. Let us see whether we can review 
 within the extremes the Elizabethan presentation of 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Consider first the following assignment of the indi- 
 vidual scenes. 
 
 I. i. The platform without the castle. 
 
 I. if. A room of state. 
 
 I. iii. A room in Polonius' house. 
 
 I. iv. The platform without the castle. 
 
 I. v. Another part of same. 
 
 II. i. Room in Polonius' house. 
 
 II. ii. Room in the castle. 
 
 III. i. Room in the castle. 
 
 III. ii. Hall in the castle. 
 
 III. iii. Room in the castle. 
 
244. SHAKESPEARE 
 
 III. iv. Queen's closet. 
 
 IV. i. Room in castle. 
 IV. ii. Room in castle. 
 
 IV. iii. Another room in castle. 
 
 IV. iv. A plain in Denmark. 
 
 IV. V. Room in castle. 
 
 IV. vi. Room in castle. 
 
 IV. vii. Another room in castle. 
 
 V. i. A churchyard. 
 
 V. ii. A haU in the castle. 
 
 What at first sight seems to be a succession of 
 twenty scenes is in reality but a few. The platform 
 (1) is used three times. There is a plain in Den- 
 mark (2). And there is a churchyard scene (3). 
 All the others^ fifteen in number, are rooms, now the 
 queen's closet, now a hall of state, in Polonius' house 
 or in the castle. For all that, every one is an in- 
 terior (4), varied, perhaps, from time to time, but 
 essentially the same. In other words, from the stand- 
 point of staging the twenty scenes reduce to four. 
 
 There is another point to bear in mind before we 
 consider the staging in detail. The platform may 
 have been provided in the form of two painted cloths, 
 one let down at the front of the inner stage, another 
 continuing the picture at the rear of the upper gallery. 
 A similar painted cloth let down at the front of the 
 inner stage would provide the plain in Denmark. 
 Doubtless the theaters then, as to-day, possessed the 
 materials for the general setting of an interior which 
 with little difficulty could be adjusted to the need of 
 the moment by a variation in the movable properties. 
 Thus three painted cloths on rollers and one stock 
 interior is all that is necessary in addition to movable 
 properties to make a very good setting for Hamlet. 
 
HAMLET 245 
 
 The production of the graveyard scene will be alluded 
 to later. 
 
 If the inference suggested by the last act of The 
 Merchant of Venice be correct, we may imagine that 
 the canvas covering of the theater, or the side cur- 
 tains, were drawn at the time the audience assembled. 
 The semi-darkness would have a quieting effect, and 
 would serve to put the spectators on the proper road 
 to a mood suitable for the opening of the play. The 
 curtains between the pillars supporting the heavens 
 would be also closed. At the beginning of the play 
 they were drawn, disclosing Francisco at his post on 
 guard. Beyond him, on the painted cloth, is the 
 masonry of the castle platform, and above, at the rear 
 of the upper gallery, more walls and parapets appear. 
 
 At the end of the scene the means for producing 
 darkness are drawn back, flooding the stage with light. 
 Meantime the upper gallery has been closed by cur- 
 tains, and the lower cloth raised. The scene that 
 now presents itself has been set up before the play 
 began. It is a hall of state. The stock interior has 
 been used, elaborated as much as possible for the oc- 
 casion by the introduction of properties, among which 
 would be a throne. Inner, middle, and outer stages 
 are all open for the accommodation of the court. At 
 the end of this scene a painted cloth representing 
 the wall of a simpler room might be let down, cutting 
 off the view of the throne at the back of the stage. 
 By the simple and easy manipulation of painted cloths 
 the room could be easily changed from a room of state 
 to another room, etc. And then back to the castle 
 ramparts again. As easily would a cloth provide at 
 the proper time for the plain in Denmark. And 
 
246 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 another, used in V. i., would represent a graveyard. 
 Previous to this scene, however, the curtains would be 
 drawn, shutting off the inner and middle stages. A 
 few solid properties, such as tombstones, are brought 
 in, the trap in the stage floor is opened, and the grave- 
 diggers are ready to begin their work. At the end the 
 curtains are drawn again. The last-named properties 
 immediately removed, and the stage restored to " A 
 hall in the castle." 
 
 Thus it will be seen that the most elaborate setting 
 of the play can be put in place before the play begins 
 and remain practically intact during the whole per- 
 formance. 
 
 V. Hamlet's Madness 
 
 This question has never had for me the interest 
 or importance that has so often been attached to it. 
 However, for form's sake it cannot be altogether 
 neglected. Some critics have held that Hamlet is 
 mad, or loses his mind during the play. Others be- 
 lieve that he is perfectly sane, but pretends to be 
 mad. While others believe that he is neither mad nor 
 pretending to be mad. 
 
 In the notes on the text I have tried to make it 
 appear that the " antic disposition " passage points 
 backward to the recent behavior of Hamlet and does 
 not imply the use of an intentional cloak of madness 
 in the future. And we may search in vain throughout 
 the remainder of the play to find an illustration of 
 his assumption of madness to further his own ends. 
 There is, however, one trivial passage where he is 
 trifling with Polonius by making unintelligible re- 
 marks. The remarks, however, are unintelligible 
 
 I 
 
HAMLET 247 
 
 only to Polonius. The amusement of the passage lies 
 in the fact that Hamlet plays with the idea of Po- 
 lonius as to his madness, the audience being at the 
 same time perfectly aware of the contrary. It is also 
 interesting to note that in the earlier version of Ham- 
 let's story which Shakespeare is supposed to have had 
 before him, the assumption of madness on the part 
 of Hamlet is made very plain. All this has been cut 
 out of the present play. This is in itself evidence 
 to me that Shakespeare did not wish it to remain. 
 
 It also seems equally plain to me that there is not 
 the least evidence of actual madness in the play. And 
 I shall merely suggest the principal points without 
 discussing the matter at length. 
 
 At no place in the play does Hamlet act like a 
 madman. After the revelation by the ghost, after 
 the " Mouse-trap," and at Ophelia's grave Hamlet mo- 
 mentarily loses his self-control and acts without rea- 
 son. But he soon recovers himself and realizes 
 perfectly what he has done. His ultra excitement bor- 
 ders on hysterics, but no more deserves the term of 
 madness than the weird behavior so often attributed 
 to persons in the excitement of a fire when feather 
 beds are carried downstairs and mirrors thrown out 
 the window. Hamlet is guilty of no other kind of 
 irrational action. 
 
 And what do the people in the play itself think of 
 the matter .f* The idea that Hamlet is mad never 
 seems to have occurred to Horatio, notwithstanding 
 the fact that he feared the ghost, if it should turn out 
 an evil spirit, might rob Hamlet of his reason. In 
 other words, Horatio, who feared that such a thing 
 might be, never seems to think that it actually hap- 
 
248 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 pened. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern approach Ham- 
 let, having been informed of and perhaps believing 
 in his madness. They seem to leave him convinced 
 of the contrary. Claudius, for the sole purpose of 
 confirming Polonius' belief in the madness of Hamlet, 
 plays the part of an eavesdropper in order to get the 
 proof. But the only effect of the scene is to convince 
 the king that Hamlet is not mad. Ophelia and the 
 queen both believe him to be mad; but, as pointed out 
 above, they base their belief upon a misapprehension 
 of the very circumstance that gives rise to this belief. 
 
 Polonius, who misunderstands Hamlet's treatment 
 of Ophelia, jumps to the conclusion that he must be 
 mad. Yet Polonius is never more humorously foolish 
 himself than when he is urging Hamlet's madness. 
 And even he is constrained to see a little method in it. 
 
 And, as evidence from the opposite point of view, 
 Hamlet throughout the play is extremely shrewd, 
 giving evidence again and again of a mind under con- 
 trol that would be the envy of many a person who has 
 escaped the charge altogether. 
 
 VI. The Character of Hamlet 
 
 So much has been said above relative to the char- 
 acter of Hamlet that there is need of no more than 
 a few notes binding the suggestions together. It is 
 often suggested that Hamlet is the man of inaction 
 put into a place or situation that demands a man of 
 action; or that he is a deliberative philosopher losing 
 his opportunity in the procrastination of his delibera- 
 tion. I cannot bring myself fully to accept either of 
 these suggestions. 
 
 In the first place, Hamlet is to me, though a scholar. 
 
HAMLET 249 
 
 not a philosopher. He breaks down hysterically three 
 times. He argues about his own cowardice in a way 
 that is evidently false. He is easily put up and 
 down in spirits. These are not characteristics of a 
 philosopher. 
 
 Furthermore, he is a man of prompt action who 
 acts quickly as a result of his convictions. He ac- 
 cepts at once the invitation to meet the ghost. And he 
 undertakes without a moment's hesitation the danger- 
 ous task of following it alone. He instantly seizes the 
 opportunity to use the players in the " Mouse-trap." 
 He sees through, or thinks he does, the treatment of 
 Ophelia, and acts accordingly, though in violation of 
 his inmost feelings. There is not a moment's hesita- 
 tion in the murder of Polonius, whom, however, Ham- 
 let mistakes for the king. Hamlet is quick-acting in 
 the pirate attack. He is prompt to return to Den- 
 mark. He leaps into Ophelia's grave. He accepts the 
 challenge of Laertes without delay. And he kills the 
 king at last with a celerity unequaled elsewhere in 
 the play. 
 
 What, then, is the key to Hamlet's behavior? I 
 think that it is to be found in an adherence to the 
 principles of absolute justice. He acts only upon a 
 firm conviction that what he is going to do is right. 
 He delays the main act during the first half of the 
 play because he, like Horatio, is not fully convinced 
 that his uncle is the murderer of his father. He fails 
 to kill the king after the " Mouse-trap " because he is 
 as fully convinced that to do it then will produce a 
 wrong impression. And he kills Claudius at last 
 because the time has come when he can do it with 
 full justice to himself and in the eyes of all men. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 KING LEAR 
 
 In the preface to this volume I have called atten- 
 tion to the fact that it is not only impossible but 
 also inadvisable to attempt to devise a uniform scheme 
 according to which all of Shakespeare's plays can be 
 studied. Lear does not lend itself conveniently to the 
 method made use of, with wide variations, however, 
 in other parts of the present volume. In taking up 
 the study of Lear in the manner here set forth, I 
 have in mind the task of offering to the student or 
 the teacher a plan that may with advantage be fol- 
 lowed elsewhere. It implies, however, a slightly dif- 
 ferent method of preliminary study. In the discussion 
 of many of the other plays I have assumed a single 
 preliminary reading of the play. Then the drama is 
 gone through with again, with emphasis laid upon 
 details that come up for discussion in the order in 
 which they appear in the text. After a familiarity 
 with the play has been gained in this way, general 
 questions have been discussed that require for their 
 comprehension a pretty familiar knowledge of the 
 whole composition. Such a knowledge should in the 
 present case be obtained before the beginning of 
 the study of the play according to this plan. 
 
 It may not be amiss as a suggestion either to 
 students or to teachers, to hint a little as to prelimi- 
 350 
 
KING LEAR 251 
 
 nary work necessary to the successful study of the play 
 along the lines here set down. Let the whole play 
 be assigned as reading for the first recitation. In 
 the class-room the play is talked over in a miscel- 
 laneous sort of way. Perhaps it would be well to 
 ask a student to begin by telling the story of the first 
 scene. In my own experience I have always found 
 that, once a start is made, there is no difficulty in 
 keeping the class asking and answering questions. 
 Nor do I think it makes much difference, for a time 
 at least, what they ask about, so long as the questions 
 are such as to show that the students have actually 
 read the lines and have honestly been puzzled for an 
 answer. 
 
 A general reading of the play may then be as- 
 signed a second time for the next recitation. And 
 I should require each student to hand in a list of 
 selected questions that involve difficult or unanswered 
 points in the play. The questioning during this recita- 
 tion may well be guided more definitely by the in- 
 structor than in the first recitation. At any rate, he 
 can easily manage to fill up any gaps left in the first 
 preliminary survey. Thenceforth, I should assign two 
 or three acts to be read carefully at each recitation 
 till the consideration of the play is ended. The whole 
 purpose that is to be constantly borne in mind during 
 the preliminary study is the familiarizing the student 
 with the contents of the play as a whole. 
 
 As for the questions handed in by the students, I 
 always study them with care at home. In fact, the 
 questions suggested in the following chapter are the 
 result of such lists presented in my classes in suc- 
 cessive years. Every one of them is a question 
 
252 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 actually asked by a student, most of them many 
 times. 
 
 1. What has happened before the beginning of the 
 play? — In the discussion of this question it would be 
 well to point out the fact that the preliminary portion 
 of this play has not been worked out by the author 
 with anything like the care that the preliminary por- 
 tion of, for instance, Macbeth, has been worked out. 
 For instance, Lear is eccentric to the point of mad- 
 ness. Do we know how long this has been true of 
 him ? How many people in the play know of it ? The 
 sisters seem to be the only persons who are familiar 
 with the fact and take advantage of it. How came 
 it that no one else shared their attitude ? 
 
 What is the situation of Edmund? He has been 
 " out " nine years. Yet he seems to be perfectly 
 familiar with every detail of British court life. Was 
 he kept well-informed during his absence.'' If so, by 
 whom? Do his father, and others, behave themselves 
 towards Edmund as they should, considering his origin 
 and his absence from the country? Is he made suf- 
 ficiently attractive to account for his affair with the 
 princess later in the play? 
 
 In the opening lines Kent says that he always 
 thought the king to be partial to Albany. How, 
 then, account for his equal division of the kingdom? 
 Does the remainder of the play bear out Kent's 
 suggestion? How about the impression that seems 
 natural, to wit, that Lear is really partial to Cor- 
 delia ? 
 
 Gloucester has often in the past blushed to ac- 
 knowledge the origin of Edmund, yet in this play he 
 seems to give credence to what he says even against 
 
KING LEAR 253 
 
 Edgar. And in this respect there seems to be not the 
 least hesitation on the part of Gloucester. 
 
 Towards the end of the first scene Cordelia ex- 
 presses her perfect familiarity with the wolfish char- 
 acter of her sisters. Yet Kent, who seems to under- 
 stand Cordelia and Lear so well, gives no evidence 
 of knowing the truth about the other two sisters. 
 Have they ever before given evidence of such char- 
 acteristics.'' If not, is it possible for them to have 
 become such accomplished villains on the spur of the 
 moment? If they were always thus, would it be pos- 
 sible for them to keep the knowledge of their char- 
 acters away from every one but their sister Cordelia.'' 
 And if she actually knew what was in store for her 
 father as a result of putting himself completely under 
 their dominion, would she, if she really loved her 
 father, have taken a course that in the end was bound 
 to remove herself, his only protector, entirely from 
 the scene of action? 
 
 The discussion of these and similar questions will 
 reveal the fact that Shakespeare has not worked over 
 the material concerned in the preliminary details of 
 the play with his customary care. 
 
 2. Tell the Lear Story. — Also tell the Gloucester 
 story. Try to pick out the essential points of each. 
 Show how one is the reflection of the other. The 
 latter serves to break up the strain of continuous at- 
 tention to such a terrible tale, at the same time pre- 
 venting too great an interruption, too great an im- 
 pression of the lack of continuity. 
 
 Note that the sub-plot is very like the main plot 
 in many respects, and sufficiently different in others 
 to enable the author to make use of the effect of 
 
254 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 constrast. (Refer to the discussion of the fourth act 
 of Hamlet for a note on the dramatic effect of 
 contrast.) Note the suspicious quality of both Lear 
 and Gloucester. Compare in this respect with the 
 unsuspicious character of Othello. Note also that 
 there is a deliberate attempt to maltreat Lear by his 
 daughters for selfish motives. The same attempt is 
 made against Gloucester by his son. Lear is partly 
 culpable because he is so unjustly headstrong. 
 Gloucester is partly culpable because of his unsus- 
 piciousness, which leads him to give credence to what 
 Edmund says against Edgar. Lear's suffering is men- 
 tal and more terrible than Gloucester's, which is 
 mainly physical. 
 
 3. Work out the idea of nemesis. — 1. Upon Lear 
 for his treatment of Cordelia. This is in a measure 
 justified, for he has treated her with great injustice. 
 The means of punishing him for this treatment of his 
 daughter is the combined attack upon his liberties by 
 Goneril and Regan. They, however, visit him with 
 so much more punishment than he deserves that we 
 find: 2. Nemesis deserved by Goneril and Regan. 
 3. Punishment also falls upon Gloucester because of 
 his treatment of Edgar. His son Edmund is the 
 means of effecting this. But he also wreaks far 
 greater punishment than Gloucester deserves, which 
 in turn lays him open to punishment. 4. There- 
 fore nemesis falls upon Edmund. 
 
 4. Discuss the character of Lear. — The following 
 suggestions may prove helpful: 
 
 Regarding his mental condition at the beginning 
 of the play: In the opening situation we find Lear's 
 insistence upon trifles emphasized. The speeches re- 
 
KING LEAR 255 
 
 quired by his daughters are mere forms. He had 
 already definitely made the division of the kingdom. 
 Kent and Gloucester both seem to know this quality 
 of the king. We find, also, that he is getting old and 
 tired of ruling. Is there also evidence that he is get- 
 ting incapable of ruling? He wants the pleasure of 
 the title without the responsibility. He really loves 
 all three of his daughters in his own tempestuous way. 
 He is shrewd enough to divide his kingdom equally 
 lest one gobble up another's share. Yet he is slowly 
 losing his mind and knows it, therefore he would put 
 his kingdom into better hands. 
 
 As proof of the latter assertion one might say: — 
 
 Lear is absurdly fond of childish display, and mag- 
 nifies trifles, as in the requiring of his daugh- 
 ters' praise, and the following treatment of Cor- 
 delia. 
 
 His inability to fully comprehend the situation 
 when Kent puts it to him. 
 
 He does not realize that he has given away all his 
 power, but immediately exercises the royal prerogative 
 which he has discarded, in the banishment of Kent, 
 and later threatens to take back what he has given 
 away. (It should not be forgotten that the Eliza- 
 bethan audience was familiar with a model of the cor- 
 rect kind of abdication in the action of Charles the 
 Fifth of Spain.) 
 
 The surprise of France that Lear has gone to such 
 an extreme over so small a matter. 
 
 The attitude of Goneril and Regan. " How full 
 of changes his life is." " 'Tis the infirmity of his 
 age." " The unruly waywardness that infirm and 
 choleric years bring with them." Gloucester speaks of 
 
256 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Lear's dotage, and treats him generally as if he were 
 in his second childhood. 
 
 Lear seems to realize the fact himself. " Oh, let 
 me not be mad, not mad," he exclaims. 
 
 His erratic behavior lends countenance to the 
 charge. 
 
 What is the character of Lear in act II.? In act I. 
 he has cursed Goneril and her issue, and threatens to 
 assume again the shape that she thinks he has cast off 
 forever. Then he arrives, bent on seeing Regan. He 
 abuses Gloucester because he brings the message that 
 the duke and the duchess cannot see him. In the 
 next breath, however, Lear tries to apologize for 
 them, but he is hardly able to excuse their con- 
 duct. 
 
 As a matter of fact, this act has brought the king 
 to the verge of distraction. He makes an effort to con- 
 trol himself, but breaks down at the end and leaves 
 wildly in a rage. He has sworn that he will never go 
 back to Goneril, yet he does soon go unheroically back 
 to her as the lesser of two evils, because Regan has 
 cut his following down to twenty-five retainers. It is 
 pathetic to note that when Lear is charged with do- 
 tage he does not deny the charge. 
 
 The student should ponder carefully the mean- 
 ing of every detail of Lear's behavior in this act. Does 
 he act like a hero, or like a weakling, or like a strong 
 man going to pieces? 
 
 One may say that the development of Lear's char- 
 acter ends with the heath scene. For a while he is 
 mad. Then he merely recovers his mind sufficiently 
 at the end to enable him to die in peace. 
 
KING LEAR 257 
 
 5. Study the characters of Goneril and Regan. — 
 Are they real people or merely types of wickedness? 
 Are the sisters essentially different? that is, are they 
 really individuals? The student may help himself to 
 answer these questions by canvassing his mind and 
 memory to see whether he has had difficulty in keep- 
 ing the sisters and their acts apart. For instance, is 
 it Goneril or Regan who makes the first cut in the 
 number of Lear's followers? Was this or that cruel 
 remark made by one or the other? 
 
 6. Study the character of Cordelia. — What does 
 she know of Goneril and Regan at the start? What 
 does she know of her father's condition ? How does she 
 behave herself in act I. ? What does Kent think of her 
 behavior? What does France think of it? What does 
 Lear think of it? What do you think of it? Had 
 there been any real kindness in her heart would she 
 have taken a course knowingly that turned her doting 
 father over to the clutches of a pair of wolves, and, at 
 the same time, removed herself, the only one on whom 
 he could depend for help? And yet she virtually ac- 
 knowledges that this is what she does. At the end 
 of the play she appears as a saint come to rescue her 
 father. How do you account for the change ? Is there 
 any evidence that Shakespeare appreciated the fact 
 that Cordelia at the end is merely trying to make an 
 effort to deliver her father from the terrible situation 
 into which he has been thrust as a result of her own 
 pig-headedness in the first act ? 
 
 These questions imply a view of Cordelia's character 
 that is not usually taken. To be sure, she is one of the 
 minor characters, introduced for the mere sake of the 
 plot, and not carefully worked out. Such characters 
 
258 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 should never be scanned too carefully. Under such 
 circumstances we should not be impelled to scrutinize 
 her character with the same seriousness that one would 
 analyze the actions of a main character. Yet she is, on 
 the other hand, important enough to justify one's look- 
 ing at her character with a sufficient degree of care. 
 
 It is hard to escape the conclusion that Cordelia is 
 brutally perverse in the maintenance of her pride in 
 act I. Nor can she be excused on the score of ig- 
 norance. She says plainly that she understands her 
 father's condition and the likely future attitude of her 
 sisters. Rather than speak a little harmless flattery to 
 please her old and failing parent she submits to ban- 
 ishment, disappoints him, contributes to the triumph 
 of her sisters, brings her husband no dower, turns her 
 sisters loose upon her father, and puts it out of her 
 own power to help him. Nor is it possible to recon- 
 cile this behavior with the loveliness of her character 
 in act V. Had she behaved herself in the beginning 
 as she does at the end there would have been no trag- 
 edy in the life of Lear. Cordelia is what we might 
 call a thoroughly plot-ridden character. 
 
 7. What of the character of Albany? — Is he an- 
 other plot-ridden character? Early in the play he is 
 utterly unable to assert himself in the presence of his 
 wife. Later he manifests the opposite quality. What 
 has occasioned the change? What would have been 
 the result had he displayed the characteristics at the 
 beginning that he is able to display at the end ? Is it 
 fair to say that, had he asserted himself at the begin- 
 ning of the play, there would have been no tragedy, 
 and that there is no sufficient reason for his not doing 
 so? 
 
KING LEAR 259 
 
 8. The character of Kent. — Find passages to show 
 that he is shrewd, courageous, foolish. Is he a help 
 or a hindrance to Lear? Kent's character, on the 
 whole, seems inconsistent, as is implied by the above 
 questions relative to his being both shrewd and fool- 
 ish. He comprehends the foibles of the king and acts 
 upon them. Yet he is himself just as erratic as the 
 king he criticises so adversely. He brings trouble upon 
 Lear by his own actions when all indications point to 
 the fact that he is a shrewd enough man to know 
 better. 
 
 9. The character of Gloucester introduces some 
 difficulties. How does he really feel towards Edmund 
 and towards Edgar ? Why does he place such implicit 
 trust in Edmund .'* What becomes of the plot he over- 
 hears to kill the king.^ Does he deserve his punish- 
 ment } 
 
 10. The character of Edmund. — Why do not others 
 know him better? What motives prompt his wicked- 
 ness? Has he been a villain before, or has he become 
 an accomplished villain all at once, without training? 
 Yet, if he had had plenty of training how happens 
 it that no one suspects him of being otherwise than he 
 seems? In the main, he is rather blundering in his 
 plotting, and succeeds rather by accident. Compare 
 in this respect with the skilful plots laid by lago. 
 
 1 1 . The fool. — Before one attempts to make up his 
 mind as to the character of the fool one should con- 
 sider just what an Elizabethan fool was and what 
 privileges his station implied. The fools were house- 
 hold servants whose purpose was to make fun for their 
 masters. In order to give them free rein they were 
 considered immune from punishment under ordinary 
 
260 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 circumstances, and at liberty to speak their minds 
 freely without fear of consequences. Hence, Lear's 
 threat to have the fool whipped is equivalent to saying 
 that the king has almost forgotten what is due to a 
 fool. And it will be noted throughout that the fool 
 makes remarks, without the least hesitation, that no 
 one else would have dared to make in the presence of 
 the tempestuous king. 
 
 The question arises as to whether this fool is like 
 other fools. He is, indeed, much like the other fools 
 of Shakespeare; but note that he only speaks, as a 
 rule, to Lear himself, and his words are generally of a 
 nature to " rub in " the mistakes of Lear. 
 
 Do the moments at which he acts produce a peculiar 
 effect.^ Why does he drop out in the middle of the 
 play ? Does the fool stand for anything in particular ? 
 
 The answer to the last question involves the enigma 
 of the fool — that is, if there be any enigma of the fool. 
 It has been ingeniously suggested that the fool rep- 
 resents in embodied form the conscience of Lear. If 
 this be so, one wonders at the fact that Lear's con- 
 science has no effect upon him. When a person acts 
 as if he were unaffected by a conscience we generally 
 say that he has no conscience. Perhaps what is really 
 meant is that the fool represents what would have been 
 Lear's conscience if he had had one. This would, 
 perhaps, explain the fact that he speaks only to Lear 
 and that there is no more of him when Lear has lost 
 his mind. 
 
 I think, however, that there may be another expla- 
 nation of the function of the fool. Recall the tempes- 
 tuous character of the king. We are always looking 
 for an explosion greater than the one before. Now the 
 
KING LEAR 261 
 
 fool throughout is saying things that would cause such 
 an outbreak of temper had they been said by any one 
 else in the play. It is only because they originate 
 with the fool that Lear is able to control himself. Yet 
 we are constantly wondering how long the king will be 
 able to exercise this slender self-control which hangs 
 by such a trifling thread. The behavior of the fool, 
 then, seems to me to be intended to produce the effect 
 of lighted matches left carelessly in the neighborhood 
 of gunpowder. It may go off at any moment. If it 
 escapes an accidental ignition this time it may not the 
 next. At any rate there is sure to be an explosion 
 some time. Just when will it come ? And what will it 
 bring with it? 
 
 The great moment comes on the heath. And after 
 this, there being no further need of the fool, he does 
 not appear again. 
 
 12. Perhaps it would not be amiss at the conclusion 
 of this set of questions to say a word or two as to the 
 degree of cruelty displayed in the story. Though I 
 have no sympathy with the suggestion, it has been 
 suggested that the degree of cruelty displayed in 
 Titus Andronicus is sufficient to throw doubt upon its 
 Shakespearian origin. If this were true, one might 
 use the same line of argument in regard to Lear. The 
 truth, however, is that neither play is so cruel as it 
 seems when read in the closet. I do not mean to say 
 that they are not hard, stern stories, almost too repul- 
 sive to read, according to our modern standards. I 
 merely mean that, from the Elizabethan point of view, 
 they were not so revoltingly cruel as they are to us. 
 
 That was a cruel age. People went habitually 
 armed. They were used to bloodshed. It was a part 
 
262 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 of the education of the young women of the family 
 to learn to dress and care for wounds. I imagine that 
 an Elizabethan woman who had never seen a violent 
 death would be as rare as a woman to-day who had 
 never seen a horse mistreated in the streets. Death 
 was the penalty for many petty crimes. People 
 dressed in their best and made a holiday occasion of 
 a public execution. To some people to-day football 
 is a brutal sport, brutal enough by nature to warrant 
 association with bull-fighting. But this is a humorous 
 idea to college students or to players on the team. I 
 mean to imply that we may look upon the brutality 
 of these plays as excessive, while the Elizabethans 
 looked upon it as normal. Football is a good hard 
 game for men, it is not tiddlety-winks. So the Eliz- 
 abethans would look upon Lear and Titus as hard, 
 stern stories, but not to be judged adversely because 
 either of them had gone too far. 
 
 And there is another point to be borne in mind. 
 How was this brutality enacted on the stage? Con- 
 sult your own feelings for a moment. Suppose you 
 read in the paper that A plunged a knife into B's 
 heart. Are your feelings the same as they would be if 
 you had stood at A's elbow at the moment? One 
 might faint at the latter situation, but hardly over the 
 newspaper account. 
 
 Now what is the situation in the theater ? Does not 
 the manner of presentation have something to do with 
 the result, something to do with the effect produced, 
 sufficient to take the edge off the cruelty, so to speak? 
 The crudest act in Lear is the gouging out of Glou- 
 cester's eyes. But they are not really gouged out on 
 the stage. He turns his back at the moment, and does 
 
KING LEAR 263 
 
 not let the audience see his face plainly again till he 
 enters blindfolded. It is a hard act^ to be sure, and 
 meant to be so taken. But the effect on the stage is 
 nothing to the real deed. And if an effort were made 
 to suddenly apply an artificial mask, or something that 
 would show the vacant bloody sockets in their repul- 
 siveness the device would be considered clap-trap and 
 inartistic. Everything diminishes in effect upon the 
 stage. Therefore, in order to make something on the 
 stage seem cruel, it must be designed as very cruel. 
 
 Take the instance in Titus where the arms of La- 
 vinia are cut off. This horrible mutilation of her body 
 is not real. Lavinia wore his arms throughout the 
 play. How was it staged.'* I do not know. But I 
 can guess several ways. The boy who acted the part 
 may have kept his arms behind him. Not being seen, 
 they were imagined gone. I think it more likely that 
 he wore gloves. There is some reason to believe that 
 there was a conventional color that in those days 
 stood for invisibility. Doubtless Ariel wears a cloak 
 of such material in certain parts of The Tempest. So 
 here, Lavinia may have worn gloves to the elbow of 
 this material, and the audience would have assumed 
 that this was a mere device meant to suggest that there 
 was nothing to be seen below the elbow. However it 
 was done, we may be sure that the actual presentation 
 conveyed far less of the repulsive element than we 
 are prone to imagine as accompanying the actual deed. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 MACBETH 
 
 I. Introductory 
 
 The state of the original text of Macbeth is so 
 chaotic that editors have encountered great difficulties 
 in bringing it to its present state of comparative per- 
 fection. There are still inconsistencies and contra- 
 dictions remaining. This state of a£Fairs should be 
 borne in mind at several points of the play. It is also 
 thought that the play was either written in collabora- 
 tion, or finished by another hand. (See Introduction, 
 The Tudor Edition.) 
 
 II. Notes on the Text 
 
 I. i. This scene serves to forecast the weird and 
 serious tone of the drama, and suggests, by coming 
 first, how important a part the witches will play in 
 the development. 
 
 This scene, and other similar scenes to follow, were 
 probably acted on a partly darkened stage. How was 
 this managed in the open Elizabethan playhouse? 
 (See chapter on The Merchant of Venice.) 
 
 I. ii. Many editors believe this scene not written 
 by Shakespeare. The meter is slovenly and the ser- 
 geant's speech bombastic and inconsistent. I am 
 inclined to think that Shakespeare worked with a 
 264 
 
MACBETH 265 
 
 collaborator and that he fashioned in detail only the 
 parts of the two Macbeths. (See below.) Consider- 
 ing the loose Elizabethan practice, however, it is 
 hardly justifiable to assume mere carelessness of style 
 to be a good reason for rejecting a passage as Shake- 
 speare's. 
 
 I. ii. 52. Note that subsequently Macbeth must 
 know that Cawdor is not what he calls him in I. iii. 
 73, " a prosperous gentleman." 
 
 I. iii. Return to the darkness of the first scene. 
 Perhaps the curtains are partly drawn during the 
 progress of the scene, lightening it towards the end. 
 
 I. iii. 38. " So foul and fair a day." In spite of 
 the different explanations that have been offered con- 
 cerning this passage, it is altogether of no moment. 
 Macbeth's part was taken by the principal actor of the 
 company. This is his first entrance, a moment al- 
 ways accompanied by some emotion, if not actual ap- 
 plause. Naturally the first few lines spoken during 
 this period are of little importance. If the audience 
 missed them altogether, nothing significant would be 
 lost. The passage needs no special explanation. 
 
 Note that only two of the speeches made by the 
 ■witches are prophetical. Macbeth is already Thane 
 of Glamis. 
 
 It is my belief that Macbeth, at the opening of the 
 play, is an honest, high-minded man outwardly, who 
 has as yet entertained no ideas of guilt. Everything 
 in the play, with one possible but not probable excep- 
 tion, bears this conception out. Hence the degree of 
 emphasis laid on the subject. 
 
 I. iii. 51. Banquo calls attention to the fact that 
 Macbeth starts. And an innocent Macbeth should 
 
266 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 start. The thought that he may be king has doubtless 
 been often in his mind, as it has in his wife's^ and in 
 the minds of the people throughout Scotland gener- 
 ally. There is a good chance of his becoming king in 
 the natural course of events without the necessity of 
 crime. The crown did not always go in direct suc- 
 cession — for instance, see Hamlet. The two possible 
 successors are Malcolm and Macbeth. One is young, 
 inexperienced, and keeping away from the battlefield 
 when he should be making his reputation. Yet he has 
 the direct blood claim. The other, not so near in 
 blood, is older, experienced, and at present appearing 
 as the savior of his country from the double danger 
 of foreign invasion and domestic insurrection. Ban- 
 quo does not speak as if he believed the possibility of 
 Macbeth's succession as at all untenable. It is hardly 
 possible that Macbeth, even had he been the soul of 
 honor, would have escaped the hope. Now he hears 
 supernatural creatures in whom he believes, declare 
 the future fulfilment of his desires. Of course he 
 starts. And there is no reason to believe it a guilty 
 start. 
 
 He is immediately cast into a brown study. He is 
 not planning his crimes. He is merely wondering 
 how it will all come about. He has no doubt of the 
 fact. 
 
 I. iii. 73. Macbeth speaks of Cawdor whom he has 
 just overthrown in battle as " a prosperous gentleman." 
 (See note on I. iii.) Macbeth knew better. The mes- 
 sengers knew that he knew better. There is no point 
 in his assertion. It cannot be explained. It is mere 
 contradiction. It may be due to a corruption in the 
 text; or to careless collaboration; or to a change of 
 
MACBETH 267 
 
 plan on the part of Shakespeare while working. It is 
 time wasted to puzzle over it. 
 
 Note that, throughout, Banquo is not so supersti- 
 tious as Macbeth. Had Macbeth been less so, he 
 might have escaped his ruin. (See note on V. v. 43.) 
 
 I. iii. 104. Ross and Angus have come to give Mac- 
 beth an " earnest." This word implies that some- 
 thing much greater is to follow. What does Macbeth 
 think it is? He believes, thanks to the witches, that 
 he will be king. The present king's support in favor 
 of his succession will probably make it possible. Is 
 this the way chance will crown him ? Does he not be- 
 lieve that this is what the messengers refer to? Do 
 they think so themselves? 
 
 I. iii. 120. That trusted home: means, if you trust 
 too implicitly to what the witches have said you may 
 be led into bringing about by bad means what you 
 now believe will come about naturally. Note, also, 
 that it is Banquo, the most upright man in the play, 
 who first puts the idea of possible wrong-doing in the 
 future into the mind of Macbeth. 
 
 I. iii. 127-142. Macbeth believes in the outcome. 
 Yet he is unable to see how it will come about. He 
 knows that witches are considered malignant beings; 
 yet they cannot be bad in the present instance, because 
 what they have foretold has turned out true, in part, 
 at least. (Suggestion in line 134 means temptation.) 
 Yet, on the other hand, they cannot be altogether 
 good, else he would not be so upset by the idea of 
 temptation that Banquo has put into his head. A man 
 already guilty in thought would not be so overcome 
 by the idea of his possible enactment of a crime. The 
 very thought of such a thing (line 139) is repugnant 
 
268 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 to him in the extreme. He will not even contemplate 
 such a course (line 143). The meaning of the line 
 is: " If chance^ that is, fate, will have me king, fate 
 must bring it about, not I. And this may be (line 
 147), as one can never tell what will happen." And 
 immediately Macbeth has disclaimed any personal 
 responsibility he begins to feel relieved. 
 
 I. iv. This is the scene in which Duncan appoints 
 his son Malcolm the Prince of Cumberland. This 
 title implied that he would be the successor to the 
 crown. Let us analyze the situation. 
 
 Sufficient attention, it seems to me, has not been 
 given in the modern discussion or staging of this scene. 
 The announcement is a fearful slap in Macbeth's face, 
 whom every one has considered as a possible successor 
 to the crown. Macbeth is coming home in triumph. 
 Why should the kindly Duncan select this public mo- 
 ment of all others to dash Macbeth's hopes forever? 
 The action is so unlike the nature of the gentle king 
 that it requires a justification — at least, an explana- 
 tion. Duncan has met Macbeth with a warm wel- 
 come. His mouth has outrun itself in fashioning ex- 
 travagant expressions of gratitude. The most he can 
 do is too little for Macbeth's deserts. But this is all 
 rhetorical flourish. He does not mean a word of it 
 literally. Macbeth, however, who remembers the 
 witches' prophecies and the " earnest," is now taking 
 all this in a literal sense. Perhaps Banquo and the 
 others share this impression with him. Instead of 
 relegating this to a mere scene in front of a middle 
 drop as is so often done nowadays it should be care- 
 fully staged. The eyes of the many persons present 
 turn towards Macbeth as their ears drink in the 
 
MACBETH 269 
 
 promises of the king. Gradually positions shift, more 
 people grouping themselves about Macbeth, the suc- 
 cessor, than about Malcolm, whose youth and inexpe- 
 rience have caused him to be passed over. 
 
 This, however, is all due to a mistake. Duncan 
 suddenly realizes what is happening. Lest it be too 
 late to correct it to-morrow he determines to correct it 
 now. The gist of what he says is this: Macbeth is 
 worthy of everything I can do within reason. But do 
 not misunderstand me. I intend my son to succeed me. 
 Therefore I appoint him the Prince of Cumberland. 
 
 There is a splendid opportunity for stage effect in 
 this sudden opposite turn of affairs. 
 
 I. iv. 48. " That is a step." Macbeth means that 
 it now looks as if the witches' prophecy could not 
 possibly come true. Or else, if it does, it will only 
 come true by his taking some means to overcome this 
 new obstacle. That is what Banquo suggested. Mac- 
 beth is afraid even to think of what this implies. 
 This is certainly not the line of thought of a man 
 already hardened to the contemplation of crime. 
 
 I. V. Lady Macbeth is reading a letter. Through- 
 out the play we discover that husband and wife are 
 very close together. (Search the play throughout for 
 additional proofs of this assertion.) In the first part 
 of the play he reports everything to her. She knows 
 his character through and through. Her speech, 
 which follows the text of the letter in this scene, is a 
 soliloquy. Hence there is no reason for her not speak- 
 ing the truth. 
 
 She says that Macbeth is too full of the milk of 
 human kindness. Modern readers frequently mis- 
 understand kindness to mean sympathy, or tender- 
 
270 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 heartedness. In this line the word is used in its old 
 sense of naturalness — as we have it in the Biblical 
 phrase " the kindly fruits of the earth." Human 
 kindness, then, is equivalent to, inherent qualities of 
 human beings. Milk implies soft, or weak, with a 
 touch of disapproval, perhaps not quite so strong as 
 contempt. The sense of the phrase is almost opposite 
 to that implied as a rule when it is quoted in modern 
 speech. The attribute implied is anything but com- 
 plimentary, even less so on the lips of such a stern 
 woman as Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Furthermore, she says positively that, though am- 
 bitious, her husband would achieve his desires by holy 
 means. We must at least acknowledge that if Mac- 
 beth entertained criminal intents at this time his wife 
 was ignorant of the fact. But she could not possibly 
 be ignorant. And she immediately voices (line 23) 
 the fatal defect of his character — he would profit by 
 the wrong-doing of others. It is upon that that she 
 depends. If he will but put the management of this 
 great business into her hands for her to despatch all 
 will be well. This soliloquy alone is sufficient to out- 
 line Macbeth's character at the beginning of the play. 
 
 I. v. 63. If Macbeth were already a guilty man at 
 heart his wife would not find it necessary to coax him 
 not to show in his face that such ideas are new to him. 
 She would not find it necessary to impress upon him 
 the fact that his natural behavior was altogether in- 
 consistent with a career of crime. If, perchance, she 
 were misjudging him he would seize this opportunity 
 to make an explanation. He does not, because she is 
 right. 
 
 I. V. 72. " We will speak further." Does this 
 
MACBETH 271 
 
 conversation ever take place? On or off the stage? 
 When and where? 
 
 I. vi. This is a division scene. During the interval 
 Lady Macbeth has talked with her husband. (See 
 above^ line 72.) She has persuaded him, as she thinks, 
 to follow her lead, and to do the deed she has sug- 
 gested. Doubtless she found the task difficult to ac- 
 complish. At the opening of scene vii. Macbeth is 
 still in this mood, but he is at the threshold of reac- 
 tion, and soon drifts back to a more honorable state of 
 mind. 
 
 I. vii. See above. Macbeth for a moment has given 
 up to his worse nature. He soon begins to draw back. 
 At first his objections are due to physical fear of the 
 consequences. Then his thoughts take a higher turn 
 and he objects upon moral grounds. At last he re- 
 solves not to do the deed at all. 
 
 I. vii. 28. At the entrance of his wife he tells her 
 of his change of mind. This, to her, is the milk of 
 human kindness in his nature asserting itself. She 
 realizes that her task of persuasion is all to be done 
 over again. She begins by irritating him with the 
 charge of cowardice. 
 
 I. vii. 48. Lady Macbeth says that he broke the 
 enterprise to her. Evidently he did not. The pas- 
 sage, therefore, is hard to explain. 
 
 In the first place, it may be due to a corruption of 
 the text. 
 
 Or, she may not be telling the truth, trusting to his 
 excitement to prompt him to overlook the fact, hoping 
 it will lead him to fall in with the notion that he is 
 drawing back from something that he really did pro- 
 pose. 
 
272 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Or, what I believe is more likely, in the off-stage 
 conversation (see I. v. 72) she may have insinuated 
 her ideas to him so skilfully that he did in reality 
 actually phrase them first though she virtually pro- 
 posed them. 
 
 In other words, the passage may or may not be 
 construed in accordance with the view here set down 
 of Macbeth's character. If the latter interpretation 
 is assumed we should remember that this single coup- 
 let is opposed to many and frequent indications of the 
 contrary. This fact robs it of its value. 
 
 One reason why I am so insistent on this view of 
 Macbeth's character is that it rounds out the picture 
 of his personality so much better than any other con- 
 ception, and is better dramatic construction. There 
 are evidences that Shakespeare has worked out 
 the character of Macbeth carefully, both before and 
 after the play begins. Later in the play Macbeth says 
 there was a time when his senses would have cooled 
 to hear a night-shriek. I think that Shakespeare con- 
 ceived Macbeth as one of those persons who have a 
 great repugnance to physical suffering. He had, at 
 first, for instance, to steel himself against the horrible 
 sights of a battlefield. But the training of war had 
 gradually made him callous to bloodshed. He had 
 undergone the change that so many sensitive surgeons 
 have gone through. 
 
 Later in life he goes through the same process in 
 regard to moral wrong. The whole of the change is 
 included in the present play. It takes up the history 
 at the very beginning of the change, not after it has 
 already progressed to a considerable degree, and car- 
 ries him on relentlessly to the end. 
 
MACBETH 273 
 
 At the end of this scene Macbeth is once more 
 persuaded to carry out his wife's plans. 
 
 A preliminary word as to the character of Lady 
 Macbeth: Remember that in Elizabethan times her 
 part was taken by a boy. Not until the time of Mrs. 
 Siddons was her part looked upon as the principal 
 part of the play. We should not lose sight of the fact 
 that she is to be dominated by her husband so far as 
 the stage presentation goes. Her character is simple, 
 and not beyond the immature acting of a boy. 
 
 At first she is painted as a stern^ ambitious woman, 
 and one who is capable of shrewd character analysis. 
 She is absolutely unscrupulous, and willing to do any- 
 thing to urge her husband to a great crime. She is 
 also tactful, and able to see quickly the possibilities 
 of a new situation. On the other hand, she is not a 
 monster. She has tender feelings regarding her child. 
 She is affected by the similarity of the king to her 
 father. She is as ambitious for her husband as for 
 herself. Yet she is not able to continue under the 
 strain indefinitely. (See II. iii. 131, the discussion 
 as to whether Lady Macbeth faints or not.) And she 
 ends with utter collapse in the sleep-walking scene. 
 This shows that, though she can commit a crime, she 
 cannot do so without compunction, as her more callous 
 husband learns to do before the end of the play. 
 
 Search for passages throughout the play illustra- 
 tive of the above characteristics. 
 
 II. ii. 1. What is the antecedent of "that".'' Is 
 it drink } or merely the situation ? That which has de- 
 manded that the grooms be drugged has demanded 
 that I be bold ? 
 
 This scene involves the time of the murder. II. iii. 
 
274 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 59, etc., implies that there was a terrible storm at the 
 time. Yet Lady Macbeth could hear the owls and the 
 crickets, sounds not usually very prominent in a 
 storm. In fact, a stage storm at this point ruins the 
 effect and was not intended. Furthermore, violent 
 noise here ruins the effect of the subsequent knocking 
 on the gate. (See De Quincey's essay on this sub- 
 ject.) 
 
 Yet the contradiction implied by II. iii. 58, etc., is 
 not a blemish, or something to be condoned. It is an 
 intentional stage device. During this scene the audi- 
 ence gets all the advantageous effect of weird, un- 
 canny silence and soft sounds. These are interrupted 
 with tremendous effect by the knocking on the gate 
 which brings the audience back to the every-day life 
 they have left shortly before. Later, when reference 
 is made to a terrible storm, Shakespeare was merely 
 making use of the contemporary belief that a storm 
 accompanied a great crime. The greater the storm the 
 greater the crime, and vice versa. 
 
 II. ii. 53. " Give me the daggers." This should not 
 be uttered too dramatically. All is hushed and quiet. 
 If Lady Macbeth were to assume a bombastic air of 
 superiority over her husband she would ruin the effect, 
 as most actresses I have seen do. Yet the task must 
 be done, and by her. She should act as if she sym- 
 pathized with her husband, yet is able to do, though 
 reluctantly, that which he has not been quite equal 
 to. 
 
 II. ii. 56. It is often suggested that Lady Mac- 
 beth's pun on guilt and gild implies a grotesque touch 
 of humor. Any one who is familiar with Elizabethan 
 conditions would be inclined to deny the above asser- 
 
MACBETH 275 
 
 tion. In fact, the Elizabethan attitude towards puns 
 was altogether different from ours. 
 
 In our day and generation we either laugh at or 
 with a punster. The possibility of a laugh is assumed. 
 Three hundred years ago the laugh was acci- 
 dental. 
 
 The vocabulary was rapidly increasing. A good 
 punster needed a full command of the vocabulary, 
 and a ready memory that could instantly recall all 
 the words of similar sound, though of different mean- 
 ing. The ability to do so excited admiration rather 
 than mirth. The Elizabethan attitude towards a 
 punster was like our attitude towards a sleight-of- 
 hand juggler. A funny piece of jugglery makes us 
 laugh, but one that is not funny arouses our admira- 
 tion for the skill displayed and the juggler's control 
 over his muscles. 
 
 Hardly any one would discover a touch of humor 
 in the repeated puns uttered by the dying Gaunt in 
 Richard the Second. The dexterity displayed by 
 them merely suggests that, though dying, the great 
 statesman is still in full possession of all his senses. 
 Else he would not be able to pun. So here. Lady 
 Macbeth is sufficiently cool and self-controlled to pun. 
 There is no question of humor. 
 
 Why is the knocking on the gate of the castle 
 introduced } 
 
 Compare its effect following a violent stage storm 
 with its effect under the conditions of the setting sug- 
 gested above. 
 
 Note how many details of this scene are recalled 
 in the sleep-walking scene. 
 
 II. iii. The porter's speeches were comic to the 
 
276 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Elizabethans. People of that day demanded a certain 
 mingling of the comic element with the most tragic 
 themes. This was commoner in the days of the 
 Miracle Plays; almost intolerable to-day. It was 
 more frequent in the plays of other Elizabethan dram- 
 atists than in the plays of Shakespeare. 
 
 II. iii. 24. Enter Macduff. In the structure of 
 this play Macduff is the opposite of Macbeth. He 
 is the second main character, for the structure is like 
 that of Othello and Hamlet. Yet, in the development 
 of the play, the character and the function of Mac- 
 duff are so slighted that one may easily miss the 
 significance of his part. It is not possible to account 
 for this neglect. Perhaps it is due to the corrupt 
 condition of the text; perhaps to the mediocre work 
 of a collaborator; perhaps to the fact that the play 
 was either not quite finished, or finished hurriedly 
 without actually being completed. 
 
 II. iii. 69- Imagine the strain on the Macbeths 
 while they are waiting the discovery of the murder, 
 and its effect, especially upon Lady Macbeth. 
 
 II. iii. 131. Does Lady Macbeth faint or pretend 
 to faint .^ 
 
 It has been urged that Lady Macbeth pretends to 
 faint because she can in this way distract attention 
 from her husband. Heretofore her presence has been 
 the only sufficient control over him. To say the least, 
 it would be unwise of her to withdraw this control 
 when at the most it would only serve as a momentary 
 distraction. 
 
 It has been suggested that Lady Macbeth pretends 
 to faint in order to convince others of her horror of 
 the murder. This is slightly more plausible than 
 
MACBETH 277 
 
 the above. Still, she must face the risk of leaving 
 her husband unassisted. 
 
 There is, however, a still more plausible explana- 
 tion. Macbeth's murder of the grooms, which was not 
 in the original plan, was a blunder from all points 
 of view. Lady Macbeth realizes this fact and is 
 horror-stricken. But all her wits are about her. 
 Macbeth's extemporaneous attempt to justify him- 
 self (line 114, etc.) is a stroke of genius on his part. 
 It is very convincing and genuine. Lady Macbeth 
 immediately realizes that he has at last found him- 
 self able to rise fully to the occasion. The milk of 
 human kindness, which she formerly deplored, is 
 overcome forever. He can now take care of himself. 
 He no longer needs her assistance. A great wave of 
 relief sweeps over her. It is the last straw. Her 
 endurance snaps. And she really faints. 
 
 Note that the sons of the king, immediately recog- 
 nizing foul play, resolve to fly. There is no indica- 
 tion that they at once suspected Macbeth more than 
 another, or others. And Malcolm appeared almost 
 as a coward at the opening of the play. 
 
 II. iv. Enter an old man. In the Elizabethan 
 plays such a nameless character usually indicates 
 public opinion. The " old man " here implies that 
 suspicion has begun to get abroad in general, rather 
 than harboring in one particular person's breast. 
 
 Macduff suggests that the sons of the king have 
 done this deed, suspicion resting upon them because 
 they have fled. If he is telling the truth it is not 
 much to the credit of his common sense. They would 
 not have planned a murder that would have required 
 them to fly the moment it was successfully accom- 
 
278 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 plished, thus compelling them to give up all the advan- 
 tages to be derived from it. Besides, Malcolm has 
 nothing to gain from such a crime. He has already 
 been appointed Prince of Cumberland. But Macduff 
 is probably not telling the truth. His actions subse- 
 quently show that he really suspected Macbeth. It 
 is just possible, however, that he did not acquire this 
 suspicion till after the murder of Banquo. 
 
 III. i. By this time Banquo has begun to see 
 through Macbeth. It is time for him to act in order 
 to guard against this new danger. 
 
 III. i. 10. Stage direction. In the meantime the 
 coronation has taken place off-stage. 
 
 III. i. 15-42. Note the phrases: Ride you this 
 afternoon.'' Is't far you ride.'' Goes Fleance with 
 you? These are so buried in the conversation that 
 Banquo has no idea why they are asked. Why are 
 they asked.'' 
 
 III. i. 48, etc. Would Macbeth make such unfa- 
 vorable comparisons between himself and Banquo? 
 
 The Elizabethan soliloquy serves a double purpose: 
 1. It gave the inmost thoughts of the person speak- 
 ing. 2. It served as a direct means of communica- 
 tion between the author of the play and the audience. 
 As an illustration of the former read Macbeth, I. v. 
 16, etc. As an illustration of the latter, read Henry 
 the Fourth, Part I, I. ii. 218, etc. This is not in 
 keeping with the character of Prince Hal. It is 
 Shakespeare's apologetic message to the audience that 
 he is not permanently trifling with the character of 
 the great king, Henry the Fifth. 
 
 III. ii. In the last scene we learned that, now that 
 he is king, Macbeth's troubles are really just begin- 
 
MACBETH 279 
 
 ning. In the present scene we learn that his wife, 
 in spite of her former confidence, is in the same 
 condition. 
 
 The question arises as to why Macbeth, who was 
 formerly so in harmony with his wife, did not take 
 her into his confidence regarding the murder of 
 Banquo. 
 
 1. In the beginning, she wished to rouse him to 
 the point of taking the initiative. If she could do 
 this her work was done. 
 
 2. Macbeth has so far progressed in crime by now 
 that it is getting easier to him, and he is willing to 
 take the initiative himself. He desires his wife's 
 good opinion and thinks that this independent course 
 will please her. It is not a sign that he has lost con- 
 fidence in her. 
 
 III. iii. There has been much discussion regarding 
 the identity of the third murderer. Such discussion 
 is time wasted. There is no indication in the play 
 as to who he is. To assume that he is Macbeth is 
 to make of the latter a man of poor judgment and 
 clumsy behavior. The supposition is also contradictory 
 to his behavior in the banquet scene. Show how 
 this is. 
 
 III. iv. The Banquet Scene. It is well to draw 
 a stage plan showing how the persons should be 
 placed. 
 
 Should the ghost of Banquo actually enter, or not.^ 
 It has been staged both ways. 
 
 III. iv. 46. How can Macbeth say that the table 
 is full without recognizing the ghost.'* 
 
 Note how alert Lady Macbeth is to divert attention 
 from her husband. Part of her lines are to her hus- 
 
280 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 band as asides. When she speaks of the air-drawn 
 dagger she evidently does not see anything in 
 Banquo's chair. But she knows from the direction 
 of her husband's eyes that whatever he sees is there. 
 
 The moment the ghost disappears Macbeth grows 
 more calm, but he goes to pieces again the moment 
 it reappears. 
 
 III. iv. 119. Notice that Lady Macbeth dismisses 
 the guests in a hurry. Why does she do it at just 
 this moment? 
 
 She dismisses them at a moment when her husband 
 was really in a little better control over himself than 
 shortly before. It is hardly, then, because he is going 
 to pieces that she does it. 
 
 At this point I think she sees the ghost; and it is 
 because she fears she will go to pieces herself that 
 she sends the guests away. 
 
 1. This is quite in accordance with the contem- 
 porary belief in ghost-lore. 
 
 2. It constitutes an intermediate step in her own 
 nervous and mental breakdown. 
 
 S. When the room is empty she would have ques- 
 tioned her husband as to what he saw, if she did not 
 already know. 
 
 4. Similarly Macbeth would have told her what 
 he has seen if he did not know that she had herself 
 seen the ghost and understood. 
 
 5. This supposition gives the actress a much better 
 opportunity to display her powers than if she is sup- 
 posed not to see the ghost. 
 
 6. Lady Macbeth probably thinks now that the 
 others will see it, too. 
 
 III. iv. 142. Lady Macbeth seems to have lost 
 
MACBETH 281 
 
 interest in her husband's plans. She sees that the 
 game is up. This apathy is the beginning of the de- 
 cline that ends in the sleep-walking scene. 
 
 III. V. Note the additional witch, and the change 
 in meter. Perhaps the later witch scenes are inter- 
 polated, or written over later by another hand than 
 Shakespeare's. 
 
 III. iv. Somewhere about here is the location of 
 the technical turning-point. It is not possible to 
 defend one exact moment rather than another. Note 
 how little has been made of Macduff up to this point, 
 and how poorly his character has been carried out in 
 the remainder of the play. Compare with Othello, 
 a model of perfection of this kind of construction, 
 where the two opposing figures are lago and Othello. 
 
 IV. i. Note the ambiguous characteristics of the 
 second set of prophecies as compared with the literal 
 directness of the first set. 
 
 IV. i. 111. "A show of eight kings." These are 
 the Scottish Stuarts, the last of which was on the 
 throne of England at the time ^Macbeth was written. 
 Those seen in the glass merely indicate the hope, on 
 the part of Shakespeare, that there would be many 
 more. This sort of anachronism was not objection- 
 able to the Elizabethans. There is another example 
 of it in the play. The scene describing the touching 
 for the king's evil refers to the revival of an obsolete 
 custom in the reign of King James. 
 
 IV, ii. The character of Macduff is very poorly 
 drawn. Examine his knowledge of the dangerous 
 state of Scotland, which he shows he is familiar with 
 in a later scene where he discusses the subject with 
 Malcolm. Under such circumstances he would not 
 
282 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 have left his wife and children unprotected. And his 
 wife, though she calls him such, did not believe him 
 a coward. Nor was he. 
 
 Before we condemn Shakespeare for the cruelty of 
 a scene like this we should bear in mind the temper of 
 the time. Both sports and laws were cruel to such 
 an extent that a mutilation or a killing offended the 
 audience no more than a hard beating would offend 
 to-day. (See the subject discussed in the chapter on 
 King Lear.) 
 
 IV. iii. This poorly written scene is sometimes said 
 not to be by Shakespeare's hand. It may not be. 
 There is no positive way of telling. It is well to 
 note, however, that it is written as if it belonged to 
 a much longer play than the present play. It may 
 be from another play, from another and more lengthy 
 draft, or it may be poor writing on the part of Shake- 
 speare, or of a collaborator. Note also that the char- 
 acter-drawing of Macduff and Malcolm is poorly done. 
 
 IV. iii. 76. Malcolm's lies are preposterous, and 
 Macduff is a fool to believe them. How do they serve 
 as a test of Macduff's honesty? 
 
 V. i. Why is the sleep-walking scene considered 
 so great? 
 
 The value of this scene is not in its words. Rather 
 in the way the scattered exclamations of Lady Mac- 
 beth manage to review the whole play for us in a 
 moment. Note how each detail touches some impor- 
 tant point, some great moment of the play. In other 
 words, this scene is a digest of Macbeth, and the 
 greatness of the scene is but a reflection of the great- 
 ness of the play as a whole. 
 
 From here to the end of the play we have merely 
 
MACBETH 283 
 
 the dramatization of the remainder of the narrative, 
 the result of which had been already guessed by the 
 audience. 
 
 There is, however, one point of unusual interest 
 (see V. V. 43), " to doubt the equivocation of the 
 fiend." This phrase means, " to suspect the double- 
 dealing of the witches." 
 
 The audience was already familiar with the his- 
 torical story of Macbeth, and was, therefore, familiar 
 with the double meaning of the prophecies long before 
 the truth was discovered by Macbeth. The audience 
 would be on the watch for his behavior when he made 
 the discovery. All along Macbeth has proceeded on 
 the assumption that the witches were altogether right. 
 Now he realizes that they were not; that it was his 
 own failure to understand them as well as Banquo 
 would have understood them which has driven him to 
 his present state of ruin. This is the real nemesis that 
 comes to him in the play. He has been deluded and 
 fooled to his destruction. In comparison to his mental 
 anguish at this moment his death is a welcome relief. 
 
 III. The Character of Macduff 
 
 Macduff should be a character that vies with Mac- 
 beth in importance, but he is not. Go through the 
 whole play noting: 1. How little is told of Macduff. 
 2. What is actually told of Macduff. 3. The char- 
 acteristics of Macduff to be inferred from his actions, 
 and from what others say of him. 4. Is the picture 
 of him consistent.'' 5. Is the picture of him com- 
 plete ? 
 
284 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 IV. Was there a Collaborator? 
 
 It is not safe to conclude that because we find evi- 
 dence of careless work in the play it is therefore not 
 wholly by Shakespeare. He was often careless. On 
 the other hand, it is a notable fact that parts of this 
 play show the greatest evidence of care and skill. 
 
 The play seems to drop in interest in the middle, 
 both in artistic and dramatic quality. Most of the 
 praiseworthy points are to be found in the first half; 
 most of the blamable details are to be found in the 
 second half. Most of the blamable details of the first 
 half have to do with those scenes in which the Mac- 
 beths do not figure. Most of the praiseworthy parts 
 of the second half have to do with those scenes in 
 which the Macbeths do figure. 
 
 Is it not, then, a fair inference that Shakespeare 
 himself worked out the characters of Macbeth and 
 of Lady Macbeth, and that a collaborator worked out 
 the Macduffs. This theory implies that the two prin- 
 cipal parts of the play were composed by different 
 hands. 
 
 (See the chapter on dramatic structure in explana- 
 tion of the suggestion that Macduff should be of equal 
 importance with Macbeth. The structure of this play 
 is of the type to which is referred Othello and 
 Hamlet.) 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 THE TEMPEST 
 
 I. Introduction 
 
 Sir G. Somers was wrecked on the shores of the 
 Bermudas in I609. In I6IO three accounts were pub- 
 lished of this shipwreck. These were probably be- 
 fore Shakespeare, yet fresh in the popular mind, 
 when he wrote The Tempest. A careful consideration 
 of them, together with the external evidence, suggests 
 some time early in I6II as the date of the appear- 
 ance of this play. 
 
 Several contemporary writings, and the history of 
 Italy, suggest innumerable details of the play. There 
 is, however, no single original to which the author is 
 indebted for the major portion of the drama. 
 
 The duration of the action is a few hours following 
 the shipwreck. 
 
 The play was first published in the Folio. 
 
 Some critics see in The Tempest an element of 
 autobiography. Prospero is Shakespeare. His end- 
 ing his work of necromancy symbolizes Shakespeare's 
 retirement from the stage, and the theatrical world 
 in general. It is, however, not necessary to believe 
 this fact, hard in any case to prove, in order to ap- 
 preciate the play. 
 
 The play has appeared in the Variorum Edition and 
 285 
 
286 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 has also appeared in the Dowden Edition. The latter 
 gives a full account of the wreck of Somers and the 
 published descriptions. 
 
 II. Notes on the Text 
 
 In the Century Magazine for December, 191 1^ 
 there appeared an article by the eminent scholar and 
 student of Elizabethan conditions, Mr. Corbin, deal- 
 ing with the Elizabethan setting of The Tempest. 
 There will be found a very suggestive illustration of 
 the stage setting for the first scene. I have followed 
 some of the suggestions of this article elsewhere in 
 the present volume; others therein mentioned were, 
 however, conclusions arrived at independently. 
 
 I. i. The scene is of the nature of a little prelim- 
 inary pageant. It is referred to in the next scene 
 but is hardly sufficient to get the story fairly started. 
 The real story of the play deals with the love affair 
 of Ferdinand and Miranda. 
 
 I. ii. With the details of Mr. Corbin's article 
 fresh in mind, let us imagine this scene acted with the 
 fallen chains and other paraphernalia of scene i. 
 still upon the stage. Instead of being a detriment 
 this will help to link the scene to the first one and 
 thus bring out the continuity of the story even before 
 the relation is made clear by the words of Prospero. 
 
 This scene starts the principal thread of the story, 
 that of Ferdinand and Miranda; and gives to the 
 audience the necessary introductory matter. Note 
 how much introduction there is and how long drawn 
 out. 
 
 I. ii. 15. Note how quickly and how emphatically 
 
THE TEMPEST 287 
 
 we are told that the storm of scene i. is a mere sham. 
 There is no real danger, and the tone of all is mere 
 playfulness. 
 
 I. ii. 37. Though Miranda has never heard the 
 story of her life Prospero tells it here in detail in 
 reality for the information of the audience. This, the 
 story of Ariel, and that of Sycorax and Caliban, con- 
 stitute the introductory material. Query: Is there 
 too much of it? Could it be shortened to advantage.'' 
 Could the material be differently distributed.'' Would 
 anything be gained by getting the entrance of Ferdi- 
 nand and Miranda earlier in the play.^ 
 
 I. ii. 57. It was Shakespeare's custom not to fool 
 the audience. He is here engaged in informing fully 
 as to what has happened. Contrast in this respect the 
 practice of Ben Jonson. See, for a good example of 
 the opposite, The Silent Woman. 
 
 I. ii. Let the student recall some of the earlier 
 plays of Shakespeare. In them we often encounter 
 long speeches which are monotonous to read and still 
 more monotonous to hear upon the stage. Here we 
 find a much more skilful method of procedure. The 
 long account of Prospero is broken up by the occa- 
 sional remarks and questions of Miranda, for the pur- 
 pose of interrupting the montony of what would other- 
 wise be a long address from her father. 
 
 I. ii. 189. We have already been told in so many 
 words that the subject-matter of this play is all 
 trivial, it is a mere comedy from the beginning, alto- 
 gether light-hearted. The reference to Prospero's 
 power over the storm, to his magic mantle, and now 
 the appearance of Ariel tell us once for all that this 
 is a fairy-story. And it should thus be taken by the 
 
288 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 reader, or by the audience. There is nothing serious 
 about it. Some critics, however, see in it: 1. Shake- 
 speare's farewell. 2. A psychological study of a 
 woman raised absolutely alone. 3. Merely a delight- 
 ful tale. If one delights in either the first or the 
 second interpretation he must, perforce, be grateful 
 to the author. But, for my part, I owe a sufficient 
 debt to Shakespeare not to increase it by such an 
 additional burden. 
 
 I. ii. 195. Ariel describes his behavior at the time 
 of the event related in scene i. There was, however, 
 probably no attempt to stage these antics of the spirit. 
 Though Ariel says he caused amazement, there is no 
 reference to him or his eccentricities in scene i. 
 
 I. ii. 244. Ariel is universally good-natured and 
 obedient with a willing heart throughout. This mo- 
 mentary " moodiness " is introduced merely to give 
 Prospero a chance to tell the elfin's story for the 
 benefit of the audience. 
 
 I. ii. 374. The entrance of Ferdinand marks the 
 real beginning of the story, or, at least, the main 
 thread of it. 
 
 II. i. The first 180 lines of this scene are mere 
 by-play. There is more of this sort of writing than 
 usual in one of Shakespeare's plays — that is, text 
 that fails to advance the plot or to delineate crucial 
 points of character. 
 
 II. i. 215. What becomes of this conspiracy? 
 
 II. ii.. III. ii. Caliban, Trinculo, and Stephano 
 form the low comedy element of the play. What be- 
 comes of this conspiracy? In fact, should one raise 
 this question seriously at all? Or should one accept 
 their antics as a mere comic parody of the other more 
 
THE TEMPEST 289 
 
 serious conspiracy, and expect nothing of it? Does, 
 and if so, why should, Prospero take more pains — 
 perhaps I should say, more space — to nullify their 
 efforts than the efforts of the other conspirators? 
 
 III. ii. 136. Here and for some time Ariel has 
 been invisible. How would this fact be suggested on 
 the Elizabethan stage? In some scenes in the plays 
 a person is visible to the audience, yet supposed to 
 be invisible to those on the stage. He has no diffi- 
 culty in carrying his part. The illusion of the 
 situation is produced by the behavior of the others. 
 Again, the invisible person is not on the stage at all, 
 yet the audience is able easily to infer his presence. 
 There is reason to believe that on the Elizabethan 
 stage a conventional color to a garment represented 
 invisibility. Thus, in Titus Andronicus there is a 
 point where Lavinia enters after her arms have been 
 cut off at the elbows. When I have an opportunity to 
 add an account of this play to the present volume I 
 shall try to show that the play does not deserve its 
 usual treatment at the hands of critics regarding its 
 un-Shakespearian element of cruelty. Lavinia at the 
 entrance alluded to above probably wears gloves of 
 this conventional color, thus rendering her hands in 
 the imagination invisible, that is, cut off. Here Ariel 
 is probably garbed in a cloak of the same color. He 
 is undoubtedly present and visible to the audience, 
 for it is the appearance of the spirit that gives point 
 to the allusion to the picture of Nobody. Yet Trinculo, 
 who makes the remark, probably does not see Ariel. 
 
 IV. i. 139- Prospero drops the mask and takes up 
 the matter of the more trivial conspiracy with ex- 
 treme suddenness. (See the former note on Caliban's 
 
290 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 conspiracy. Is Prospero justified in being so greatly 
 moved on the present occasion?) 
 
 III. Analysis of the Plot 
 
 I. i. Alonso and his companions are wrecked in 
 an enchanted storm off Prospero's island. There are 
 no forecasting allusions to subsequent portions of the 
 play, and no names are mentioned. 
 
 I. ii. This scene opens by showing that Prospero 
 raised the storm that figures in scene i.; and Prospero 
 tells Miranda that no real harm was done by the 
 storm. Thus both scenes are linked together, and we 
 catch both the playful and the magical elements. 
 
 Prospero outlines to Miranda their early history; 
 and the same is done in connection with Ariel; and 
 the same with Caliban. 
 
 Then enters Ferdinand, with whom Miranda im- 
 mediately falls in love. As this could easily have 
 been prevented by her magical father, we are left to 
 suppose that it is really the result of his machina- 
 tions. Here is where the main story in reality begins. 
 Prospero assumes a harshness towards Ferdinand 
 which he does not feel. 
 
 Note that though some of the other characters 
 have appeared in scene i., they are not really intro- 
 duced till II. i. This is unusual. 
 
 II. i. The principal survivors enter and talk about 
 the shipwreck, and are finally put to sleep by Ariel. 
 Sebastian and Antonio plan the murder of Alonso, 
 but are prevented by his sudden awakening by Ariel. 
 
 II. ii. Caliban meets Stephano and Trinculo. 
 They form a sort of confederacy. 
 
THE TEMPEST 291 
 
 III. i. Ferdinand and Miranda disclose their love 
 for each other. 
 
 III. ii. Caliban and his fellows hatch out the comic 
 conspiracy against Prospero. 
 
 III. iii. The banquet which mysteriously vanishes. 
 Ariel appears in the form of a harpy. Prospero up- 
 braids Alonso and the rest for their treatment of him. 
 
 IV. i. Prospero approves the love of Ferdinand 
 and Miranda. Then follows the mask, which is en- 
 tirely an undramatic digression introduced for the 
 mere purpose of spectacular entertainment. This is 
 suddenly dropped at its end, after which Caliban and 
 his fellows are chased off the stage by hounds. 
 
 V. i. Prospero reveals himself to the others. All 
 are happily reconciled. Caliban and his fellow- 
 conspirators are let off with a merciful neglect. 
 
 This complicated plot may be resolved into the fol- 
 lowing threads : 
 
 1. Prospero's banishment, which is eventually the 
 means of bringing all the characters of the play hap- 
 pily together at the end. 
 
 2. Alonso's wreck, which brings him into contact 
 with Prospero. 
 
 3. The love of Ferdinand and Miranda. This is 
 the main thread of the story. 
 
 4. The plot against Alonso by his equals, suddenly 
 dropped, however, without being brought to a con- 
 clusion. 
 
 5. The comedy-element plot against Prospero by 
 Caliban, etc., which is a parody of thread number 4. 
 
 6. A mask in celebration of the love of Ferdinand 
 and Miranda, really a part of thread number 3. 
 
 The plot may be graphically represented, as in the 
 
292 
 
 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 following diagram. The figures in the top line refer 
 to the thread numbers mentioned above. The numerals 
 in the left column denote act and scene. The dots 
 represent the appearance of the particular part of 
 the story. 
 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 I. i. 
 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 
 I. ii. 
 
 • 
 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 II. i. 
 
 
 • 
 
 
 • 
 
 
 II. ii. 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 
 
 III. i. 
 
 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 III. ii. 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 
 
 III. iii. 
 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 
 rv. i. 
 
 
 
 • 
 
 
 • 
 
 V. i. 
 
 • 
 
 • 
 
 • 
 
 
 • 
 
 Note further. The story begins with 2, which 
 forms a sort of framework. The second scene brings 
 in 1, which consists mainly of preliminary material 
 necessary to the understanding of what follows. 
 
 3 is the main story. It is simply told. There is 
 no opposition or complication save Prospero's mo- 
 mentary harshness to Ferdinand. Relatively it oc- 
 
THE TEMPEST 293 
 
 cupies less space than is usual with the principal 
 thread. 
 
 4 looks for a while as if it were intended to exem- 
 plify nemesis on Alonso. But it comes to naught 
 and is left unfinished. What frustrating there is 
 is due to Prospero, who is heaping coals of fire. 
 
 In the last scene all threads are brought together 
 except 4>, which, however, is alluded to as immaterial: 
 1. Prospero's banishment is over. 2. Alonso recovers 
 his ship. 3. Ferdinand and Miranda are happily 
 married. 5. Caliban and his fellows are reproved but 
 not punished. 
 
 IV. The Character of Prospero 
 
 Many a man has whiled away an evening in a coun- 
 try store by telling a good yarn. His purpose is to 
 pass the time and to please his audience. Perhaps 
 the same man on another occasion attempts to correct 
 the follies of his child by relating in familiar guise 
 the story of the Prodigal Son. To infer from the 
 latter situation that the former is impossible, that the 
 elder never speaks without intending some dark and 
 hidden significance to his words, is to imply, to say 
 the least, an extraordinary lack of human quality. 
 
 There seems to be a tendency on the part of some 
 persons who have written about the subject-matter 
 of Shakespeare's plays to deny to the author this 
 human quality, to deny the possibility of his writing 
 as so many have written, merely for the purpose of 
 passing the time with a delightful narrative. There 
 is a great idea of moral consequence dominating Ham- 
 let. I can find nothing but a pleasing tale in A Mid- 
 
294 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 summer Night's Dream. Nor does the mere fact that 
 The Tempest is probably the last of Shakespeare's 
 plays convince me that it contains an abridged ency- 
 clopedia of all the author's knowledge of all things. 
 It may be, as a recent critic thinks, that Caliban is 
 a remarkable embodiment of the supernatural, the 
 social order of the day, and Elizabethan politics. I 
 say, it may be true, but it is not clear. To me it is 
 a monster such as Othello speaks of, such as Shake- 
 speare read about in the numberless travel narratives 
 of the day. 
 
 The Tempest, I take it, is one of the pleasantest 
 stories ever written for the stage. There is a kindly 
 geniality about it, the loveliness of serene maturity. 
 And if there be an underlying moral lesson, is it 
 more than that one does well to forget an injury, to 
 turn away wrath with a soft answer? to disarm an 
 enemy by turning to him the unstricken cheek ? This, 
 at least, is the example of the play, and it is acted 
 out most significantly in the character of Prospero. 
 
 He is a man of high social rank, a lover of books, 
 and so well trained and educated that he can teach 
 his daughter Miranda all that she needs to know. 
 With it all he has acquired the art of magic, through 
 the possession of which he works a bad beginning into 
 a good end. 
 
 Though he has been badly treated, there is no 
 malice in his nature. He is quick to affirm that no 
 harm will come of the shipwreck. He has his old 
 enemies in his power. His first thought, however, is 
 not to punish them, or revenge himself, but to reform 
 them, and to bring good results out of the chance 
 meeting. 
 
THE TEMPEST 295 
 
 It is easy to comprehend why the common people 
 of Naples loved him. He is kindly and genial to all. 
 Careful of details for others' good, his main interest 
 is in the welfare of his child. When Ariel exas- 
 perates him he is, for a moment, petulant, but it is 
 only a momentary rebuke that follows. Ariel is soon 
 pleased again and ardent to do his master's bidding. 
 Prospero never fails to praise a well-done task. Even 
 his relations to Caliban, harsh as his words some- 
 times are, are illustrative of his forgiving nature and 
 his forbearance. And when he treats Ferdinand 
 harshly for the sake of future benefit he does it with 
 a naive clumsiness, as if the role were unfamiliar. 
 
 Most notable among Prospero's characteristics is 
 his treatment of his enemies. He has been harshly 
 treated himself, but there is no lingering desire for 
 revenge in his composition. When his enemies come 
 unbidden to his door his one impulse is to make them 
 friends. He entertains no ill feeling against Ferdi- 
 nand. He keeps a supernatural watch which frus- 
 trates the attack upon Alonso, which is so like the 
 earlier conspiracy against himself, and which Alonso 
 so justly merits. He does not scruple to expose the 
 conspirators' wickedness, but he does so gently, and 
 magnanimously refuses to reveal the plot of the 
 traitors now that it has come to naught and their 
 hearts have changed. 
 
 Prospero is throughout the great, genial, lovable, 
 and loving man, who works miracles by the power of 
 his gentle personality. 
 
296 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 V. The Elizabethan Staging 
 
 The play requires in reality but two sets. One is 
 used in the first scene, and not used again. The 
 other is used throughout the rest of the play. 
 
 1. The shipwreck would probably be set as sug- 
 gested by Mr. Corbin. (See Century Magazine, De- 
 cember, 1911.) 
 
 2. The other set is arranged so that it can be used 
 in two ways. The outer stage is bare. Properties 
 are introduced on the middle stage to suggest out-of- 
 doors on the island. These are probably brought in 
 while the traverse is drawn during the first 185 lines 
 of II. i. The inner stage is concealed by a drop 
 helping the illusion of " out of doors." Behind this 
 Prospero's cell is set up on the inner stage. Raising 
 and lowering this drop accommodates all the succeed- 
 ing scenes. 
 
INDEX 
 
 Act division, 71 
 
 Acting, 106 
 
 Actor, Shakespeare as, 5 
 
 Actors, companies of, 4, 
 25; customs of, 29; of 
 women's parts, 179; boy, 
 179 
 
 Acts, music between, 34 
 
 Admiral's Men, 4 
 
 Admission to theaters, 29 
 
 AUeyn, 4 
 
 Anachronisms, 226, 242 
 
 Antic disposition passage, 
 222 
 
 Audience, 30; seating, 31; 
 on the stage, 40; charac- 
 ter of, 42 
 
 Balcony scene of Romeo 
 
 and Juliet, 158 
 Bale's King Johan, 87 
 Bankside, 26 
 
 Battle scenes, 107, 108, 149 
 Bear Garden, the, 28 
 Beginning and end of a 
 
 play, 66 
 Bible as known to Shake- 
 speare, 2 
 Blackfriars, the, 29 
 Blank verse, 56, 156 
 Bolingbroke, character of, 
 
 130 
 Boy actors, 179 
 Brutus, structural relation 
 
 to Julius Ccesar, 191 
 Buckingham, character of, 
 
 108 
 Bugle call at the beginning 
 
 of a play, 33 
 
 Burbage, James, builder of 
 The Theater, 26 
 
 Ccesar, Julius, notes on the 
 text, 190; structural re- 
 lation of Brutus in, 191 
 
 Catastrophe, the, 68, 70 
 
 Character drawing, Shake- 
 speare's method of, 177 
 
 Character study, 108 
 
 Children in Shakespeare's 
 plays, 104 
 
 Chorus, 143, 144 
 
 Chronicle play. See His- 
 tory plays. 
 
 Cloths, painted, 33 
 
 Comedy, structure of, 180; 
 mixed with tragedy, 219 
 
 Companies of players, 4, S; 
 of actors, 25 
 
 Construction of Romeo and 
 Juliet, 114 
 
 Contradictions, apparent, 
 274 
 
 Costume, stage, 36, 193 
 
 Cruelty of the time, 262, 
 282 
 
 Cumberland passage. Prince 
 of, 268 
 
 Curtain, The, 27 
 
 Curtain, traverse, 33 
 
 Darkening the stage, 47, 
 
 188, 245, 264 
 Declamations, 108, 143, 144, 
 
 158, 175 
 Derby's actors, 4 
 Devil lore, 220 
 
 297 
 
298 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Division scenes, 73, 104, 116, 
 
 179, 271 
 Dog's name, 159 
 Dominant idea, 65 
 Dumb-show in Hamlet, 235, 
 
 281 
 Duration of performance, 
 
 183 
 
 Edward the Second com- 
 pared with Richard the 
 Second, 112 
 Elizabethan fools, 259 
 End, structural, of Borneo 
 and Juliet, 129; of Mer- 
 chant of Venice, 182 
 Exciting force, 67, 69, 117 
 Experimental nature of 
 Shakespeare's early plays, 
 137 
 
 Falconry, 170, 225 
 Falling "action, 68, 70 
 FalstaflF, absent from Henry 
 
 the Fifth, 135 
 Flagstaff, 27, 29 
 Folio, 51 ; reprints of, 54 
 Fool, the, in King Lear, 
 
 259 
 Fortune, The, 28 
 
 Ghost-lore, 216 
 Globe, The, 27 
 
 Hal, Prince, character of, 
 140, 146 
 
 Hamlet, character of, 248 
 
 Hamlet's Mouse-trap, 227; 
 madness, 246 
 
 Hamlet, early history, 207; 
 Quarto of, 207; relation 
 to Kyd, 208; notes on the 
 text, 216; stage setting, 
 234, 243; structure of, 237 
 
 Hawking, 170, 225 
 
 Heavens, 32 
 
 Henley Street, Stratford, 1 
 
 Henry the Fifth, character 
 of, 141, 146, 147 
 
 Henry the Fifth, relation 
 to other plays, 134; notes 
 on the text, 138; date of, 
 139; stage setting, 149 
 
 Henslowe, 4 
 
 Hentzner, 8 
 
 History plays, 85; Shake- 
 speare's improvements in, 
 93; by Shakespeare clas- 
 sified, 94; relation to 
 Shakespeare's work, 136 
 
 Hunsden's actors, 5 
 
 Hut in theaters, 31 
 
 Indefinite characters, 104, 
 
 277 
 Induction, 158 
 Inner and outer scenes, 39 
 Inner stage, 38 
 Inter-act music, 34 
 Introduction of play, 67, 68; 
 
 of Richard the Second, 
 
 114 
 Invisibility, how represented 
 
 on the stage, 289 
 Italian crime, the, 241 
 
 Jew of Malta compared 
 
 with Shylock, 176 
 Jig at end of play, 35, 182 
 Johan, King, 87 
 John, King, 92 
 John, Troublesome Reign of 
 
 King, 90 
 
 Kenilworth, Shakespeare at, 
 
 2 
 King Johan, 87 
 King John, 92 
 King John, Troublesome 
 
 Reign of, 90 
 King Lear, cruelty in, 262; 
 
INDEX 
 
 299 
 
 the fool in, 259; method 
 
 of study, 250 
 King's Men, 5 
 Kyd, see Spanish Tragedy, 
 
 relation of Hamlet, 208 
 
 Lancaster plays, 95 
 
 Lear, King, method of 
 study, 250; the fool in, 
 259; cruelty in, 262 
 
 Leicester's Men, 4 
 
 Literary piracy, 209 
 
 London, importance and ex- 
 tent of, 7, 8 
 
 Love scenes, 158 
 
 Lucy, Sir Thomas, 4 
 
 Macbeth, character of, 272 
 Macbeth, notesi on the 
 
 text, 264; state of text, 
 
 264 
 Madness of Hamlet, 246 
 Marlowe's Edward the 
 
 Second, 112 
 Marlowe and Shakespeare, 
 
 97, 112; Jew of Malta 
 
 compared to Shylock, 176 
 Merchant of Venice, The, 
 
 notes on the text, 174; 
 
 plot analysis, 182; stage 
 
 setting, 183 
 Meter, 56, 58 
 Mouse-trap, 227 
 Music between acts, 34 
 
 Naming of players, 156 
 Nemesis, 131, 254 
 
 Painted cloths, 33 
 Patriotism, 121 
 Performance, duration of, 
 
 183 
 Piracy, literary, 209 
 Playhouses. See Theaters. 
 Plot analysis of The Mer- 
 
 chant of Venice, 182; of 
 
 The Tempest, 290 
 Poison, use of, 241 
 Presentation of a play, 33 
 Prince Hal, 140, 146 
 Prologue, 33, 138, 139, 156 
 Pronunciation, 58, 159 
 Properties, 35 
 Prose, use of, 55 
 Prospero, character of, 293 
 Publication of plays, 49, 51, 
 
 209 
 Puns, 121, 274 
 
 Quartos, list of, 50; of 
 Hamlet, 207 
 
 Repetition in Romeo and 
 Juliet, 156, 160 
 
 Richard the Second com- 
 pared with Edxoard the 
 Second, 112; notes on the 
 text, 113; construction of, 
 114; introduction, 114; 
 character of the king, 118 
 
 Richard the Third, Shake- 
 speare's picture of, 86 
 
 Richard the Third, notes on 
 the text, 98; plausibility 
 of the wooing scene, 100; 
 setting of the battle scene, 
 108 
 
 Rising action, 67, 69 
 
 Romeo and Juliet, style of, 
 155; notes on the text, 
 156 ; tragic conclusion, 
 158, 165; balcony scene, 
 158; comic suggestions, 
 161, 162, 164 
 
 Rooms in theaters, 30 
 
 Rose, The, 27, 28 
 
 Scansion of Shakespeare's 
 
 meter, 58 
 Scene, use of a title, 34 
 Scenery (see Properties, 
 
soo 
 
 INDEX 
 
 I 
 
 Stage setting, Darkening 
 the stage), use of, 36; in 
 Henry the Fifth, 149 
 
 Scenes, battle, 107, 149; di- 
 vision, 72, 104, 116, 271; 
 inner and outer, 39; love, 
 158; structure of, 181 
 
 Shadow, the, 32 
 
 Shakespeare, John, 1, 2 
 
 Shakespeare, William, 
 birth of, 1; at school, 1; 
 at Kenilworth, 2; and the 
 Bible, 2; marriage, 3; ed- 
 ucation, 2, 3; leaves Strat- 
 ford, 4; in London, 4, 5 
 as an actor, 5; works, 6 
 property in Stratford, 6 
 income, 6; as a history 
 student, 86; improvements 
 in history play, 93, 136; 
 and Marlowe, 97, 112, 176; 
 method of character 
 drawing, 177 
 
 Shorthand, 209 
 
 Shrew, Taming of the, notes 
 on the text, 158; idea of 
 the play, 172 
 
 Shylock compared with the 
 Jew of Malta, 176 
 
 Snitterfield, 1 
 
 Soliloquy, 98, 194, 195, 278 
 
 Spanish Tragedy, relation to 
 Hamlet, 208, 210 
 
 Stage, audience on, 40; con- 
 struction, 30, 31; cos- 
 tume, 36, 193; darkening 
 of, 47, 188, 245, 264; in- 
 ner, 38; properties, 35; 
 setting of plays, 149, 183, 
 234, 243, 286, 296; upper, 
 31, 108, 169 
 
 Storms on the stage, 274 
 
 Strange's Men, 4 
 
 Stratford, 1, 4, 6 
 
 Street, Peter, 28 
 
 Structure of a comedy, 180; 
 
 of Julius Coesar, 190; of 
 
 Hamlet, 218 
 Style of Romeo and Juliet, 
 
 155; of The Tempest, 287 
 Sub-stage effects, 33 
 Superstition, 101, 120, 194, 
 
 216, 220, 228 
 Swan, The, 28 
 
 Taverns, used as theaters, 
 25, 26 
 
 Tempest, The, source of, 
 285; notes on the text, 
 286; staging of, 286; an- 
 alysis of the plot, 290; 
 stage setting of, 296 
 
 Theater, The, 26 
 
 Theaters, the flagstaff, 27, 
 29; admission, 29; con- 
 struction, 30; audience, 
 30; rooms, 30; seats, 30; 
 the yard, 30 
 
 Time of performance, 183 
 
 Title of scene, 34 
 
 Topical allusions, 176 
 
 Tragedy mixed with com- 
 edy, 219 
 
 Tragic conclusion of Bo- 
 m,eo and Juliet, 165 
 
 Traverse curtain, 33 
 
 Troublesome Reign of King 
 John, The, 90 
 
 Turning-point, 68, 69, 124, 
 127 
 
 Upper stage, 31, 108, 169, 
 234 
 
 Witchcraft, influence of, 101 
 Women's parts, 179 
 Wooing scene in Richard 
 
 the Third, plausibility of, 
 
 100 
 
 Yard of theater, 30 
 York plays, 95 
 
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 HALE'S DRAMATISTS OF TO-DAY 
 
 Rostand, Hauptmann, Sudermann, 
 PiNERO, Shaw, Phillips, Maeterlinck 
 
 By Prof. Edward Everett Hale, Jr., of Union College. 
 With gilt top, $1.50 net; by mail, $1.60. 
 
 Since this work first appeared in 1905, Maeterlinck's Sister 
 Beatrice, The Blue Bird and Mary Magdalene, Rostand's 
 Chantecler and Pinero's Mid-Channel and The Thunder- 
 bolt — among the notable plays by some of Dr. Hale's drama- 
 tists — have been acted here. Discussions of them are added 
 to this new edition, as are considerations of Bernard Shaw's 
 and Stephen Phillips' latest plays. The author's papers on 
 Hauptmann and Sudermann, with slight additions, with his 
 "Note on Standards of Criticism," "Our Idea of Tragedy," 
 and an appendix of all the plays of each author, with dates of 
 their first performance or publication, complete the volume. 
 
 Bookman: "He writes in a pleasant, free-and-easy way. . . . He 
 accepts things chiefly at their face value, but he describes them so ac- 
 curately and agreeably that he recalls vividly to mind the plays we 
 have seen and the pleasure we have found in them." 
 
 New VorA Evening Post : "It is not often nowadays that a theatrical 
 book can be met with so free from gush and mere eulogy, or so weighted 
 by common sense ... an excellent chronological appendix and full 
 index . . . uncommonly useful for reference." 
 
 Dial : " Noteworthy example of literary criticism in one of the most 
 interesting of literary fields. . . . Provides a varied menu of the 
 most interesting character. . . . Prof. Hale establishes confidential 
 relations with the reader from the start. . . . Very definite opinions, 
 clearly reasoned and amply fortified by example. . . . Well worth 
 reading a second time." 
 
 New York Tribune : "Both instructive and entertaining." 
 
 Brooklyn Eagle: "A dramatic critic who is not just 'busting' him- 
 self with Titanic intellectualities, but who is a readable dramatic critic. 
 . . . Mr. Hale is a modest and sensible, as well as an acute and sound 
 critic. . . . Most people will be surprised and delighted with Mr. 
 Hale's simplicity, perspicuity and ingenuousness." 
 
 The Theatre : " A pleasing lightness of touch. . . . Very rend- 
 able book." 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 014 157 130 8